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Fools Rush In

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Cas had reached his limits, and then gone beyond them. The interview had taken hours, and even though Bao had tried to go easy on him, insofar as the FBI ever went easy on anyone, there wasn't much she could do to blunt the horror of recollection. Cas had an eye for detail and a good memory: he'd seen the compound built from practically the ground up, and unlike his mother, he'd been bored and curious enough at the time to explore the works in full. He knew where the fence was grounded and how far down it went; remembered, too, how one of Brother Tiberius's first acts had been to requisition the cold cellar, moving everyone out of the rooms directly above it while he reinforced the walls. Bao's questioning was sharp enough to trigger a cascade of sense-memories, and suddenly, he was back in the desert, tasting leather and dust and blood and feeling the salt in his cuts. Bao eased off when he started crying, but they weren't done yet, not by a long shot, and by the time he'd told her what she wanted to know, he was left shaking and hollowed out, like a bone scraped clean of marrow.

Afterwards, she'd apologised for the ordeal and promised to be in touch about his family – had even offered to have him driven home, since Lassiter had effectively stranded him there. But the thought of being trapped in yet another small space with yet another agent was unbearable; he'd mumbled something about getting a cab, and Bao had nodded, and once he'd been signed out at the desk and had his phone returned to him, Cas fled as though the lobby were burning, out into the late afternoon and the unfamiliar bustle of Delacroix.

As agitated as he was, it would have been easy to keep going, just pick and direction and walk until he calmed down, but the lesson of Southwall was still fresh, and instead, he made himself stop, and breathe, and think. After a moment, he realised he was clutching his phone, and was about to do the sensible thing and call a taxi when he noticed he had several missed calls, all of them from an unfamiliar mobile number. That didn't bode well, but as drained as he was, he didn't think he could cope with letting the mystery go unsolved, either.

With trepidation, he called the number, relieved and worried in equal parts when a woman answered on the fourth ring.

'Cas? Are you OK?'

'Anna?' He blinked. 'How did you get my number?'

'I figured it would come in handy, so I copied it out of Dean's phone. And, hey, look!'

'Well, that's fair enough, but why are you calling? Is something wrong?'

'Not now that you've picked up – it's just, Dean wasn't answering his mobile, either, and since it's after five and you guys aren't back yet, I had to shut the store and head home, only I just wanted to make sure he found you all right –'

'Anna, Dean's not here. I haven't seen him since this morning.'

'He's not with you?'

'No.'

'He never called to say he was coming?'

'They kept my phone at the front desk. I just left a minute ago, and the only missed calls I have are from you.' He shut his eyes, trying very hard not to overreact. 'When did he leave the store?'

'Maybe an hour after you did, tops.' Anna sounded audibly nervous, which wasn't helping. 'He was pretty messed up.'

It was just as well there was a bench nearby; Cas sat down hard, and asked, 'Messed up how?'

'Crying. Freaked all to hell about Lassiter, about how you left with him. I mean, I calmed him down a bit, I wouldn't have let him go if he hadn't seemed OK, but he thought –' she gulped, '– I mean, he was worried you were mad at him because of what Lassiter said. Like, mad enough to dump him.'

The guilt was so hot in his throat, he could barely breathe. 'He was really that bad?'

She hesitated, and when she spoke again, there was something pained and scared in her voice. 'Cas, I asked him about Lassiter, and I don't – I mean, it was a confidence, and it's not like he even said it, exactly, but it was the way he wasn't saying it, if you know what I mean, and I don't want to go behind his back, but if you haven't seen him, and he's not picking up, then I think maybe I need to –'

' Anna .' Cas was gripping the phone so tight, he was in danger of breaking it. 'Please, whatever it is, just tell me.'

'I think Lassiter might have...' She swallowed, a hitch in her voice. 'Cas, I think Lassiter might have raped him. Or abused him, or done something else awful like that – he said it was punishment, that he didn't always want it but that Lassiter didn't know, only the way he was talking, it was like he'd internalised it being his fault, like he didn't even realise how bad it sounded, but I swear, I swear to you I didn't say anything about it, I just told him he should talk to you, and I thought that's what he was doing, but if he's AWOL – if he never showed up –'

'Oh god. Oh god.' His vision swam; he could barely keep himself upright. 'Anna, I need you to look for him. I need him to be OK, I need –' he could feel the panic attack building, bit his cheek and somehow kept going, '– I need to find him, I have to make some calls, but please, I need you to look for his car, anywhere he might have gone – there's a bar in Southwall, the Hot Rock, check there first –'

'OK,' she said. 'Cas, it'll be OK, I'm sure he's fine, but I'll check the bar and text you, all right?'

'All right,' he said, but it was anything but, because Dean was missing and maybe he'd done something stupid and maybe he hadn't, but just the possibility of losing him like this – the idea that Lassiter had, had –

He hung up, and hugged his chest, and somehow got himself well enough under control that, when he pulled Bao's card out of his pocket – she'd pressed it on him at the front desk – he was able to dial her number on the second try.

