Fic: Look, Up In The Sky (Supernatural; Dean/Castiel, Superhero AU, PG-13) Part 2
Title: Look, Up In The Sky (part 2)
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, implied torture, comic book violence
Word Count: 7768
Spoilers: None, AU. With superheroes!
Prompt: For direbanshee as part of the Everlasting Birthday Challenge: "Superhero!AU Dean and Cas are both refugees from dying planets sent to Earth as infants, Cas has wings and Dean has more Superman-like powers, and they hate each others guts... or do they?"
Summary: In this exciting issue we cast our eyes on the mysterious metrjopolis of Lawrence City, and its two valiant protectors, strangers from another world striving to save the helpless citizens from the most dire threats imaginable! As threats mount from without and within, can these two unlikely partners overcome their differences in time to defeat the deadliest enemy they've ever faced? Or in a world where smoke can dress itself in human skin, can this tale only end in tragedy? Face Front, True Believers, and find out!
Back to Part 1
A voice, though. A voice was a different story.'>No matter what his press releases said, it wasn't exactly true that Dean could pick out a single heartbeat from across the city; across a room, sure, but even though his hearing was good nothing was that good.
A voice, though. A voice was a different story. Dean cranked his hearing all the way up and really listened, filtering through the din of the city so nothing would escape him, not the smallest sound. He knew he wasn't going to be listening for prayers now, even his denial didn't go that far; he thought the worst thing would be to hear a moan, to hear Cas in pain (Dean knew there was no other explanation for an absence this long, it had to be that kind of wrong) but only getting silence made him feel like someone had taken a knife to his stomach and hollowed him out. Dean rejected the obvious answer and started to search.
The obvious plan seemed to find out which of the old enemies he and Cas had made over the years were still around and making trouble. He started by paying a visit to old Professor Benton's lab; the mad scientist went in and out jail like it had a revolving door and had been
It didn't.
Dean dropped off Benton at the police station and told them exactly how much personnel would be needed to take that lab apart, because Dean didn't ever want to have to go down there again. Fortunately the sergeant who always flirted with Dean was on duty at the station and she was more than happy to give him a list of all of his old friends who were currently active.
The search took most of the day. All the time he was kicking down doors and ripping roofs off buildings Dean tried to keep the image of Castiel hurt on his own somewhere out of his mind. The possibilities of things that could have gone wrong seemed endless. Hell, once he and Cas had been doing a high sweep over the city, high enough that a hunter had mistaken him for a bird and taken a shot. All of the times Cas had thrown himself into a fight with no regard for his own safety loomed large; Cas fought like he was Dean, invulnerable, but he could bleed and his bones could break. As he worked his way through his hit list without any sign of his partner the knot in his stomach went tighter.
The next day the headlines crowed about how Dean was getting serious about crime, showing pictures of all the crooks Dean had put away. The beat writers were a speculating about Dean's motive, whether he was trying to make up for his bad reputation.
Dean let them wonder. For the first time Dean didn't give a damn what the hell what the press was saying.
***
The next day Dean tried a different tactic. A focused search hadn't worked, so Dean did a sweep. He flew over the city with his X-Rays turned up, doing a super-powered house-by-house search. It wasn't the most ethical thing he could do but Dean didn't have it in him to be concerned about the usual superhero niceties. Whenever he found a blank spot in his vision - a bank vault, for example, and it astonished Dean just how many fallout shelters there were in the city - Dean swooped down to investigate, using any excuse that seemed plausible. He uncovered a good amount of drug stashes and gun caches and other minor lawbreaking but no sign of what he was really looking for. Not even a feather.
***
On day five it finally hit Dean that he'd been looking everywhere but in the most obvious place.
Castiel's ship was carefully hidden just beyond the southern borders of the city, an oblong metal shape half-buried in the woods. The hull was adorned with inscribed sigils that made the eye want to slide over it; even Dean had a hard time looking at it, like he felt a force pulling his face away whenever he tried. Dean slid his hand over the outside, feeling the vibration of the machinery thrum like a living thing. There was no obvious door; Dean circled around, flying over and under until he found himself hovering just under the nose. He hadn't found a hatch and he didn't know enough Enochian to be able to read any of the sigils. Frustration hummed under his skin; he should be able to get into this ship if nonsense Cas was always talking about was true. "C'mon, you hunk of tin," Dean muttered. "Cas says I'm the Champion, you're supposed to do what I say."
He thought about how the people who made this ship thought. They'd branded a hand print onto his shoulder to show that he and Cas were connected; Dean took off one of his gloves and pressed his hand against the warm metal of the hull. He felt a slight tingle, then a panel of the ship shimmered and disappeared. "About time."
The second he got the idea to search Cas' ship Dean was sure he'd hit on right answer. Castiel had gotten in over his head on his own and it would be only natural to go back to his ship to lick his wounds. Maybe something got infected, maybe it was just worse than he had thought, but that was why he'd been scarce. It would explain why Dean hadn't been able to hear him, the ship would block him. Dean could picture how it would go, him finding Cas in bed too sick or still too stubborn to ask for help, and then Dean would yell at him and drag him back home to patch him up.
Dean could picture it so clearly that the disappointment when he entered the ship only to find it empty and cold was crushing. Dim lights blinked on as Dean walked, but Dean didn't need much time at all to know this was another dead end.
Dean was unprepared for the size of the ship. Once inside he realized that most of the ship must be engines; the living area was tiny, smaller than his TV room. There would barely be enough room for Castiel to stretch his wings; Dean toured the tiny space, brushing his fingers across the thin, narrow mattress. He couldn't imagine how Cas could arrange his wings comfortably enough to get any sleep at all. The image of Cas sacked out on his bed like he'd never slept before in his life suddenly filled his mind.
The room was almost neurotically neat, which he'd expected. What he hadn't expected was for how spartan it was, although from how Castiel had reacted to his own home Dean guessed he should have. There was a closet tucked away in a corner, its door panel sliding open at Dean touch to revel a row of identical suits and a spare trenchcoat (which Dean had expected, if he was going to be honest.) There was the bed jutting out from the wall and a molded bench on the opposite side Dean supposed might technically fit the definition of a couch. There was some alien tech in the center of the room that based on its layout and general creepiness Dean guessed was some kind of life support; Dean remembered the surprise in Cas' eyes the first time Dean badgered him to try a burger and fries ("c'mon Cas, pretend you're a person for five minutes"), like he hadn't known what it was like to taste something. Dean wondered with a sick twist to his stomach whether that had been literally true.
Dean picked up a book leaning against the edge of the bench titled Cultures of the World; Dean had given it to him as a last minutes Christmas gift a few years ago as a way to give some much-needed grounding in human things. He'd had almost forgotten about it; Cas had gotten so flustered when Dean had given it to him because he didn't have anything to give back that Dean shied away from giving him anything in subsequent years. Dean regretted that now; the book had been read so many times it had turned fragile, despite the obvious signs of care Cas had taken with it. He'd even had it propped up against the bench as if he'd wanted to be able to see it as soon as he got in. Like it was something of real value, not something Dean had grabbed on impulse from the twenty percent off table. "I gotta buy you nicer things, Cas."
The only thing left was the computer. "Computer" was almost too plain a word for it; the machine took up an entire wall, its screen taller than Dean. He knew in theory there had been one like it in his own ship, but that thing was little more than strange-looking scrap in buried in a South Dakota junkyard. He touched the interface and the screen blinked to life, filling with columns of the complex Enochian script. Because of course it would all be in Enochian. A mean part of Dean's mind wondered if the whole disappearance wasn't a convoluted answer to Dean's question of why he should ever bother to learn it.
All Dean could do was press random panels and hope something interesting came up; one touch on the left side of the screen brought up what looked like an electronic scrapbook, files and files of newspaper clippings and TV interviews and magazine profiles, seemingly everything Dean had ever done. Nothing Cas had done, or at least nothing he'd done on his own, Dean noticed, and he felt the urge to shake Castiel for that because Dean knew full well the guy had down some pretty badass things over the past few years.
The This Is Your Life scrapbook didn't just start with when Cas had met Dean, either; there was his fake birth certificate, old school pictures, stray shots from the local Sioux Falls paper. Even an article about Dean making captain of the football team in high school. Dean tapped his fingers against the console and a video came up, one of he and Bobby goofing around in the scrapyard when Dean was a kid. It took Dean a second to figure out how that could even be possible, but then he remembered that had been before Bobby had moved Dean's ship to the backyard and buried it; from the angle Dean guessed just being close to the ship's hull meant it could record. Castiel had made a comment once that he'd been watching Dean his whole life, and for the first time Dean realized he actually wasn't kidding.
