Chapter Text
So let’s make this right,
And I’ll hold you tight,
Through the whole night,
Just you and I.
Gonna break down the walls,
That are building up around you,
Gonna be strong, believe, when no one is around!
Once again the Winchesters had spent their week driving, arguing, listening to classic rock, killing some evil sonsofbitches, salting and burning anything that came in their way and shooting some spirits for good measure.
There was no reason for today to be any different.
Then again, the Winchester's could rarely find convincing reasons that explained all the hardship they had to go through. They had literally been to hell and back, and for what? To satisfy the sick desires of some demon, who would never win over Sammy anyway?!
Dean had never spent long dwelling on could-have-beens and what-ifs. He just didn't see the point, he had to carry on saving people and hunting things, so he might as well suck it up and deal with things like he always did. He would do anything to please his late father, even if it did mean putting his life at risk, he hid his doubts well.
It was that go-get-‘em attitude which caused Dean to pull up onto the drive of a run down old cottage. The windows were smashed, shards of broken glass carpeting the floor and reflecting what little sunlight passed through the dense woodland. Dean vaguely wondered why all the places he and Sammy visited were in the middle of nowhere and so ugly. Would it really hurt for a spirit to haunt some nice, accessible semi-detached house or a stripper bar or something? Couldn't they get a break at least this once? No. No they could not. Instead of a shady bar with hot, half-naked babes, Sam and Dean were making their way over to an unhinged door which was sagging against its frame and crumbling from rot.
At least it wouldn't need kicking down.
Sam stood one step behind his older brother, watching his back and holding his gun out in case of any unwelcome surprises. When no spirits decided to materialise Dean shouldered the door open and recoiled at the smell. It was a mixture of blood, rot and something that smelt suspiciously like urine. Overall, it was not a good combination. By no means were the Winchesters used to lavender and rose scented candles, but this place was really pushing things to the extreme end of unhygienic.
"That is fucking disgusting!"
"Ugh." Sam gagged and buried his nose in his charcoal grey hoodie; he had smelt corpses with a more pleasant scent than this!
"Probably squatters. Looks like they’ve long since cleared off. I can't see why, I can't think of anywhere I'd rather live." And it's back, the famous Dean Winchester sarcasm. This was going to be a long night and he needed some sort of coping mechanism, sarcasm was a good option and at least this was just a simple salt and burn.
Bobby had called the Winchesters earlier that day with information on a restless spirit haunting some cottage in the middle of nowhere, nothing too nasty yet; no-one had been hurt but there had been rumors going around about a ghost screaming in agony during the night. Those sorts of rumors could lead to hysteria – one thing the Winchesters really didn’t want to have to deal with.
The brothers had promised to check it out for Bobby and had come prepared for almost anything, guns, silver bullets, salt, holy water, a crucifix and other essentials had been packed in Dean's duffel. They were ready for business…and to collapse in some dingy motel room for a takeaway in front of the telly, a few beers and an early night.
Dean tentatively moved into the first room, what had once been a kitchen but was now a cemetery for dead mice, insects and god only knows how many bacteria. There was something green growing on what looked like a burger box and Dean began to regret the double-pattied, extra bacon and cheese loaded 'meal' he had consumed earlier. Sam followed with the EMF reader in his hand, although nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on.
"Nothing. Wanna go to the next room before we become re-acquainted with my dinner?"
"Don't be such a girl." Dean put up his usual tough-guy front but was grateful to leave the kitchen and enter the lounge. This room was almost as bad, there were stains covering the carpet and everything was covered in a thick layer of blood. Dean did a cursory sweep, gun in hand and waited for Sammy to give him the all clear on the EMF front.
"Still nothing. Are you sure this is the right place? It just looks like some manky old house, there's no sulphur, no markings on the walls and no screaming. Probably just locals making up horror stories for a laugh, maybe some junkies stabbed each other here or something."
"Yeah, evil spirits screaming in endless pain. Some guys really know how to party hard." The irony was practically tangible and Sam smiled to himself, Dean could get so uptight at times.