'This is Bao,' she said, answering almost instantly, and Cas didn't even know what he said, except that it involved the words Dean, missing, Lassiter, abuse and triggered, and ended with the phrase it's all your fucking fault . There was a long pause, and then Bao said, 'Mr Novak – Cas – I'll do everything in my power,' which offer potentially ran the gamut from sweet fuck all to a citywide manhunt, but which most likely meant she'd make a couple of calls and go home, and Cas was so upset, so angry, he couldn't even bring himself to say thank you. Instead, he called Sergeant Harris, who promised to keep an eye out, too, but whose apologetic tone made it clear he didn't think there was much else to be done at this point, and then it was over: Cas was alone in Delacroix with a mobile phone and his lover lost, and not the slightest clue about what to do next.

So he called Dean, which maybe he should have done first off, just to make sure Anna was right, and for one horrible, hopeful moment, he felt sure there'd been a misunderstanding: Dean would answer, Cas would laugh and sheepishly call off Harris and Bao, and then they'd go home and fuck each other senseless until everything else went away. But instead, each unanswered ring of Dean's phone produced a physical pain in Cas's chest like he was breathing powdered glass, or asbestos, or thorns, and when it finally went to voicemail, he was so near to screaming, it was a wonder he managed to leave a message at all.

And then, because there was nothing else to do, he called a cab, which eventually came, and the whole drive home was like a mundane and terrible nightmare, one of those dreams where you know you're meant to be doing something important, only you can't remember what, and instead, you're stuck in a pointless, frustrating loop, like trying to find the door or the bathroom or, in Cas's case, endlessly checking your phone for a call that never comes.

He didn't remember paying the driver, or how he got up to his apartment: only that he was suddenly there, and just as suddenly alone. The phone beeped in his hand: it was Anna, texting to say Dean wasn't at the Hot Rock, but that she was going to keep looking, and all at once, it was too much – Lassiter, the interview, everything – and worst of all, the terrible, gnawing guilt that this was all his fault; that if he'd just been braver, just told Lassiter to fuck off and stood up for Dean in the first place, this would never have happened.

Pathetic, Cas, the blank voice sneered. You cowardly fuck, who wouldn't rather die than be with you? That's what you are: toxic and fatal.

Sobbing, Cas stumbled through to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the Diazepam, staring at the bottle through a haze of tears. His hands were shaking so badly, he was back in the kitchen before he could get the lid off, and once he did, the bourbon was right there on the counter where Dean had left it, the closest thing in reach as he shoved a handful of pills in his mouth and groped for something to help him swallow. The liquor burned his throat, and he kept on drinking, kept on putting pills in his mouth, knowing dimly that this was a bad idea, that he needed to stop, but not quite able to remember why, because the pills made him calm, only they weren't working fast enough, and that meant he needed more.

Shaking and suddenly dizzy, he slumped to the ground, a near empty bottle in each hand. And that would have been OK, except that his phone was still on the table, and he needed his phone in case Dean called. Panting, Cas tried to strand up again, but the world spun violently sideways; he went to catch himself on his hands, but his hands were full, and when he missed his grip, his head hit the floor with an echoing thud.

The last thing he saw was the bottle of bourbon, tipped side-on as its contents pooled on the wood.

 

*

 

'That's enough,' said Ruby Blue, suddenly. She sounded genuinely bored, and Dean hated her for it even more than he hated Meg, who had done this to him, or Crowley, who had let her, because it was all at her say-so, and she didn't fucking care . 'If he's lying, we'll find out soon enough, and if he's not, then there's not much more we can do to prove it.' She waved a disgusted hand. 'Take him back to his car. And Crowley? Next time you bring me hired muscle, please remember that simple is not a synonym for stupid .'

'I'll keep that in mind,' he growled, and his anger might have meant something, except that he'd just stood there and watched while Meg tore literal strips off Dean for god only knew how long. He was burned and bruised and bleeding, and when Meg suddenly cut his bonds and hauled him upright, the only reason he didn't throttle her on the spot was that he fell straight back down again.

' Goddamit ,' he said, and it came out barely a cough.

It was Crowley who helped him up again, putting an arm around Dean's ribs with a murmured, 'There now. You'll live.'

And then, of course, the bag went back over his head.

This time, they didn't need to knock him out: he was dazed with pain, only upright because Crowley kept him that way, his legs on fire as his circulation steadily returned to normal. The way out felt like a maze, and more than once, he was left to trip over stairs and doorways and obstacles, until he felt gravel under his feet, and heard a car door click open, and was half-pushed, half-lowered into the back seat. He lay down, too weary to even try and sit up, and as someone – he assumed it was Crowley, but couldn't be sure – began to drive, he slipped into unconsciousness.

And woke again, just as suddenly, when the hood was pulled from his head.

Crowley stared down at him, frowning by the roadside.

'You don't look too good, darling. I'd get yourself some medical treatment. Mind what you tell the nurses, though. That sort of thing tends to be conspicuous.'

Dean spat blood on his shoes. 'Fuck you, Crowley. I will fucking kill you for this.'