Dean tried to imagine that, Cas watching Dean grow up through stolen videos and scattered pictures, his head filled with the knowledge that his job in life was the mold that kid who sucked at catching fly balls into something that could defeat a race of monsters that had destroyed two planets. Dean generally treated Cas as if he'd sprung fully formed form the ground, but he knew that really wasn't true. Castiel was around Dean's age, give or take. Dean knew he'd must have been a kid at some point and couldn't help picturing that now, little kid Cas watching Dean on this monitor, his knowledge of the world limited to these walls and to the computer telling him histories that amounted to little more than ghost stories. He remembered that quick flash of longing on Castiel's face when he'd seen that little girl with her grandmother and for a moment wondered what it would have been like it Cas had crashed in Bobby Singer's scrapyard too, what Castiel would be like if he'd had someone play catch with him.
Dean pushed the thought away. He had a hard time picturing the Castiel that kind of upbringing would have created and a part of him didn't want to. He liked Castiel the way he was, the awkward strangeness mixed with nobility that made him Cas. Of course that didn't mean that if by some miracle Dean did meet some of Castiel's people Dean wasn't going to punch them in the face for making Cas live like this for so much of his life.
Dean didn't want Cas sleeping here anymore. When Dean found him (it was always when, never if) he wasn't coming back here. He'd crash at Dean's place for a while and then Dean would find him a swank place of his own, one with high enough ceilings he could fly through the rooms and a view that would let him see his precious sunrises without having to leave his bed.
Dean kept making plans to himself as he kept scrolling through screen after screen, trying to find some information that could show the last time Castiel had been there. After all, just because he wasn't here now didn't mean they couldn't have just missed him. With that piece of denial firmly in place Dean was half-way through imaging dragging Cas to that escort service Dean had saved a few months ago and letting him have his pick when he found what he was looking for; even with the Enochian Dean could tell just from the format it was a log- in screen. A second later Dean slammed his fist through the computer's interface panel.
Dean couldn't read Enochian, but he knew the numbers; he could see his name and the time he'd entered the ship up there, down to the second. Below it was Castiel's name and Dean knew he was right that Cas had taken a day to sulk and lick his wounds. But that was the only thing he'd been right about.
No one besides Dean had opened the ship's doors in four days.
***
The sunrise caught Dean by surprise. He happened to be flying over his own neighborhood and crouched down on his roof; he was at that level of tired where time just slipped by like sand through his fingers. He didn't dare sleep. He had to be awake to hear it if Cas managed to escape from wherever he was and called for help. After leaving the ship he'd scoured the woods outside the city, looking for hidden bunkers and anything else out of the ordinary (he still wouldn't let himself think that he was looking for a body, although the thought was beginning to hover around the edges of his mind.)
Dean's head ached from overusing his X-Ray and enhanced hearing; he scowled at the sun, resenting it for rising as if the world wasn't wrong. Dean forced himself to sit there and watch it the way Castiel was always bugging him to do. He remembered the first time Cas had seen a sunrise, that first day at Bobby's scrapyard. He'd been the one caught by surprise that day, trailing off mid-sentence as his face lit up with what Dean could only describe as rapture. "Dude," Dean had said, "it's just a sunrise. Happens everyday."
"I've never seen one before. Not with my own eyes."
Dean knew Castiel wasn't watching this one. Someone had him trapped someplace cold and dark, because it was always someplace cold and dark. Somewhere Cas couldn't feel the sunlight. Every time Dean thought about it he wanted to lift the city off its foundations and shake it until he had an answer.
He heard rattling on the fire escape stairs, the sound stabbing at his enhanced hearing. "Not the time, Sam."
Sam pulled himself up onto the roof. "I really need to talk to you, Cap." Dean glanced at him; Sam looked like he hadn't been doing a whole lot of sleeping either. "Just give me five minutes."
Dean shook his head. "Not doing any interviews right now. Nothing personal, just in the middle of something."
"Cap. Please."
Dean ignored him; he'd wasted enough precious searching time as it was. He was almost at the edge of the roof when he heard Sam let out a long, resigned sigh.
"Dean."
Dean froze. Then he let out a fake, dismissive chuckle. "Thought you guys were done trying to figure out my name. Gotta try harder...."
"Your name is Dean Singer. Your legal one, anyway. You grew up just outside Sioux Falls, South Dakota. You are from another planet, but not the one in your bios."
Dean's mouth was suddenly very dry. "Well, that's pretty...."
"The guy with the wings, his name is Castiel." Dean turned around, his blood turning to ice. He'd always known that there was a chance someone could find out his actual identity; there were birth certificates and yearbook photos and all sorts of things floating out there. It was bound to happen.
There was no reason for anyone to know Castiel's name. Not ever. "He's from another planet, too," Sam continued, "but not the same one as you. You call him your partner in the press but he's really your Guide." Dean felt his hand twitch into a fist. There was something apologetic in Sam's eyes. "You have a hand print burned into your shoulder that you keep hidden."
Dean could barely make his voice form words. "Who are you?"
Sam raised his hands, palms up and conciliatory. "Five minutes. That's all I want."
Dean didn't see that he had a lot of choice. "You got three." Sam sat on the ledge of the roof, looking up at Dean. Dean didn't move. "Clock's ticking. How do you know any of that?"
Sam took a breath, tongue flicking out over his lips. "I'm half-demon," he said, very quietly, and Dean felt the roof sway under his feet. "Or I've got demon blood, at the very least."
"You'd better start explaining real fast."
"It started a few years ago. I was a junior at Stamford." His lips twisted into an ugly sneer. "Or at least that's what thought." He shook the thought away, getting back to business. "I'd just gotten a free ride into law school and we had a party to celebrate. That night, I woke up in my dorm and there was a man standing over my bed. A man with yellow eyes." He looked up and Dean felt like his nightmares were about to walk up and knife him. "'Hey, Sammy,' he said. 'Been looking for you a long time.' Said I was 'one of his kids.'" He sighed, running one hand through his messy hair. "Turned out my whole life was fake. My parents, or at least what I thought were my parents, demon imposters. My friends, same thing. Like I'd just been dropped into an episode of the Twilight Zone."
"Yeah, my heart bleeds, get to the point. How do you know all that about me? About Cas?"
Sam quirked one eyebrow. "Azazel told me."
Dean was starting to wonder why he wasn't opening up with his eye beams. "You signed on with those freaks?"
"Look, I'd just found out my whole life was a lie and this guy was telling me that I was an important part of some big global war. Yes, I had a moment of weakness."
"How much do they know?"
"What I told you. Why do you think I was assigned to follow you around? Did you think it was a coincidence I wound up on your beat?"
Dean had always considered himself a pretty tough scare, but the past week was proving him dead wrong. Sam knew where he lived. Dean couldn't even begin to imagine all of the things must have unconsciously let slip.
Then he realized that no, that couldn't be right. He would have every demon on the planet at his door in that case. Dean took a long, hard look at Sam. "You didn't tell them anything." Sam shook his head and Dean let out a long, long breath. "Why not?"
"He killed my girlfriend." Sam's eyes were cold. "Jess was the only real thing I think I'd ever had. He said it would be motivating."
"Guess he was right."
"You know why they look like the people they kill, right?" Dean shook his head; even Cas didn't exactly know why they did that. "It's because they take their souls. It's what they live on. If I kill him, I...." He trailed off shaking his head. "It's the only way I can help her."
Dean massaged one hand against his throbbing forehead. "Why didn't you just tell me this stuff?"
"I...thought you would kill me with your laser eyes?"
Okay, Dean had to admit that was a decent reason. "So...wait. They set you up with the reporter gig. Why are you still with it?"
Sam shrugged, almost looking embarrassed. "I started to like it. Y'know. Hanging out with heroes, uncovering corruption. Guess it made me feel like I could still do good things."
Dean stared at him in open befuddlement. "You are such a nerd." Then Dean shook his head; he knew this was all important but he couldn't deal with it now. He'd wasted too much time already. "This has been a great heart to heart or whatever," he said, turning away, "but it'll have to wait 'til later. I've got things I need to...."
"I think I can help you find your friend."
Dean felt the world stop spinning. He turned back around slowly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he couldn't imagine how Sam couldn't see it. Before he could respond Sam continued. "The Angel. Castiel. It's been what, four, five days since he's been spotted?"
"Keeping tabs, huh?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, I am a reporter. Actually a really good one. Something like that, yeah, I notice." His expression changed and Dean knew he couldn't bear up under someone looking at him with that kind of sympathy. "You've been tearing up the city nonstop. The press has been saying that you're trying to make up for that kidnapping but you're really looking for him, aren't you."
Dean had to look away. "You said you could help. How?"
"I think I can, but Cap, you've gotta trust me-"
"How?"
"My blood gives me some powers. Sometimes I have dreams. Visions that come true. Sometimes I dream about people."
Dean leaped on that like a drowning man reaching for shore. "You had a dream about Cas?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I did. And I think I know where they're keeping him but Cap, we've gotta go now. When people show up in my dreams it usually means...."
Dean felt the flare of hope turn to ice. "What?" He grabbed Sam by one arm. "When you dream about someone, what does it mean?"
Sam wouldn't look at him. "It means we have to hurry."
***
There was a trick to seeing a demon nest. It was like looking at one of those hidden picture puzzles, only instead of a sailboat you found a hive of interstellar monsters all ready to kill you and walk around wearing your face. "So why can't you just smoke in there?"