"Chill. Anyway, shall we go already?"
"Let's just check the bedrooms, and then we can go."
"Fine." Sam shrugged and followed Dean into the last two rooms, both of which were rather unremarkable, well at least in the sense of supernatural entities. The state of deterioration was just as horrifying to Sam though, he couldn't believe that the council had let this place get so bad, but then again the authorities never knew what they were doing and messed everything up, at least when it came to the supernatural. It looked as if their trip had been a complete waste of time.
When Dean was just five paces from the door Sam heard a muffled sound and a dull thud, he whipped around and raised his gun, pointing wildly at thin air.
"Dean! Tell me you heard that?"
"Yeah, where is the fugly?"
"I don't know. I can't see anything at the moment."
"Materialise you bitch, I am so not in the mood for games." There was no response and Dean groaned, it had been a long shot but he couldn't help but half hope that the spirit would do as he requested. That was when he heard another sound, a low whimper and frantic scrabbling. It sounded as if whatever the thing was, it was trapped in the walls.
"Whose there?" Sam tried to remain calm but he could feel beads of sweat trickling down his neck and his baggy hoodie suddenly seemed too tight and suffocating despite the cold. Dean was the one who plucked up the courage to go over to the wall, as always taking the dominant role and looking out for his brother. If anyone or anything wanted to hurt Sammy it would have to get through him first. He cautiously tapped the wall with one finger and the scrabbling sound immediately stopped. Dean frowned and knelt down to continue his tapping; it wasn't until he was a few meters down the wall that he heard a difference in the tone of his knocking. It now sounded hollow and the wall was slightly softer in texture.
"It's a fake wall."
"And where there is a wall, there is a door." Ever the voice of reason Sammy began to shift the chest of drawers that was resting against the wall, trying to ignore the cloud of dust that engulfed him as he did so. When the dust and cobwebs had settled down on the filthy floor Sam and Dean took a step back to examine the door, it looked just about big enough for a small adult or child to crawl into. There was a set of iron chains wrapped around the door handle and they were secured by a large, rusty padlock.
"Bingo." Dean pulled a knife out of his pocket and began to pick at the lock, letting out a low gasp his when he nicked the edge of his finger. He attacked the lock with renewed vigour and let out a whoop when it fell to the ground with a dull thud. Sam knelt down next to Dean and helped him remove the chains from the door, throwing them aside and stepping back as Dean swung it open.
"HOLY SHIT." Dean let out an exclamation of shock and when Sam turned to look at his brother he noticed that Dean's freckles stood out more than usual against his rapidly paling skin.
"What is it Dean?"
"W-who."
"What do you mean who? You are scaring me Dean."
"I mean that you mean who. There is someone in there." Dean took a step back and Sam was hit with the scent of urine, blood and sweat. Sam gagged slightly and had to take a good few calming breaths before he turned back to the curled up figure behind the door. The poor boy had been squashed up into a room no more than five by five feet. He was completely curled up over himself in a fetal position, unable to stretch out. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t as there were more chains wrapped around the figure's wrists and the room was so cramped that he could barely shift.
Dean took a closer look at the boy and realised how much shit they were in. His flesh was ghostly pale, almost glowing in the minimal light from the hallway, and those were just the few and far between areas that were not completely covered in bruising. The boy was covered in magnificent shades of blue, black, green, yellow and purple. Dean could count every one of the boy's ribs, see the outline of every bone, and see every single vein transporting blood through the boy's frail body. His spine was protruding and Dean could see that the boy's short, dark hair was matted with a mixture of blood and sweat. He could also see the tremors of sheer terror that shook through him, almost making him look like he was fitting or convulsing.
"Sammy. Car. Now. Get food, water, clothes and blankets. NOW." Dean kept his voice level but couldn't prevent the panic causing his pitch to go several octaves higher than normal. He chucked the Impala's key to Sammy before turning his attention back to the boy.
"Yes." Sam followed his brother's orders immediately, sprinting to the Impala and scrambled around manically, pulling out what he needed. When he came hurrying back, arms full, Dean was leaning in to the room as best as he could, talking in a deep, authoritative yet soothing voice.
