tracy_loo_who | Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (1/18)

This fic is set after season 4 and totals ~122,600 words. It's a story about friendship and love, recovery and trust, free will, and Dean and Castiel's journey through it all. It's also about chocolate and hugs. If you read it, I really hope you enjoy it. ♥

Title: And I Will Walk On Water (1/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam
Rating: NC-17 for dark themes
Warnings: implied rape/torture
Word Count: ~2,900
Notes: Endless thanks to

strangeandcharm for telling me what was good, to

ibroketuesday for telling me what was crap, and to both for all the hand-holding and support. Title is from Storm by Lifehouse.
Podfic: Read by

liannabob, download here.
Translation:

mushishi7 is translating this fic into Chinese and Jin is translating it into Korean!
Spoilers: Season 4, but with light season 5 influences later on.
Summary: In which Dean discovers that the archangels didn't finish their job after all, and that demons picked up where they left off.

Dean had spent the past three months thinking the archangels had killed Castiel, and now he found himself almost wishing he'd been right. Then again, he had no way of knowing if that bruised and bloodied figure in the corner of the cell really was Castiel, because Castiel didn't bruise or bleed, and he certainly didn't curl into himself on cold stone floors, naked and shivering and completely oblivious to everything around him. Castiel was an angel, after all.

The demon said it was Castiel, but demons lied, and it had been such an unlikely series of coincidences that had led them here in the first place. It was a coincidence that they'd been passing through this random town in Indiana, a coincidence that a woman had been stabbed by a demon just down the hall from the room Sam and Dean had been staying in, and a coincidence that the cops had shown up just in time to see Sam standing over the bodies of a man and a woman who had just been stabbed to death, catching his breath and still clutching Ruby's blood-covered knife in one hand.

Dean wasn't sure if it was a coincidence that the cops had turned out to be demons, because that kind of thing wasn't exactly rare these days, what with the world about to end and all, but he still thought it was too unlikely that so many coincidences could lead them straight to Castiel, who was supposed to be dead. What were the chances, right?

Something in his gut told Dean the demon wasn't lying this time, though, and Dean knew to trust his gut. It would also explain the strange markings they'd seen spray-painted on the outside of the abandoned police station they'd been taken to, demonic symbols that Dean hadn't recognized but had nevertheless tipped him off that something was wrong. He'd met Sam's eyes for a brief instant and known his brother was having the same thoughts, but they'd been cuffed at the time and unable to do anything but let themselves be ushered into the building.

Now they were still cuffed and unable to do anything, but Dean thought maybe those sigils were meant to contain an angel, and the fact that it could be his angel stirred something black and dangerous inside him, something that terrified him sometimes but now lent him strength and wrath and heightened his senses.

The demons weren't helping. "What do you think of my handiwork, Dean?" one of them drawled, the one who'd told them that the pitiful bastard Dean could see through the bars was Castiel. The demon wore a tall, meaty police officer who looked like he could pound Dean to a pulp, and all Dean wanted to do was dig into his chest and crumple up his lungs so he couldn't talk anymore.

"Go to Hell," he spat, trying not to look at the telltale streaks of blood caked around Castiel's bottom and all over the insides of his thighs. He looked anyway, and it was almost enough to make him sick, regardless of whether or not it was actually Castiel.

"Already been there," the demon replied, with a hard edge to its voice that hadn't been there a moment before. "And I learned from one of the best." He gestured to Castiel again, and Dean gritted his teeth against the thought of Castiel spending three months at the mercy of someone who had taken pointers from Alastair. He knew what kind of damage Alastair's students could inflict all too well, and quashed his sudden urge to feel sorry for the demon because he couldn't afford the distraction.

And it was a demon, for fuck's sake, and it made sure whatever fucked up sense of kinship Dean was feeling toward it was short-lived by continuing conversationally, "He prayed to you, you know, up until about a month ago. An angel of the Lord, praying to you instead of to God, can you imagine that? And then he stopped screaming your name and just started screaming, and begging us to kill him," the demon added wistfully, while Dean ground his teeth. "Didn't last very long at all, did he? Who knew angels broke so easily? Then again, I suspect they're not so used to getting fucked -- he was tight, that one, but I think we've managed to loosen him up a little, between the three of us." It turned its head to give Castiel a leering grin, and that was all Dean needed.

He twisted free from the thankfully much smaller demon holding him and charged at the smug motherfucker, but because his hands were cuffed behind him still, all he could do was head-butt the demon in the stomach hard enough to send them both sprawling to the floor with Dean on top. There were two other demons, and the one who had been holding Dean attacked him from behind with punches, between trying to pull him off its leader. Dean heard a scuffle and a thick thud from where Sam was, and the third demon gave a grunt of pained surprise before collapsing to the floor. Dean hoped it was the demon who had collapsed, anyway, and was heartened when he heard Sam fumbling with the keys a moment later.