Sam shook his head. "I told you, I'm only half demon, if that. I'm solid."
"Well, isn't that great. You'd better have something up your sleeve other than 1-800-psychic."
Sam's mouth twisted into a sour grin. "I've got a couple of things." He squinted at the empty space, trying to focus the way Dean had told him. "Cap," he said after a long, tense moment, "would you think less of me if I said I was scared out of my mind?"
Dean snorted. "Dude. That just means you're sane." He took a deep breath. On my way, Cas. He kicked in the door and there was no turning back.
The warehouse was better kept than previous nests, making Dean suppose it was still pretty new. It was eerie, walking through a nest this way with no sign of the demons. That had never happened before, usually the things were all too eager to jump out and make themselves known. Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, knowing how the demons could be anywhere, just watching them.
The space hadn't always been a warehouse; Sam pulled to a stop under an ornamental arch, its purpose long since forgotten. "I saw this," he whispered. "In my dream. This was here."
"Well, look what we have here. A happy little family reunion."
Dean felt his heart almost stop. He knew that voice. He'd dreamed that voice. Dean turned around and saw a tall, broad shouldered man like he'd just walked out of his dream - except for his eyes. In his dreams the eyes were always dark, not the bright, sick yellow in from of him. " Your father sacrificed himself to them."
The demon smiled. "Look at you two, working together. It warms the heart." Dean fired off a shot of his heat vision but the demon saw it coming; he smoked away, reappearing across the room. "Now, now, now. That's not very friendly."
"Azazel, right? That's your name?"
He made a tut-tut sound. "Sammy. Giving away family secrets?" The smile went wider. "I know the problem, you don't recognize me. Here." His shape shifted into a pretty blonde coed. "There. That better?"
Dean cast a nervous glance at Sam; he hadn't spoken, hadn't moved, he was just staring at the demon with his hands balled into fists. "Sam," he hissed. "You gonna do something?"
"There's another one here."
As if that was its cue another demon materialized under the arch and Dean sucked in a long breath. White eyes in a very familiar face stared back at him and Alastair smiled, as if he'd seen the recognition. "Why, Dean," he purred, the voice settling under Dean's skin. "I didn't expect to see you so soon." It wasn't the eyes Dean was staring at, though; all he could see was the blood spatter drenching the demon's clothes. Alastair noticed Dean staring and his smile pulled wider. "Oh, how rude of me. I do apologize, I wanted to have a new face for you but it wasn't quite ready---"
Dean opened up with his heat vision and this time he didn't miss. The demon staggered backwards with a satisfying grunt of pain; he didn't drop the way demons normally did but at least Dean knew the bastard could be damaged. He stood up, one arm cradled over the bubbling mess of his chest. "That hurt."
He and Sam went back to back, prompting flashbacks of the doing the same thing with Cas during the last fight. "How many, Sam?"
"Just the two." Dean got a good look at his face and took a startled step back; Sam's eyes had gone full demon black and Dean had a single, horrible moment to think he'd walked into a trap. Then Sam smiled and gestured, sending Azazel flying into the wall. "Dean, go. I'll hold them off. I've been waiting for this." Dean hesitated and Sam grabbed his arm. "You don't have a lot of time," he said, something far too close to pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's always this way. I wish I'd known sooner." Sam took a deep breath and made a beckoning gesture, pulling Alastair toward him and giving Dean a clear shot through the arch. "Go."
Dean took three steps forward, then looked back at Sam, unwilling to leave him alone against two powerful demons. Sam caught his eye and nodded. "Go find him, Dean. Look for a metal door with a silver crescent." The air crackled with power. "I got this."
Dean rushed through the archway without another look back.
***
It wasn't exactly a crescent. Dean traced the shape, the demon workmanship burning him through his gloves. He'd never picked up enough Enochian to be anything close to fluent, but he did recognize some symbols here and there and this crescent shape was one of them.
It meant Pit.
Dean couldn't X-Ray into the room and he was willing to bet everything he owned that it was sound proof, too. It was locked but Dean always knew exactly how to handle a locked door: he took a step back, then hit the door with a solid kick strong enough to crunch the metal and swing the door open.
The room inside was pitch black, dark even to Dean's vision. He groped for the wall; his fingers brushed against a panel and bright light flooded the room.
That was when Dean heard a soft cry of pain. Dean touched the panel again and the light dimmed, easily enough for Dean to see by.
In that first moment Dean wished he'd never found the light. Castiel was strung up against the far wall, hanging limp from barbed hooks skewered through his wings. For a moment Dean was rooted to the spot; he realized that while there was a part of him that dreaded the thought he'd never find Cas, God, had he not want to find him like this.
Then Castiel made another small, pained sound and Dean snapped out of it. He flew up to Castiel, wrapping one arm around his waist to take the weight off of his wings. "Cas. Cas, you hear me?" he said, eying the harness hooking him to the wall to figure out the best way to dismantle it. The hooks were connected to a series of gears and counterweights; one wrong move and Castiel's wings would be ripped apart. "Talk to me."
"Dean?" he whispered, his voice so faint even Dean's hearing barely caught it.
"Yeah, buddy, I'm here."
Dean felt him heave in two ragged breaths. "I didn't tell them anything. I didn't. I swear. I didn't, Dean...."
"Of course you didn't," he said, the thought never having occurred to him. "C'mon, Cas. That's the last thing I'd ever have to worry about."
"I prayed. Every...every moment. Wanted to...to see you. Tell you." It was like he couldn't get enough air to force out the words. Dean wanted to tell him to shut up but he was fighting so hard to talk. "Hadn't abandoned my duty."
"Of course you didn't." Up close Dean could see the wings were matted with so much blood they looked like a rusty, red-streaked brown instead of white. His clothes were blood-soaked rags; every time Dean shifted position he gasped like he'd just been stabbed. "Either your god's a dick or you should have been a little more specific with those prayers."
Dean was startled to feel him let out an amused gasp at that. "Perhaps." He shuddered again. "Can...can you please get me down?"
"I'm working on it, Cas, I swear to God. This thing's more complicated than it looks." He finally found the weak spot; one burst of his vision and the whole thing came apart. Castiel fell against him with a sharp sob of pain, the sound muffled against Dean's shoulder. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Cas, I got you, you're okay." The wings were heavy, dead weight and Dean lowered Castiel to the floor as quickly as he could.
"My wings," he whispered, his voice breaking. "They...." A spasm of pain shook him, twisting the words into a low moan.
The room was freezing and Dean did his best to hold Cas up from the cold floor, trying to convince himself that was why Castiel was shivering so hard. He thought Castiel was talking about the hooks Dean hadn't gotten the chance to remove until he turned on the X-Ray and saw.
Every bone in both wings were broken. Dean counted dozens of cracks spiraling through each bone, so many Dean couldn't count them all; he remembered how painful it had been for Castiel when his wing was only bruised and felt his stomach twist into sick knots. "Okay," Dean said, to himself almost as much as Castiel. "We'll get you out of here and you'll be okay."
Dean was a good liar but even he wasn't sure he really believed that. Once he pulled his vision away from the wreck the demons had made of Castiel's wings he saw to his growing horror that the rest of him was in almost the same shape. Cas winced as Dean tried to shift him to a position that would put the least amount of stress on his shattered ribs; Dean could see spreading dark spots he pretended wasn't obvious internal bleeding. Castiel's eyelids fluttered and Dean forced down his panic. "Cas. You gotta stay awake, okay? Look at me, Cas." Castiel's eyes blinked back open. "That's right, buddy. You keep looking at me."
Cas nodded, his jaw tightening as if it took all his concentration. "How...how did you find me?"
"Had a little help." As if on cue the building shook; Dean hoped Sam finished up soon, Cas needed to get out of here now. "Jesus Christ, Cas, you've been gone for days, I've been losing my mind trying to find you."
Castiel's brow furrowed, as if Dean had slipped into another language. "You...looked for me?"
"Dude. Of course I did. What kind of question is that? I've been tearing the city apart."
The sudden confusion in Cas' eyes broke something in Dean. "I thought...always seem to...to resent my presence...."
"They tell you that?" He saw the flash of shame in his friend's eyes and knew he'd guessed right. "Shh, It's okay. Cas, listen to me: I was never going to stop looking for you. You understand? If it took every day for the rest of my life, I was gonna find you." A tear slid down Castiel's face and it took everything in Dean not to go and rip out the demons' throats for doing that to his stoic partner. "What the hell possessed you to take them on by yourself?"
Castiel swallowed. "You...you were right. Not your war. Mine. Always was mine."
"Dude," Dean said, shaking his head. He had to keep him awake, keep him talking; every time he turned up his hearing Cas' heartbeat was a little bit fainter. "You pick now to listen to me?"
Castiel's lips actually quirked up. "Never...could tell when you were kidding." He shivered, one hand tangling in Dean's cape. "You were right about my sword. It didn't work." His eyes were wide and sad. "They broke it," he whispered, the words barely audible.
"I'll heat-vision it back together for you," Dean said. "Good as new. Better."