"It's ok now. We are not going to hurt you. I’m Dean, this is my brother Sammy. We are here to help you." If there was a response from the boy, Sam didn't hear it. He watched as Dean cautiously began to untie the gag from the boy's mouth, causing him to retreat further and moan. When Dean finally got it off with fumbling fingers, he let the cloth drop to the floor.
"Dean?" Dean ignored his brother and continued trying to calm the boy down; clearly failing miserably since the stranger was hyperventilating and struggling for each breath, head bowed behind his tied hands.
"Please. We need to get you out of here. Just give me your hands and I can undo those chains." Once again there was no response, so Dean reached a hand into the room in an attempt to remove the chains. The boy let out a single, drawn out scream and began to thrash as best as he could, jarring his left arm and letting out a pitiful howl. After that his mouth opened in silent exclamations of horror, he could no longer get any sounds out.
"Hey, hey! Calm down. I won't hurt you." Dean shot Sam a desperate look but Sam just shrugged in response. He had no idea what to do either. Dean knew that he had to get the boy out of the room, but that the boy was not going to move towards them willingly, at least not without good reason to.
Dean felt incredibly guilty about his next plan, but he knew it would work. Therefore, he took the supplies from Sam and opened the first thing that came to hand, a large bar of chocolate. He ripped open the package and broke off a piece, placing the bar on the floor in sight of the boy and holding out the single piece of chocolate towards the door. It took a few moments for the boy to finally raise his head, and it was not a pretty sight by any stretch of the imagination. His nose was crooked and oozing blood, both of the boy's bright blue eyes were surrounded by dark bruising and his cheeks were so hollow that he looked practically skeletal. Dean felt an overwhelming urge to pull his hand away and run, but he didn't. Instead he kept the piece of chocolate held out towards the boy. One of them would break the stillness first, and Dean Winchester never broke. Admittedly it took a good five minutes, but the boy eventually leant his head forwards out of the door and took the chocolate from Dean's hand with his mouth, hands not currently being an option.
"There, see we are not going to hurt you. We want to help. Please just give me your arms and let me get you out of that hell hole." Blue eyes blinked rapidly as the boy began to glance wearily at Dean, then Sam and then back to Dean again. With his head still bowed he shuffled forwards slightly on his knees so that his head, shoulders and arms were outside of the cupboard/room.
"That's it." Now that he was in the light, the injuries looked even worse. His shoulder sported a deep gash which looked infected and the socket didn't seem right. Dean had experienced enough dislocated shoulders to know that this lad currently had one.
Sam, who had been standing back observing his brother nervously, resting his weight on one foot, then the other, forced himself to stop bobbing. He didn't want to scare the boy. He offered his brother the dagger, which Dean had disguarded earlier, and watched as Dean reached forward, carefully took hold of the boy's good arm and began to pick away at the chains. Despite his best efforts the boy still let out a few moans and a shriek of pain, but at least he did not struggle too much.
"There. There. All done." Dean smiled reassuringly at the pale figure in front of him, whose eyes were half closed with pain. Dean broke off a few more pieces of chocolate and held them flat in his hand, letting out a sigh of relief when he boy reached out a shaky hand, took the food and crammed it in his mouth. When was the last time he ate something? Dean handed the boy the rest of the chocolate bar and it wasn't until he looked up with those wide eyes that Dean realised how innocent he looked, poor thing.
"I am going to have to fix up that shoulder. I'm really sorry but it will hurt, but trust me it will feel better afterwards." The boy gave a terrified nod, too traumatized to speak, and a couple of stray tears slid down his cheeks.
"I will need you to come fully out of there, why don't you let Sammy hold you while I do it." The boy nodded and slid out of the room, a few inches at a time until he was hunched over in the hall, curling in on himself as if he were still in confined conditions. Sam took his cue and took a few steps forward, settling next to the boy and placing a tentative hand on his back. The dark haired child immediately flinched, but gave no signs of trying to run away. In fact, after a few moments, he rested his head on Sam's chest. However, his breaths had once again become fast and ragged and Sam wondered how long it would be before he had another fully-fledged panic attack.