For his part, Dean kneed, kicked, and elbowed doggedly at whatever he could come into contact with, but wrath could only get him so far and it didn't take too long for the two demons to overpower him and drag him back to his feet, the smaller one holding him in a choke while the larger one came at him with a snarled, "I've been waiting for this for a long time, Dean Winchester." Dean had only a moment to wonder why the demon seemed to have a personal vendetta against him, and then he braced himself for the impact.

But Sam got there first, lunging past Dean with his brother's name on his lips and crashing into the demon. They were about matched in size, but the demon lost this one. It fell backwards with a shriek of rage, hands clutching the hilt of Ruby's knife, which stood protruding from the center of its chest. Dean kicked the demon behind him in the knee and it released its choke hold on him to stagger backwards. Sam made quick work of it while Dean stood wheezing and trying to gulp in lungfuls of air, and then it was over and the silence that settled over them was a tense one. Three dead demons, two Winchesters, and one possibly-angel who was supposed to have died three months ago.

Dean and Sam glanced at each other before their gazes slid over to the naked form still huddled in the corner of the cell. If it was Castiel, he gave no indication that he was aware of their presence, and Sam frowned as he dug through the keys and unlocked first Dean's handcuffs and then the cell door. He opened it wordlessly and stood by as Dean entered. His fury dissipated, but the leftover adrenaline made him suddenly nervous and he wasn't at all sure whether he hoped it would be Castiel or not. It would be small relief to know his angel had survived if he was now broken, and Dean winced when he neared enough to see the infected wounds all over Castiel's body. Some were just cuts in the skin, others were deep, oozing gashes, and between them all Dean could make out many finger-shaped bruises. No, Dean decided he definitely did not want this shivering, dying man to be his guardian angel. Guardian angels weren't supposed to be breakable.

"Cas?" he said shakily, and when he received no reply he tried again. "Cas, hey, is that you?" Dean knelt behind him on the floor and reached out to touch his shoulder, and Castiel finally reacted. He flinched violently away from Dean and curled himself into an even tighter ball, whimpering as the movement stretched open a fresh-looking gash across his back and made it start bleeding again.

Dean was hesitant to touch him again, so he scooted around until he was wedged in the tiny space between Castiel and the damp cement of the wall. "Cas," he tried again, and shot Sam a helpless look when it didn't work, but Sam just shrugged uncomfortably and stayed where he was by the cell door.

"Come on, Cas," Dean said, and he had no choice but to touch him again. He did it as gently and carefully as possible, taking Castiel's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting his face up so he could see if it was really him. Castiel's face was bruised and his nose was broken, but it was definitely him, and at the moment he was struggling weakly against Dean's grip, eyes squeezed shut and lips working around low pleas.

"No more, please," he whispered, and Dean exhaled slowly, feeling the knot that had started twisting in his stomach the moment he'd laid eyes on Castiel fifteen minutes ago tighten and settle.

"It's me, Dean," he said, not letting go of Castiel's chin. "Come on, Cas, open your eyes."

Castiel did as he was told immediately, with an obedience born of fear that was unmistakable. It made a muscle in Dean's jaw twitch. But Castiel didn't focus on him, and Dean tried to lean into his field of vision. "You in there, buddy? It's Dean."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Castiel mumbled, louder this time, and it came out sounding all garbled, like there was something wrong with his mouth.

Dean frowned and leaned closer, which made Castiel shudder and try to squirm away. "Sorry for what?"

"Dean--" he said, and for a moment Dean was about to let out a breath of relief, but Castiel continued miserably, "Dean. I was ordered to save Dean, not you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my orders..."

At first Dean had no idea what he was talking about, but then he did. God, he fucking did. Castiel had no teeth, that's why he was having so much trouble forming the words, and Dean knew this not because he could see clearly in the dim light, but because he knew what people sounded like when they had no teeth. He knew what it felt like to pry someone's mouth open and peel the soft pink gums away with a razor, right down to the root of the teeth, and he knew what it felt like to break those teeth off one by one so that when he slid into their mouth later and told them to suck, it would feel all the more glorious. Dean knew all of this, so he also knew that the demon who'd done those exact same things to Castiel hadn't taken pointers from Alastair. He'd taken pointers from Dean, and he'd probably been left behind on the rack when the angel he'd thought was going to save him ignored him in favor of saving his torturer instead. Dean was the one who'd made him a demon, and now he sat back, stunned and feeling sick with guilt.

Castiel didn't notice. "Just kill me, please, no more, kill me," he went on, and Dean forced his bile down to focus on Castiel.

"Cas," he said, louder this time, "I'm not going to hurt you, it's me, Dean."