Another broken ghost of a smile. "Not always...that easy to fix things, Dean."
Dean fought down the understanding that they weren't talking about swords anymore. "Yeah, well, here's a tip for the future: if you're in a fight, so am I. That's how the whole crime-fighting partner thing works, Cas."
"Liked being your partner," Castiel said softly, like someone could overhear.
"Seriously? Always got the feeling your were ashamed to be seen with me."
The words were meant as a joke but Castiel's eyes went wide with surprise. "No," he said, fingers digging into Dean's arm. "Never ashamed of...of you. Actions, at times but not you." He squeezed Dean's arm, demanding he pay attention. "Proud of you," he said and Dean had no idea how he was managing to put that much ferocity in his voice. "Proud to be...chosen as your Guide, Dean." His hand reached up to touch the hand print of on Dean's shoulder. "Every moment. You must believe that, Dean"
Dean nodded. He'd agree with anything Castiel said right now.
"Good." The surge of energy had left him visibly weaker; Dean could hear his heart racing, fast and faint as a frightened bird's. "Always proud of you. Need you to know that."
"Cas, don't talk like that."
"When...would be the time?" Castiel's eyes turned serious again. "Perhaps...if I'd been better..."
Dean was putting a stop to that bullshit before it started. He tipped Castiel's chin up, making sure to meet his eyes. "You never did a single thing wrong, Cas. You understand me? All the screw ups, they were on me, not you. I'd be a crap hero without you."
Castiel shook his head. "You don't need me. Haven't... for a long time." His lips twitched. "Other way around, I think...think is the phrase."
Another spasm shook him and Dean held him tighter for the second. "Shh. I got you. You're okay, I got you."
Castiel nodded, another tear winding down his face. "I know."
"Dude, remember," he said, willing the bone-deep fear out of his voice, "I'm the one who's a giant screw-up. You said yourself I don't know half the shit I'm supposed to. I know I'm not what you guys were expecting."
Castiel shook his head again, fond amusement flashing across his face. "Still don't...don't listen when I talk." He met Dean's eyes, shaking from the effort. "You're better. A Champion...should take the time to comfort a frightened child." He sagged back in Dean's arms, exhausted and panting. "You're better," he insisted again.
"Shh. We're both pretty badass, okay?"
"Guides...supposed to be remote. Distant. I tried, I...." He looked up at Dean, almost like he was about to confess a shameful secret. "I liked being your partner," he said again.
"Cas, you still are. We're gonna get you out of here, get you patched up, then we're gonna go right back to beating up the bad guys. You hear me?"
Castiel nodded. "Of course." His eyes were unfocused in a way that scared Dean. "Dean," he whispered. "Do you still want to know...what I wanted?"
Dean didn't. There was only one thing Cas could be about to say. "You don't have to, Cas."
"I do." He took a deep, deep breath, like he was gathering up strength --- then he shuddered. "Dean?" he breathed, a strange, panicked light in his eyes.
"I'm here, Cas. I'm right here." In his peripheral vision Dean saw Sam cross through the open door, beat up but in one piece. That was all the thought Dean could spare him at the moment. "I'm right here."
"I...I can't...." He took one shallow, spasmed breath, his hand clutching at Dean's arm.
The grip went slack. In an instant he went from looking at Dean to looking through him, everything that was Cas bleeding away from his eyes. "You stay with me," Dean ordered. "You hear me, you son of a bitch? You stay with me." He heard Castiel's heart beat, soft as a whisper now, once, twice.
Then there was nothing but silence.
"Cas?" Dean whispered, his eyes not making sense of what they were seeing. "C'mon, buddy. You gotta breathe."
"Dean, I'm sorry," he heard Sam say behind him. "I told you, someone shows up in my dreams, it's always...."
He trailed off but it didn't matter because Dean barely heard him. Dean saved people, it was what he did. He couldn't believe he could be too late the one time it mattered the most. He pulled Cas up closer and cradled his head, trying not to look at the tortured ruin of his wings lying limp on the floor. Trying not to remember how'd they'd felt under his hands less than a week before. "You gotta come back, Cas."
He thought about Castiel praying to his strange, silent god while the demons broke him to pieces, how he hadn't prayed for escape but just to see Dean. How that god had then answered him in such a horrible way. "You give him back," Dean demanded, his voice shaking. "You don't get to take him like this."
Dean wiped the tears from Castiel's face. He wondered, with a sudden, certain lurch that he was right, whether this was first time anyone had ever held him. "You stupid son of a bitch, you can't die. Not when you sucked so bad at the living part." Dean kissed him, trying to force life back into his body through sheer force of will. His lips were already cool.
It was amazing, how quickly priorities could snap into place. If asked a month ago Dean would have rattled off a list of things he'd wanted, petty things, everything from money to fame to beautiful women. All of that faded into background noise. Dean knew the only thing he would ever want again was for Castiel to breathe.
He felt his hand print scar start to burn and that was what made it real for Dean. The hand print was what linked them, their connection. Now he losing that, too. The burn kept building, the pain increasing until Dean felt like his shoulder was on fire. He opened his eyes; his arm was enveloped in pulsing white light, so bright he had to look away. It cracked like lightning for a moment, then shot across his arm and into Castiel, jerking him out of Dean's arms.
Dean watched as the light played over Cas' wings first, straightening the twisted angles and filling in the empty spots where the demons had pulled out feathers by the fist full, leaving the wings whole and beautiful and so dazzlingly white it almost hurt Dean to look at them. Then the light traveled down the rest of him; Dean turned on the X-Ray and saw it setting and repairing the broken bones, the dark spots of bleeding shrinking to nothing. It even repaired his clothing.
By the time the light finally fizzled out, healing what little remained of the cut along Cas' hairline from the previous battle, Castiel looked like he was only sleeping. There was one long, long moment where Dean wondered if that was all there would be.
Then Castiel's whole body arched as he heaved in a single, enormous breath. Dean was rooted to the spot for a single disbelieving moment, then he rushed forward, reaching Castiel just as his eyes flew open. Castiel sat up and Dean put his hand on his shoulder, as if that was the only way to convince himself this was real. "Cas?" he said cautiously, as if this was a spell the wrong word could break. "You okay?"
Castiel looked up at Dean and then flexed his right hand, staring at it as if he had never seen it before. He unfurled his wings, stretching them to their full length, then looked at Dean with complete awe in his eyes. "You pulled me back from the abyss, Dean."
Dean laughed and pulled Castiel into a massive hug. "You ever scare me like again and I will kill you myself, I swear to God." It took a moment for Cas to return the embrace, his arms wrapping around Dean's neck as if Castiel was trying out something he'd seen in a movie once and wanted to make sure he got it right. Then he squeezed Dean so hard Dean almost couldn't breathe; Castiel's heart was a loud, steady drumbeat to Dean's ears and Dean couldn't imagine ever wanting to hear anything else. After a few minutes Castiel shifted, looking over Dean's shoulder, and Dean suddenly remembered Sam was still there. "Cas, you've met Sam. He's on the team now." He craned his head around to see Sam, delighted to see that he was outright crying. Dean could rip on him just about forever for that. "You kill those two bastards?"
Sam shook his head and a part of Dean was glad. They didn't get off that easy. "Did some damage but they got away. Should be a while before they show up again, though." He wiped at his eyes. "Shit. Shit. I don't believe I just saw that."
"And don't you dare write a word of it."
Sam shook his head. "Promise."
Dean grinned and turned back to Castiel, who was still clinging to him as if he was afraid this would all stop if he and Dean weren't touching. "Cas? Think you were about to say something?"
Castiel laughed and Dean thought that was the perfect sound he'd ever heard. His blue eyes were bright with joy as he leaned close to Dean's ear. "This is what I wanted," he whispered, his low, gravely voice shaking. "I've loved you since before I knew the word."
There was really nothing for Dean to do but kiss him. And then kiss him some more. A lot of lost time to make up for, after all.
***
The sun was just rising as they got up to the warehouse's roof and Dean watched Castiel drink it in. "I didn't think I would get to see another of these."
"Plenty of more where that came from." Sam had slipped away at some point and Dean had some dim recollection of promising an exclusive but he didn't care. Not when Castiel was right next to him, his heart beating. Not with suddenly a future spread out before them. "You ready to go home?"
Castiel nodded, taking a step towards the south when Dean pulled him back and into a long, slow, deep kiss, feeling his breath catch in that first moment. Dean teased out the kiss, relishing the sound of Cas' heart starting to race. "I said," he whispered, keeping Castiel so close their lips were still almost touching, "are you ready to go home?"
Castiel studied him for a moment, head tilted to the side, then broke into the brightest smile Dean had ever seen. He took three deliberate steps to the northern ledge, the direction of Dean's penthouse, then looked back over his shoulder. "Try to keep up," he said, then spread his wings and jumped.
Dean just laughed and followed. The sun was warm and the city under them was quiet, just beginning to wake. Later on there would be patrol and probably another bull session with the press. Wars to fight.