"You're doing great. Just lean against me and Dean will sort you out." Sam felt the boy nod slightly and he gave Dean a nod of his own, informing his brother that it was now or never.
"Ok, I am going to pop it back in now, bite down on Sam's hoodie." The boy merely whimpered in response, took a mouthful of charcoal gray material and braced himself, ready for the pain. It wasn't as if he hadn't experienced enough of it. He felt an arm wrap around his waist and a hand stroking his hair, assuming it was Sam, the taller of the two brothers. If he wasn't so terrified he would have pulled away, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He was barely aware of Dean counting down from three, and suddenly his whole world was one white hot flash of pain. The fabric in his mouth didn't do much to muffle his cries of pain and the next thing he knew he was lying on his good side, on the hard floor.
"You a'right?" Blue eyes looked up and registered puppy dog eyes staring down at him; he flinched and curled up, only uncurling when Dean offered him a bottle of sickly sweet liquid. He drank deeply and looked up into Dean's eyes. He looked so strong, as if he could protect anyone from anything. There was something in that face that simply invoked trust.
The boy nodded and sat up further, shivering from the cold. He tried to cover himself up with trembling hands but was not doing a very good job of it. He looked pleadingly at Dean, who realised the issue and blushed. Why did I not think of that before? Suddenly self conscious he offered the boy some baggy t-shirts and blankets and turned away to give him some privacy. However, getting a top over a recently fixed dislocated shoulder was not easy and after what seemed like the hundredth grunt of pain, Dean helped the boy get dressed, being careful not to touch any bare skin. That might frighten him again.
"Do you think you can walk? We need to get you away from this place." Blue eyes met green and suddenly Dean was being engulfed in a brief hug. So brief that he wondered whether the action had been a figment of his imagination.
But it wasn’t imaginary, the boy was desperate to escape.
Dean took the hug as a yes and stood up himself, followed by Sam. Both brothers then took one side of the boy and helped him to stand. However, god knows how many hours of disuse meant that his legs no longer felt like supporting any weight. If it wasn't for Sam and Dean the boy would have fallen back to the ground. Dean was surprised by how tall the lad was, although he was frail and bony, Dean wondered whether he had misjudged the boy's age. He had originally assumed from the boy's tiny frame and terrified demeanor, that he was around fifteen, but now from the way he held his head up despite everything he guessed that he was around nineteen or twenty.
They made their way slowly out of the house, Dean eventually scooping the boy up in his arms and laying him across the back seat of the Impala before sliding into the driver's seat next to Sam.
"We are going to take you back to our motel room; then we can work out what to do next. Will you be okay in the back there for half an hour?" Once again Dean received no verbal response and he let out a small sigh.
"There is no need to be afraid." Sam tried to comfort the boy, but he still did not respond.
"C'mon buddy, talk to us. At least tell me your name." No response.
Dean gave up and pulled out of the drive, glad to leave that god-forsaken cottage behind. It wasn't until twenty minutes later that Sam came up with an idea. He didn't get into Stanford for nothing. He handed his mobile over the boy, who blinked at him confused.
"Can you type your name in for me?" There was a pregnant pause before the blue eyed boy finally began to type, and then handed the phone back, quivering harder than ever.
"Castiel." Sam read out the name which the boy had typed, mostly for Dean's benefit. Dean grinned at his brother's ingenious idea before speaking.
"Well, we're glad to meet you Cas; we will take good care of you and sort out the son of a bitch who did this to you." Tears welled up in Cas’ eyes when he heard the nickname, out of nowhere a long forgotten memory of a kind-faced woman came into focus and he heard her call him Cas, with so much love and affection in her tone that it made him want to melt. But Cas wouldn't let the tears fall. He had cried enough recently, so instead he sniffed softly before drifting into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of a tall figure standing over him, fists raised and sneering down at him.