And that, finally, seemed to get Castiel's attention. "Dean," he repeated with another shudder, and this time he did manage to focus on Dean, with difficulty. "Dean?" His voice was small and uncertain, but Dean thought he could maybe hear a bit of wonder, too.

"Yeah, Cas, it's me, I'm here now. I've got you," Dean assured him as soothingly as he knew how, and he tried for a smile but found he couldn't do it.

Castiel closed his eyes, visibly trying to collect himself. "I thought you gave up," he said eventually, and Dean could hear the silent on me at the end. He thought back to what the demon had said: He prayed to you, you know, up until about a month ago. Dean didn't know if it was a coincidence that had led him here (a voice inside his head whispered the word fate, which he resolutely ignored), but he sure as hell didn't think it was a coincidence that Castiel had given up when Dean had, when his prayers of Where the hell are you, Cas? I've been asking around but no one seems to know, are you still out there? had turned into I guess you're really gone, then. I'm sorry, Cas. Bye. And then they'd stopped, about a month ago.

"I--" he began, but what could he possibly say? I'm sorry I gave up on you and left you, an angel of the Lord, here to be raped and tortured after you disobeyed and got into a fight with some archangels for me? Dean grimaced. "Let's just get you out of here, okay, Cas?"

He made to help Castiel sit up, but Castiel opened his eyes again and they were skittish. "Don't touch me," he whispered, and it sounded like a plea.

Dean frowned and let his hands fall into his lap. "Can you walk by yourself?"

Castiel uncurled himself slowly and made an effort to prop himself up, but the moment he put pressure on his lower half, his features twisted in pain and he fell back onto his side. Dean pretended not to notice how much effort Castiel was putting into not crying out, but that was all he could allow him. "Cas. Castiel. You gotta let me help you, okay? I'm sorry."

This time Castiel said nothing, only stared in silence at the wall behind Dean, refusing to meet his eyes. Dean sighed. He didn't know if angels were supposed to have pride, but then again this particular angel had done a lot of things he wasn't supposed to do, and Dean could understand that Castiel didn't want him to see him like this. Hell, Dean didn't want to see him like this. But neither of them had a choice in the matter, so Dean took off his outer shirt and draped it over him, trying to cover as much of him as he could and afford him at least that tiny measure of dignity. Then he slid his arms under Castiel, one across his back and the other under his knees, and Castiel flinched but didn't fight him.

He was hot, feverishly so, yet he lay trembling and shivering in Dean's arms, and Dean had to remind himself gruffly that trying to hold Castiel closer and coddle and take care of him probably wouldn't go over well. Just because he was feeling a sudden and ridiculous surge of protectiveness didn't mean he should act on it, right? Whatever had happened, Castiel was still a goddamned angel, for Christ's sake.

"You want some help, there?" Sam asked hesitantly, but Dean shook his head and stood up, discovering that Castiel was painfully light. The movement must have hurt him, because Castiel trembled even harder and turned his head so that his face was hidden and pressed into Dean's shoulder, broken nose be damned. Sam looked away, and Dean carried Castiel out of the cell and through the small police station in silence, trying to jostle him as little as possible.

The moment he stepped through the threshold of the door and out into the sunlight, Castiel twisted out of his arms and must have unfurled his wings because suddenly Dean found himself being knocked forcefully back onto his ass by something enormous and strong and feathery. His surprised shout was muffled when the shirt he'd draped over Castiel was flung into his face, and by the time he'd sat up and was blinking at his surroundings, they were angel-free.

"You okay?" Sam asked from behind him, and Dean rubbed at his face as he tried to process everything that had just happened. Castiel was alive after all, but he was gone now and with him had gone any hope Dean might have taken from knowing his angel was still out there. The world was still ending, and now he knew that people he'd carved into demons with his own hands were walking among innocent people and passing his techniques on to them. Dean felt drained and wretched.

"I'm fine," he replied, because that's what he always replied, and got to his feet.

Sam studied him for a moment, clearly not believing him but unsure what to say. "We couldn't have known, you know that, right?" he asked.

And somehow, that made Dean feel even worse. Always a step behind. He gave Sam a tight, humorless smile and said shortly, "Right."

"If you want to talk about it--"

"Well, I don't," Dean snapped, because how could anyone talk about an angel getting tortured and raped? His brother looked quickly away.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence later, Sam offered quietly, "Beer?"

Dean knew a beer or ten wouldn't fix anything, but Sam was trying, and Dean could be grateful for that. At the end of the world, he still had his Sammy, and that was a hell of a lot more than he could have expected, after the past year. It was certainly a hell of a lot more than Castiel had, poor bastard. He gave Sam a weary nod and thought, Take care of yourself, Cas.

Part 2

Warning: spoiler on page 2 of comments, but only if you expand collapsed threads.