Castiel was still just close enough for Dean to hear his heart beating
Dean turned up the speed. All of that would come later. First he had a race to win.
-fin-
Author: misachan
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, implied torture, comic book violence
Word Count: 7768
Spoilers: None, AU. With superheroes!
Prompt: For direbanshee as part of the Everlasting Birthday Challenge: "Superhero!AU Dean and Cas are both refugees from dying planets sent to Earth as infants, Cas has wings and Dean has more Superman-like powers, and they hate each others guts... or do they?"
Summary: In this exciting issue we cast our eyes on the mysterious metrjopolis of Lawrence City, and its two valiant protectors, strangers from another world striving to save the helpless citizens from the most dire threats imaginable! As threats mount from without and within, can these two unlikely partners overcome their differences in time to defeat the deadliest enemy they've ever faced? Or in a world where smoke can dress itself in human skin, can this tale only end in tragedy? Face Front, True Believers, and find out!
Back to Part 1
A voice, though. A voice was a different story.'>No matter what his press releases said, it wasn't exactly true that Dean could pick out a single heartbeat from across the city; across a room, sure, but even though his hearing was good nothing was that good.
A voice, though. A voice was a different story. Dean cranked his hearing all the way up and really listened, filtering through the din of the city so nothing would escape him, not the smallest sound. He knew he wasn't going to be listening for prayers now, even his denial didn't go that far; he thought the worst thing would be to hear a moan, to hear Cas in pain (Dean knew there was no other explanation for an absence this long, it had to be that kind of wrong) but only getting silence made him feel like someone had taken a knife to his stomach and hollowed him out. Dean rejected the obvious answer and started to search.
The obvious plan seemed to find out which of the old enemies he and Cas had made over the years were still around and making trouble. He started by paying a visit to old Professor Benton's lab; the mad scientist went in and out jail like it had a revolving door and had been
It didn't.
Dean dropped off Benton at the police station and told them exactly how much personnel would be needed to take that lab apart, because Dean didn't ever want to have to go down there again. Fortunately the sergeant who always flirted with Dean was on duty at the station and she was more than happy to give him a list of all of his old friends who were currently active.
The search took most of the day. All the time he was kicking down doors and ripping roofs off buildings Dean tried to keep the image of Castiel hurt on his own somewhere out of his mind. The possibilities of things that could have gone wrong seemed endless. Hell, once he and Cas had been doing a high sweep over the city, high enough that a hunter had mistaken him for a bird and taken a shot. All of the times Cas had thrown himself into a fight with no regard for his own safety loomed large; Cas fought like he was Dean, invulnerable, but he could bleed and his bones could break. As he worked his way through his hit list without any sign of his partner the knot in his stomach went tighter.
The next day the headlines crowed about how Dean was getting serious about crime, showing pictures of all the crooks Dean had put away. The beat writers were a speculating about Dean's motive, whether he was trying to make up for his bad reputation.
Dean let them wonder. For the first time Dean didn't give a damn what the hell what the press was saying.
***
The next day Dean tried a different tactic. A focused search hadn't worked, so Dean did a sweep. He flew over the city with his X-Rays turned up, doing a super-powered house-by-house search. It wasn't the most ethical thing he could do but Dean didn't have it in him to be concerned about the usual superhero niceties. Whenever he found a blank spot in his vision - a bank vault, for example, and it astonished Dean just how many fallout shelters there were in the city - Dean swooped down to investigate, using any excuse that seemed plausible. He uncovered a good amount of drug stashes and gun caches and other minor lawbreaking but no sign of what he was really looking for. Not even a feather.
***
On day five it finally hit Dean that he'd been looking everywhere but in the most obvious place.
Castiel's ship was carefully hidden just beyond the southern borders of the city, an oblong metal shape half-buried in the woods. The hull was adorned with inscribed sigils that made the eye want to slide over it; even Dean had a hard time looking at it, like he felt a force pulling his face away whenever he tried. Dean slid his hand over the outside, feeling the vibration of the machinery thrum like a living thing. There was no obvious door; Dean circled around, flying over and under until he found himself hovering just under the nose. He hadn't found a hatch and he didn't know enough Enochian to be able to read any of the sigils. Frustration hummed under his skin; he should be able to get into this ship if nonsense Cas was always talking about was true. "C'mon, you hunk of tin," Dean muttered. "Cas says I'm the Champion, you're supposed to do what I say."
He thought about how the people who made this ship thought. They'd branded a hand print onto his shoulder to show that he and Cas were connected; Dean took off one of his gloves and pressed his hand against the warm metal of the hull. He felt a slight tingle, then a panel of the ship shimmered and disappeared. "About time."
The second he got the idea to search Cas' ship Dean was sure he'd hit on right answer. Castiel had gotten in over his head on his own and it would be only natural to go back to his ship to lick his wounds. Maybe something got infected, maybe it was just worse than he had thought, but that was why he'd been scarce. It would explain why Dean hadn't been able to hear him, the ship would block him. Dean could picture how it would go, him finding Cas in bed too sick or still too stubborn to ask for help, and then Dean would yell at him and drag him back home to patch him up.
Dean could picture it so clearly that the disappointment when he entered the ship only to find it empty and cold was crushing. Dim lights blinked on as Dean walked, but Dean didn't need much time at all to know this was another dead end.
Dean was unprepared for the size of the ship. Once inside he realized that most of the ship must be engines; the living area was tiny, smaller than his TV room. There would barely be enough room for Castiel to stretch his wings; Dean toured the tiny space, brushing his fingers across the thin, narrow mattress. He couldn't imagine how Cas could arrange his wings comfortably enough to get any sleep at all. The image of Cas sacked out on his bed like he'd never slept before in his life suddenly filled his mind.
The room was almost neurotically neat, which he'd expected. What he hadn't expected was for how spartan it was, although from how Castiel had reacted to his own home Dean guessed he should have. There was a closet tucked away in a corner, its door panel sliding open at Dean touch to revel a row of identical suits and a spare trenchcoat (which Dean had expected, if he was going to be honest.) There was the bed jutting out from the wall and a molded bench on the opposite side Dean supposed might technically fit the definition of a couch. There was some alien tech in the center of the room that based on its layout and general creepiness Dean guessed was some kind of life support; Dean remembered the surprise in Cas' eyes the first time Dean badgered him to try a burger and fries ("c'mon Cas, pretend you're a person for five minutes"), like he hadn't known what it was like to taste something. Dean wondered with a sick twist to his stomach whether that had been literally true.
Dean picked up a book leaning against the edge of the bench titled Cultures of the World; Dean had given it to him as a last minutes Christmas gift a few years ago as a way to give some much-needed grounding in human things. He'd had almost forgotten about it; Cas had gotten so flustered when Dean had given it to him because he didn't have anything to give back that Dean shied away from giving him anything in subsequent years. Dean regretted that now; the book had been read so many times it had turned fragile, despite the obvious signs of care Cas had taken with it. He'd even had it propped up against the bench as if he'd wanted to be able to see it as soon as he got in. Like it was something of real value, not something Dean had grabbed on impulse from the twenty percent off table. "I gotta buy you nicer things, Cas."
The only thing left was the computer. "Computer" was almost too plain a word for it; the machine took up an entire wall, its screen taller than Dean. He knew in theory there had been one like it in his own ship, but that thing was little more than strange-looking scrap in buried in a South Dakota junkyard. He touched the interface and the screen blinked to life, filling with columns of the complex Enochian script. Because of course it would all be in Enochian. A mean part of Dean's mind wondered if the whole disappearance wasn't a convoluted answer to Dean's question of why he should ever bother to learn it.
All Dean could do was press random panels and hope something interesting came up; one touch on the left side of the screen brought up what looked like an electronic scrapbook, files and files of newspaper clippings and TV interviews and magazine profiles, seemingly everything Dean had ever done. Nothing Cas had done, or at least nothing he'd done on his own, Dean noticed, and he felt the urge to shake Castiel for that because Dean knew full well the guy had down some pretty badass things over the past few years.
The This Is Your Life scrapbook didn't just start with when Cas had met Dean, either; there was his fake birth certificate, old school pictures, stray shots from the local Sioux Falls paper. Even an article about Dean making captain of the football team in high school. Dean tapped his fingers against the console and a video came up, one of he and Bobby goofing around in the scrapyard when Dean was a kid. It took Dean a second to figure out how that could even be possible, but then he remembered that had been before Bobby had moved Dean's ship to the backyard and buried it; from the angle Dean guessed just being close to the ship's hull meant it could record. Castiel had made a comment once that he'd been watching Dean his whole life, and for the first time Dean realized he actually wasn't kidding.
Dean tried to imagine that, Cas watching Dean grow up through stolen videos and scattered pictures, his head filled with the knowledge that his job in life was the mold that kid who sucked at catching fly balls into something that could defeat a race of monsters that had destroyed two planets. Dean generally treated Cas as if he'd sprung fully formed form the ground, but he knew that really wasn't true. Castiel was around Dean's age, give or take. Dean knew he'd must have been a kid at some point and couldn't help picturing that now, little kid Cas watching Dean on this monitor, his knowledge of the world limited to these walls and to the computer telling him histories that amounted to little more than ghost stories. He remembered that quick flash of longing on Castiel's face when he'd seen that little girl with her grandmother and for a moment wondered what it would have been like it Cas had crashed in Bobby Singer's scrapyard too, what Castiel would be like if he'd had someone play catch with him.
