Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean was having about the worst day of his life. Not only had he lost his brother and gotten shot, but he'd been thrown into the back of a van, gagged, and tied up. Then came the impromptu surgery—a bullet removed from his leg with all the grace of a butcher. It was painful, but the real agony came from the one thing he couldn’t escape: the gnawing fear that Sam was gone.

The thought made him sick. After everything they’d been through, Sam was… gone? That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t end this way.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of the gag in his mouth, but that thought was quickly swallowed by the pain in his knee. Whatever Cindy’s plan was for him, he knew it was only going to get worse.

But then, the van screeched to a halt. His head slammed forward into the metal frame of the seats in front of him, the jolt making his blood sing with fire. He barely heard the door open on the other side, his world spinning, limbs numb from hours of forced confinement.

A second later, the back door to the van swung open, and he was yanked out by someone who certainly didn’t have his best interests at heart. Dean hissed through the gag, body buckling as the world beneath him shifted from the warm interior of the van to the cold, rough asphalt beneath him.

Relief surged through him like ice water. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was his end.

That thought barely had time to settle before he was slammed to the ground, a boot on his back forcing him down, hard. Dean grunted, the chains digging into his wrists, his pulse hammering like a war drum in his chest. He had no idea where they were, or who these people were, but they had Sam. And if they were willing to go this far, there was only one thing left for him to do—fight.

But before he could push himself to his knees, something sharp struck the side of his skull. His world exploded into darkness.

Dean woke up in agony.

He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know something was wrong. His entire body ached. His hands were bound tightly to the arms of a chair, and his legs were tethered to the damn thing as well. He tried to move, but only succeeded in pulling against the restraints, the metal cutting into his skin. Every muscle screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t.

Not until he knew where the hell Sam was.

A low, mocking chuckle cut through the darkness, making Dean’s heart skip a beat.

“Well, look who’s finally awake.”

Dean blinked, trying to focus on the woman who stood before him. She was tall, dark-haired, dressed head to toe in black, and had the kind of cold smile that could freeze you solid.

“Nice of you to join us,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “I’ve been dying to meet you, Dean Winchester. You’ve caused quite a stir.”

Dean swallowed, his throat tight. It was hard to focus when he felt so damn weak, but there was no way in hell he was going to show fear to this psycho.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “I’m not the one you want.”

Her laugh sent a chill down his spine. “I beg to differ. You’ve got the blood of a king, Dean. And I’m just dying to see what you can do.”

She stepped closer, an almost hungry look in her eyes.

“Listen, lady, I’m not in the mood for games. Where’s my brother?” His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care. They could keep him chained up and torture him, but no one touched Sam.

She leaned in, her cold fingers brushing the side of his face.

“Your brother?” she mused, tilting her head as if contemplating a puzzle. “You’re a complicated one, aren’t you? But I suppose it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“Where’s Sam?” he growled, trying to break free of the restraints. The metal dug deeper into his wrists, and he winced.

A cold, satisfied smile spread across her face as she stood. “You really are something else. I can see why they called you the Big Brother of the Winchesters.”

She turned, but then a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“We’re not done yet.”

Dean froze. His head whipped toward the door as it swung open, and there—standing in the doorway—was Castiel.

The angel was battered, bruised, his trench coat torn, but alive. And there was something in his eyes, something that made Dean’s heart leap in his chest.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I’m here,” Castiel said, stepping into the room, his blue eyes locking on Dean’s. “And I’m not letting them get away with this.”

The woman—Ms. Tall and Scary, whatever her name was—turned toward Cas with an expression of shock.

“Impossible,” she hissed. “You’re supposed to be—”

“Gone?” Castiel finished for her. “I was never gone. I’ve been waiting, watching, for the right moment. And that moment is now.”

In an instant, Cas was on her, his hand grasping her throat with a force that made her choke.

“Let. Him. Go.”

Dean didn’t know what happened next—whether it was the way the air around them seemed to shimmer with Castiel’s power, or the fact that Tall and Scary had underestimated the wrath of an angel—but she collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. She scrambled, her hands searching for a weapon, but Castiel’s voice was calm as he stepped forward, his gaze icy.

“You are not in charge here anymore.”

In the blink of an eye, Tall and Scary was gone—vanished in a burst of light, leaving only the echo of her terrified scream.

Dean stared at the empty space where she’d been, trying to process what had just happened. “Cas… you—how?”

Castiel turned to him, his expression softening just a little. “I followed the trail. I knew you were in trouble. And then I found your prayers.”

Dean blinked. “My what?”

“Your prayer. You called for help, Dean. And I came.”

The weight of it hit Dean like a ton of bricks, and suddenly he couldn’t hold it in anymore. The fear, the pain, the loss… he cracked. Tears blurred his vision, but he couldn’t look away from Castiel, couldn’t not say it.

“Cas, I—I thought I lost you.”

Castiel’s hand gently cupped his face, the familiar warmth of the angel’s touch grounding him.

“You haven’t lost me, Dean. You never will.”

Dean closed his eyes, the weight of those words pulling him back from the edge. Sam wasn’t gone. Not yet. Not if they could get him back.

And if it meant they had to burn the world down to do it, so be it.