Dean pushed the thought away. He had a hard time picturing the Castiel that kind of upbringing would have created and a part of him didn't want to. He liked Castiel the way he was, the awkward strangeness mixed with nobility that made him Cas. Of course that didn't mean that if by some miracle Dean did meet some of Castiel's people Dean wasn't going to punch them in the face for making Cas live like this for so much of his life.
Dean didn't want Cas sleeping here anymore. When Dean found him (it was always when, never if) he wasn't coming back here. He'd crash at Dean's place for a while and then Dean would find him a swank place of his own, one with high enough ceilings he could fly through the rooms and a view that would let him see his precious sunrises without having to leave his bed.
Dean kept making plans to himself as he kept scrolling through screen after screen, trying to find some information that could show the last time Castiel had been there. After all, just because he wasn't here now didn't mean they couldn't have just missed him. With that piece of denial firmly in place Dean was half-way through imaging dragging Cas to that escort service Dean had saved a few months ago and letting him have his pick when he found what he was looking for; even with the Enochian Dean could tell just from the format it was a log- in screen. A second later Dean slammed his fist through the computer's interface panel.
Dean couldn't read Enochian, but he knew the numbers; he could see his name and the time he'd entered the ship up there, down to the second. Below it was Castiel's name and Dean knew he was right that Cas had taken a day to sulk and lick his wounds. But that was the only thing he'd been right about.
No one besides Dean had opened the ship's doors in four days.
***
The sunrise caught Dean by surprise. He happened to be flying over his own neighborhood and crouched down on his roof; he was at that level of tired where time just slipped by like sand through his fingers. He didn't dare sleep. He had to be awake to hear it if Cas managed to escape from wherever he was and called for help. After leaving the ship he'd scoured the woods outside the city, looking for hidden bunkers and anything else out of the ordinary (he still wouldn't let himself think that he was looking for a body, although the thought was beginning to hover around the edges of his mind.)
Dean's head ached from overusing his X-Ray and enhanced hearing; he scowled at the sun, resenting it for rising as if the world wasn't wrong. Dean forced himself to sit there and watch it the way Castiel was always bugging him to do. He remembered the first time Cas had seen a sunrise, that first day at Bobby's scrapyard. He'd been the one caught by surprise that day, trailing off mid-sentence as his face lit up with what Dean could only describe as rapture. "Dude," Dean had said, "it's just a sunrise. Happens everyday."
"I've never seen one before. Not with my own eyes."
Dean knew Castiel wasn't watching this one. Someone had him trapped someplace cold and dark, because it was always someplace cold and dark. Somewhere Cas couldn't feel the sunlight. Every time Dean thought about it he wanted to lift the city off its foundations and shake it until he had an answer.
He heard rattling on the fire escape stairs, the sound stabbing at his enhanced hearing. "Not the time, Sam."
Sam pulled himself up onto the roof. "I really need to talk to you, Cap." Dean glanced at him; Sam looked like he hadn't been doing a whole lot of sleeping either. "Just give me five minutes."
Dean shook his head. "Not doing any interviews right now. Nothing personal, just in the middle of something."
"Cap. Please."
Dean ignored him; he'd wasted enough precious searching time as it was. He was almost at the edge of the roof when he heard Sam let out a long, resigned sigh.
"Dean."
Dean froze. Then he let out a fake, dismissive chuckle. "Thought you guys were done trying to figure out my name. Gotta try harder...."
"Your name is Dean Singer. Your legal one, anyway. You grew up just outside Sioux Falls, South Dakota. You are from another planet, but not the one in your bios."
Dean's mouth was suddenly very dry. "Well, that's pretty...."
"The guy with the wings, his name is Castiel." Dean turned around, his blood turning to ice. He'd always known that there was a chance someone could find out his actual identity; there were birth certificates and yearbook photos and all sorts of things floating out there. It was bound to happen.
There was no reason for anyone to know Castiel's name. Not ever. "He's from another planet, too," Sam continued, "but not the same one as you. You call him your partner in the press but he's really your Guide." Dean felt his hand twitch into a fist. There was something apologetic in Sam's eyes. "You have a hand print burned into your shoulder that you keep hidden."
Dean could barely make his voice form words. "Who are you?"
Sam raised his hands, palms up and conciliatory. "Five minutes. That's all I want."
Dean didn't see that he had a lot of choice. "You got three." Sam sat on the ledge of the roof, looking up at Dean. Dean didn't move. "Clock's ticking. How do you know any of that?"
Sam took a breath, tongue flicking out over his lips. "I'm half-demon," he said, very quietly, and Dean felt the roof sway under his feet. "Or I've got demon blood, at the very least."
"You'd better start explaining real fast."
"It started a few years ago. I was a junior at Stamford." His lips twisted into an ugly sneer. "Or at least that's what thought." He shook the thought away, getting back to business. "I'd just gotten a free ride into law school and we had a party to celebrate. That night, I woke up in my dorm and there was a man standing over my bed. A man with yellow eyes." He looked up and Dean felt like his nightmares were about to walk up and knife him. "'Hey, Sammy,' he said. 'Been looking for you a long time.' Said I was 'one of his kids.'" He sighed, running one hand through his messy hair. "Turned out my whole life was fake. My parents, or at least what I thought were my parents, demon imposters. My friends, same thing. Like I'd just been dropped into an episode of the Twilight Zone."
"Yeah, my heart bleeds, get to the point. How do you know all that about me? About Cas?"
Sam quirked one eyebrow. "Azazel told me."
Dean was starting to wonder why he wasn't opening up with his eye beams. "You signed on with those freaks?"
"Look, I'd just found out my whole life was a lie and this guy was telling me that I was an important part of some big global war. Yes, I had a moment of weakness."
"How much do they know?"
"What I told you. Why do you think I was assigned to follow you around? Did you think it was a coincidence I wound up on your beat?"
Dean had always considered himself a pretty tough scare, but the past week was proving him dead wrong. Sam knew where he lived. Dean couldn't even begin to imagine all of the things must have unconsciously let slip.
Then he realized that no, that couldn't be right. He would have every demon on the planet at his door in that case. Dean took a long, hard look at Sam. "You didn't tell them anything." Sam shook his head and Dean let out a long, long breath. "Why not?"
"He killed my girlfriend." Sam's eyes were cold. "Jess was the only real thing I think I'd ever had. He said it would be motivating."
"Guess he was right."
"You know why they look like the people they kill, right?" Dean shook his head; even Cas didn't exactly know why they did that. "It's because they take their souls. It's what they live on. If I kill him, I...." He trailed off shaking his head. "It's the only way I can help her."
Dean massaged one hand against his throbbing forehead. "Why didn't you just tell me this stuff?"
"I...thought you would kill me with your laser eyes?"
Okay, Dean had to admit that was a decent reason. "So...wait. They set you up with the reporter gig. Why are you still with it?"
Sam shrugged, almost looking embarrassed. "I started to like it. Y'know. Hanging out with heroes, uncovering corruption. Guess it made me feel like I could still do good things."
Dean stared at him in open befuddlement. "You are such a nerd." Then Dean shook his head; he knew this was all important but he couldn't deal with it now. He'd wasted too much time already. "This has been a great heart to heart or whatever," he said, turning away, "but it'll have to wait 'til later. I've got things I need to...."
"I think I can help you find your friend."
Dean felt the world stop spinning. He turned back around slowly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he couldn't imagine how Sam couldn't see it. Before he could respond Sam continued. "The Angel. Castiel. It's been what, four, five days since he's been spotted?"
"Keeping tabs, huh?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, I am a reporter. Actually a really good one. Something like that, yeah, I notice." His expression changed and Dean knew he couldn't bear up under someone looking at him with that kind of sympathy. "You've been tearing up the city nonstop. The press has been saying that you're trying to make up for that kidnapping but you're really looking for him, aren't you."
Dean had to look away. "You said you could help. How?"
"I think I can, but Cap, you've gotta trust me-"
"How?"
"My blood gives me some powers. Sometimes I have dreams. Visions that come true. Sometimes I dream about people."
Dean leaped on that like a drowning man reaching for shore. "You had a dream about Cas?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I did. And I think I know where they're keeping him but Cap, we've gotta go now. When people show up in my dreams it usually means...."
Dean felt the flare of hope turn to ice. "What?" He grabbed Sam by one arm. "When you dream about someone, what does it mean?"
Sam wouldn't look at him. "It means we have to hurry."
***
There was a trick to seeing a demon nest. It was like looking at one of those hidden picture puzzles, only instead of a sailboat you found a hive of interstellar monsters all ready to kill you and walk around wearing your face. "So why can't you just smoke in there?"
Sam shook his head. "I told you, I'm only half demon, if that. I'm solid."
"Well, isn't that great. You'd better have something up your sleeve other than 1-800-psychic."
Sam's mouth twisted into a sour grin. "I've got a couple of things." He squinted at the empty space, trying to focus the way Dean had told him. "Cap," he said after a long, tense moment, "would you think less of me if I said I was scared out of my mind?"
Dean snorted. "Dude. That just means you're sane." He took a deep breath. On my way, Cas. He kicked in the door and there was no turning back.
The warehouse was better kept than previous nests, making Dean suppose it was still pretty new. It was eerie, walking through a nest this way with no sign of the demons. That had never happened before, usually the things were all too eager to jump out and make themselves known. Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, knowing how the demons could be anywhere, just watching them.
The space hadn't always been a warehouse; Sam pulled to a stop under an ornamental arch, its purpose long since forgotten. "I saw this," he whispered. "In my dream. This was here."
"Well, look what we have here. A happy little family reunion."
Dean felt his heart almost stop. He knew that voice. He'd dreamed that voice. Dean turned around and saw a tall, broad shouldered man like he'd just walked out of his dream - except for his eyes. In his dreams the eyes were always dark, not the bright, sick yellow in from of him. " Your father sacrificed himself to them."
The demon smiled. "Look at you two, working together. It warms the heart." Dean fired off a shot of his heat vision but the demon saw it coming; he smoked away, reappearing across the room. "Now, now, now. That's not very friendly."
"Azazel, right? That's your name?"
He made a tut-tut sound. "Sammy. Giving away family secrets?" The smile went wider. "I know the problem, you don't recognize me. Here." His shape shifted into a pretty blonde coed. "There. That better?"
Dean cast a nervous glance at Sam; he hadn't spoken, hadn't moved, he was just staring at the demon with his hands balled into fists. "Sam," he hissed. "You gonna do something?"
"There's another one here."
As if that was its cue another demon materialized under the arch and Dean sucked in a long breath. White eyes in a very familiar face stared back at him and Alastair smiled, as if he'd seen the recognition. "Why, Dean," he purred, the voice settling under Dean's skin. "I didn't expect to see you so soon." It wasn't the eyes Dean was staring at, though; all he could see was the blood spatter drenching the demon's clothes. Alastair noticed Dean staring and his smile pulled wider. "Oh, how rude of me. I do apologize, I wanted to have a new face for you but it wasn't quite ready---"
Dean opened up with his heat vision and this time he didn't miss. The demon staggered backwards with a satisfying grunt of pain; he didn't drop the way demons normally did but at least Dean knew the bastard could be damaged. He stood up, one arm cradled over the bubbling mess of his chest. "That hurt."
He and Sam went back to back, prompting flashbacks of the doing the same thing with Cas during the last fight. "How many, Sam?"
"Just the two." Dean got a good look at his face and took a startled step back; Sam's eyes had gone full demon black and Dean had a single, horrible moment to think he'd walked into a trap. Then Sam smiled and gestured, sending Azazel flying into the wall. "Dean, go. I'll hold them off. I've been waiting for this." Dean hesitated and Sam grabbed his arm. "You don't have a lot of time," he said, something far too close to pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's always this way. I wish I'd known sooner." Sam took a deep breath and made a beckoning gesture, pulling Alastair toward him and giving Dean a clear shot through the arch. "Go."
Dean took three steps forward, then looked back at Sam, unwilling to leave him alone against two powerful demons. Sam caught his eye and nodded. "Go find him, Dean. Look for a metal door with a silver crescent." The air crackled with power. "I got this."
Dean rushed through the archway without another look back.
***
It wasn't exactly a crescent. Dean traced the shape, the demon workmanship burning him through his gloves. He'd never picked up enough Enochian to be anything close to fluent, but he did recognize some symbols here and there and this crescent shape was one of them.
It meant Pit.
Dean couldn't X-Ray into the room and he was willing to bet everything he owned that it was sound proof, too. It was locked but Dean always knew exactly how to handle a locked door: he took a step back, then hit the door with a solid kick strong enough to crunch the metal and swing the door open.
The room inside was pitch black, dark even to Dean's vision. He groped for the wall; his fingers brushed against a panel and bright light flooded the room.
That was when Dean heard a soft cry of pain. Dean touched the panel again and the light dimmed, easily enough for Dean to see by.
In that first moment Dean wished he'd never found the light. Castiel was strung up against the far wall, hanging limp from barbed hooks skewered through his wings. For a moment Dean was rooted to the spot; he realized that while there was a part of him that dreaded the thought he'd never find Cas, God, had he not want to find him like this.
Then Castiel made another small, pained sound and Dean snapped out of it. He flew up to Castiel, wrapping one arm around his waist to take the weight off of his wings. "Cas. Cas, you hear me?" he said, eying the harness hooking him to the wall to figure out the best way to dismantle it. The hooks were connected to a series of gears and counterweights; one wrong move and Castiel's wings would be ripped apart. "Talk to me."
"Dean?" he whispered, his voice so faint even Dean's hearing barely caught it.
"Yeah, buddy, I'm here."
Dean felt him heave in two ragged breaths. "I didn't tell them anything. I didn't. I swear. I didn't, Dean...."
"Of course you didn't," he said, the thought never having occurred to him. "C'mon, Cas. That's the last thing I'd ever have to worry about."
"I prayed. Every...every moment. Wanted to...to see you. Tell you." It was like he couldn't get enough air to force out the words. Dean wanted to tell him to shut up but he was fighting so hard to talk. "Hadn't abandoned my duty."
"Of course you didn't." Up close Dean could see the wings were matted with so much blood they looked like a rusty, red-streaked brown instead of white. His clothes were blood-soaked rags; every time Dean shifted position he gasped like he'd just been stabbed. "Either your god's a dick or you should have been a little more specific with those prayers."
Dean was startled to feel him let out an amused gasp at that. "Perhaps." He shuddered again. "Can...can you please get me down?"
"I'm working on it, Cas, I swear to God. This thing's more complicated than it looks." He finally found the weak spot; one burst of his vision and the whole thing came apart. Castiel fell against him with a sharp sob of pain, the sound muffled against Dean's shoulder. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Cas, I got you, you're okay." The wings were heavy, dead weight and Dean lowered Castiel to the floor as quickly as he could.
"My wings," he whispered, his voice breaking. "They...." A spasm of pain shook him, twisting the words into a low moan.
The room was freezing and Dean did his best to hold Cas up from the cold floor, trying to convince himself that was why Castiel was shivering so hard. He thought Castiel was talking about the hooks Dean hadn't gotten the chance to remove until he turned on the X-Ray and saw.
Every bone in both wings were broken. Dean counted dozens of cracks spiraling through each bone, so many Dean couldn't count them all; he remembered how painful it had been for Castiel when his wing was only bruised and felt his stomach twist into sick knots. "Okay," Dean said, to himself almost as much as Castiel. "We'll get you out of here and you'll be okay."
Dean was a good liar but even he wasn't sure he really believed that. Once he pulled his vision away from the wreck the demons had made of Castiel's wings he saw to his growing horror that the rest of him was in almost the same shape. Cas winced as Dean tried to shift him to a position that would put the least amount of stress on his shattered ribs; Dean could see spreading dark spots he pretended wasn't obvious internal bleeding. Castiel's eyelids fluttered and Dean forced down his panic. "Cas. You gotta stay awake, okay? Look at me, Cas." Castiel's eyes blinked back open. "That's right, buddy. You keep looking at me."
Cas nodded, his jaw tightening as if it took all his concentration. "How...how did you find me?"
"Had a little help." As if on cue the building shook; Dean hoped Sam finished up soon, Cas needed to get out of here now. "Jesus Christ, Cas, you've been gone for days, I've been losing my mind trying to find you."
Castiel's brow furrowed, as if Dean had slipped into another language. "You...looked for me?"
"Dude. Of course I did. What kind of question is that? I've been tearing the city apart."
The sudden confusion in Cas' eyes broke something in Dean. "I thought...always seem to...to resent my presence...."
"They tell you that?" He saw the flash of shame in his friend's eyes and knew he'd guessed right. "Shh, It's okay. Cas, listen to me: I was never going to stop looking for you. You understand? If it took every day for the rest of my life, I was gonna find you." A tear slid down Castiel's face and it took everything in Dean not to go and rip out the demons' throats for doing that to his stoic partner. "What the hell possessed you to take them on by yourself?"
Castiel swallowed. "You...you were right. Not your war. Mine. Always was mine."
"Dude," Dean said, shaking his head. He had to keep him awake, keep him talking; every time he turned up his hearing Cas' heartbeat was a little bit fainter. "You pick now to listen to me?"
Castiel's lips actually quirked up. "Never...could tell when you were kidding." He shivered, one hand tangling in Dean's cape. "You were right about my sword. It didn't work." His eyes were wide and sad. "They broke it," he whispered, the words barely audible.
"I'll heat-vision it back together for you," Dean said. "Good as new. Better."
Another broken ghost of a smile. "Not always...that easy to fix things, Dean."
Dean fought down the understanding that they weren't talking about swords anymore. "Yeah, well, here's a tip for the future: if you're in a fight, so am I. That's how the whole crime-fighting partner thing works, Cas."
"Liked being your partner," Castiel said softly, like someone could overhear.
"Seriously? Always got the feeling your were ashamed to be seen with me."
The words were meant as a joke but Castiel's eyes went wide with surprise. "No," he said, fingers digging into Dean's arm. "Never ashamed of...of you. Actions, at times but not you." He squeezed Dean's arm, demanding he pay attention. "Proud of you," he said and Dean had no idea how he was managing to put that much ferocity in his voice. "Proud to be...chosen as your Guide, Dean." His hand reached up to touch the hand print of on Dean's shoulder. "Every moment. You must believe that, Dean"
Dean nodded. He'd agree with anything Castiel said right now.
"Good." The surge of energy had left him visibly weaker; Dean could hear his heart racing, fast and faint as a frightened bird's. "Always proud of you. Need you to know that."
"Cas, don't talk like that."
"When...would be the time?" Castiel's eyes turned serious again. "Perhaps...if I'd been better..."
Dean was putting a stop to that bullshit before it started. He tipped Castiel's chin up, making sure to meet his eyes. "You never did a single thing wrong, Cas. You understand me? All the screw ups, they were on me, not you. I'd be a crap hero without you."
Castiel shook his head. "You don't need me. Haven't... for a long time." His lips twitched. "Other way around, I think...think is the phrase."
Another spasm shook him and Dean held him tighter for the second. "Shh. I got you. You're okay, I got you."
Castiel nodded, another tear winding down his face. "I know."
"Dude, remember," he said, willing the bone-deep fear out of his voice, "I'm the one who's a giant screw-up. You said yourself I don't know half the shit I'm supposed to. I know I'm not what you guys were expecting."
Castiel shook his head again, fond amusement flashing across his face. "Still don't...don't listen when I talk." He met Dean's eyes, shaking from the effort. "You're better. A Champion...should take the time to comfort a frightened child." He sagged back in Dean's arms, exhausted and panting. "You're better," he insisted again.
"Shh. We're both pretty badass, okay?"
"Guides...supposed to be remote. Distant. I tried, I...." He looked up at Dean, almost like he was about to confess a shameful secret. "I liked being your partner," he said again.
"Cas, you still are. We're gonna get you out of here, get you patched up, then we're gonna go right back to beating up the bad guys. You hear me?"
Castiel nodded. "Of course." His eyes were unfocused in a way that scared Dean. "Dean," he whispered. "Do you still want to know...what I wanted?"
Dean didn't. There was only one thing Cas could be about to say. "You don't have to, Cas."
"I do." He took a deep, deep breath, like he was gathering up strength --- then he shuddered. "Dean?" he breathed, a strange, panicked light in his eyes.
"I'm here, Cas. I'm right here." In his peripheral vision Dean saw Sam cross through the open door, beat up but in one piece. That was all the thought Dean could spare him at the moment. "I'm right here."
"I...I can't...." He took one shallow, spasmed breath, his hand clutching at Dean's arm.
The grip went slack. In an instant he went from looking at Dean to looking through him, everything that was Cas bleeding away from his eyes. "You stay with me," Dean ordered. "You hear me, you son of a bitch? You stay with me." He heard Castiel's heart beat, soft as a whisper now, once, twice.
Then there was nothing but silence.
"Cas?" Dean whispered, his eyes not making sense of what they were seeing. "C'mon, buddy. You gotta breathe."
"Dean, I'm sorry," he heard Sam say behind him. "I told you, someone shows up in my dreams, it's always...."
He trailed off but it didn't matter because Dean barely heard him. Dean saved people, it was what he did. He couldn't believe he could be too late the one time it mattered the most. He pulled Cas up closer and cradled his head, trying not to look at the tortured ruin of his wings lying limp on the floor. Trying not to remember how'd they'd felt under his hands less than a week before. "You gotta come back, Cas."
He thought about Castiel praying to his strange, silent god while the demons broke him to pieces, how he hadn't prayed for escape but just to see Dean. How that god had then answered him in such a horrible way. "You give him back," Dean demanded, his voice shaking. "You don't get to take him like this."
Dean wiped the tears from Castiel's face. He wondered, with a sudden, certain lurch that he was right, whether this was first time anyone had ever held him. "You stupid son of a bitch, you can't die. Not when you sucked so bad at the living part." Dean kissed him, trying to force life back into his body through sheer force of will. His lips were already cool.
It was amazing, how quickly priorities could snap into place. If asked a month ago Dean would have rattled off a list of things he'd wanted, petty things, everything from money to fame to beautiful women. All of that faded into background noise. Dean knew the only thing he would ever want again was for Castiel to breathe.
He felt his hand print scar start to burn and that was what made it real for Dean. The hand print was what linked them, their connection. Now he losing that, too. The burn kept building, the pain increasing until Dean felt like his shoulder was on fire. He opened his eyes; his arm was enveloped in pulsing white light, so bright he had to look away. It cracked like lightning for a moment, then shot across his arm and into Castiel, jerking him out of Dean's arms.
Dean watched as the light played over Cas' wings first, straightening the twisted angles and filling in the empty spots where the demons had pulled out feathers by the fist full, leaving the wings whole and beautiful and so dazzlingly white it almost hurt Dean to look at them. Then the light traveled down the rest of him; Dean turned on the X-Ray and saw it setting and repairing the broken bones, the dark spots of bleeding shrinking to nothing. It even repaired his clothing.
By the time the light finally fizzled out, healing what little remained of the cut along Cas' hairline from the previous battle, Castiel looked like he was only sleeping. There was one long, long moment where Dean wondered if that was all there would be.
Then Castiel's whole body arched as he heaved in a single, enormous breath. Dean was rooted to the spot for a single disbelieving moment, then he rushed forward, reaching Castiel just as his eyes flew open. Castiel sat up and Dean put his hand on his shoulder, as if that was the only way to convince himself this was real. "Cas?" he said cautiously, as if this was a spell the wrong word could break. "You okay?"
Castiel looked up at Dean and then flexed his right hand, staring at it as if he had never seen it before. He unfurled his wings, stretching them to their full length, then looked at Dean with complete awe in his eyes. "You pulled me back from the abyss, Dean."
Dean laughed and pulled Castiel into a massive hug. "You ever scare me like again and I will kill you myself, I swear to God." It took a moment for Cas to return the embrace, his arms wrapping around Dean's neck as if Castiel was trying out something he'd seen in a movie once and wanted to make sure he got it right. Then he squeezed Dean so hard Dean almost couldn't breathe; Castiel's heart was a loud, steady drumbeat to Dean's ears and Dean couldn't imagine ever wanting to hear anything else. After a few minutes Castiel shifted, looking over Dean's shoulder, and Dean suddenly remembered Sam was still there. "Cas, you've met Sam. He's on the team now." He craned his head around to see Sam, delighted to see that he was outright crying. Dean could rip on him just about forever for that. "You kill those two bastards?"
Sam shook his head and a part of Dean was glad. They didn't get off that easy. "Did some damage but they got away. Should be a while before they show up again, though." He wiped at his eyes. "Shit. Shit. I don't believe I just saw that."
"And don't you dare write a word of it."
Sam shook his head. "Promise."
Dean grinned and turned back to Castiel, who was still clinging to him as if he was afraid this would all stop if he and Dean weren't touching. "Cas? Think you were about to say something?"
Castiel laughed and Dean thought that was the perfect sound he'd ever heard. His blue eyes were bright with joy as he leaned close to Dean's ear. "This is what I wanted," he whispered, his low, gravely voice shaking. "I've loved you since before I knew the word."
There was really nothing for Dean to do but kiss him. And then kiss him some more. A lot of lost time to make up for, after all.
***
The sun was just rising as they got up to the warehouse's roof and Dean watched Castiel drink it in. "I didn't think I would get to see another of these."
"Plenty of more where that came from." Sam had slipped away at some point and Dean had some dim recollection of promising an exclusive but he didn't care. Not when Castiel was right next to him, his heart beating. Not with suddenly a future spread out before them. "You ready to go home?"
Castiel nodded, taking a step towards the south when Dean pulled him back and into a long, slow, deep kiss, feeling his breath catch in that first moment. Dean teased out the kiss, relishing the sound of Cas' heart starting to race. "I said," he whispered, keeping Castiel so close their lips were still almost touching, "are you ready to go home?"
Castiel studied him for a moment, head tilted to the side, then broke into the brightest smile Dean had ever seen. He took three deliberate steps to the northern ledge, the direction of Dean's penthouse, then looked back over his shoulder. "Try to keep up," he said, then spread his wings and jumped.
Dean just laughed and followed. The sun was warm and the city under them was quiet, just beginning to wake. Later on there would be patrol and probably another bull session with the press. Wars to fight.
Castiel was still just close enough for Dean to hear his heart beating
Dean turned up the speed. All of that would come later. First he had a race to win.
-fin-