'Yeah, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' Crowley squatted down, peering at him like a vulture, and sighed. 'Blood and roses, Dean, you really are dense, aren't you? Could've given me a heads up about your legal issues, but no: gotta be the strong man. Gotta play the lone damn wolf, and drop me in the shitter. I vouched for you, Winchester. I vouched for you, and you left me to twist in the wind. And yet, in my infinite mercy, I have delivered you safe from the jaws of viragos and unto your Impala, forever and ever, amen.'

'Safe?' Dean tried to laugh, but it just made everything hurt. 'You call this safe ?'

'I call this alive, duckie, which is more than you'd be right now if I hadn't backed your play. I could've disowned you in there, but I didn't. Let that sink in for a bit.'

He straightened and stepped back, and somehow Dean managed to crawl from the car and onto his feet. Almost, Crowley clapped him on the shoulder, but seemed to remember at the last second why that might be a bad idea, and pulled his hand away.

'Run along now, Dean,' he said. 'We'll talk soon.'

And then he waved and drove away, leaving Dean to stagger over to the Impala. By some small miracle, the car had neither been stripped nor stolen despite the fact that it was still unlocked, the keys in the ignition, and as he lowered himself into the driver's seat, he took care not to look at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't want to see, not yet; injuries always hurt more once you'd seen them, and he needed all his strength to get home.

First, though, he grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat and pulled out his phone. It was nearly 6pm, which meant he'd lost a good few hours to Ruby Blue, though he suspected he'd been unconscious for at least one of them, but more worrying than the time were the seven missed calls he had from Anna plus one from Cas, all of which had resulted in voicemails.

Hands bloody and shaking, Dean listened to them in order.

Hi Dean, it's Anna. Just wanted to see how it's going with Cas. Call me back, OK?

Anna again. Stop being a loser and pick up the phone.

So, best case scenario, you and Cas are having sex in a field somewhere and can't be bothered to answer your cells. Worst case scenario, you've been eaten by bears. Either way, it's nearly four thirty, and if you're not back by five, I'm just going to shut up the store and go, OK?

Goddamit, Dean, this isn't funny. Pick your phone and call me back.

Dean, I know this is the sixth message I've left you and I swear I'm not being a stalker, but you were kind of fucked up earlier and now I can't get a hold of you or Cas, and maybe I'm just overreacting, but after what you said about Lassiter and what he did to you, I'd really like some confirmation that you're, you know, alive, or at least that you're not doing something insanely stupid, so stop pretending you're too cool for school and call me. Please?

So Cas just rang me back, and you never picked him up from the FBI, and I am officially freaking right the hell out. And I'm sorry, I know you said it in private, but I told Cas what you told me about Lassiter, because I was – I am – really, really scared for you right now, and I'll understand if you never want to speak to me again, so long as you just call me first, OK? Or better yet, call Cas, because he's even more freaked than I am, and we're both out looking for you, and I just, I really need you to not be dead in a ditch, OK, Dean? Please be safe. Please call me.

A stone fist closed around his heart. Anna sounded terrified, and that was bad enough, but he almost couldn't bring himself to listen to the one from Cas.

Dean shut his eyes, and played it.

Oh god Dean please be OK please forgive me I'm so sorry, I never should have gone with him, I was just so scared but I can't lose you like this, I know it's just that I'm so fucked up but I love you, I love you so much, and if Lassiter ever fucking comes near you again I'll set him on fire, I've called Bao and Harris and I don't know what else to do, I don't think I'm coping very well so I'm going home and I need you to be there, please, I'm so sorry, just please be OK, please don't leave me alone.

Dean was shaking, his heart a tangle of hope and fear and guilt, because Cas loved him, Cas actually loved him, but as for the rest –

I told Cas what you told me about Lassiter

I'll set him on fire

what he did to you

I think you like it rough

you love it when I'm rough

stop struggling

struggle more

you wanted it

you selfish fuck, you already ruined me once, you don't get to do it again, you're a liar, you're a fucking LIAR –

'No,' Dean whispered, but there was no point, it was years ago and didn't, shouldn't matter any more, not when Cas was waiting for him, not after what Meg had done, but still he just sat there, panting and bleeding onto the leather and too damn frightened to do anything with the phone except stare at it, because how the fuck could anyone make a call like that? How did you ring someone up and say, yes, you were right, he hurt me and I didn't know what to call it so I blamed myself, but now I'm hurt in a whole new way for a whole new reason, and coincidentally I need medical help, but please don't freak out over the phone, because I can't handle it right now ?

You couldn't – or Dean couldn't, anyway, which amounted to the same thing – so even though it was selfish as hell, he shoved the phone in his pocket, gasping as the burns on his knuckles snagged the denim, and drove the three blocks home like he was made of glass, or the car was, or both, and really he hadn't lost that much blood, but the pain was starting to make him see spots, and when he pulled up in front of the store, he rested his head on the wheel and cried, it was just that much of a miracle.

He went in through the store, because it was less effort than walking all the way around to the back, and crawled up his stairs on hands and knees, and would have just lain down at the top except for how much it hurt, and, more importantly, because Cas was waiting next door. So he got up, trailing blood on the wall, and went out his own front door and into Cas's flat.

'Cas?' he croaked, stumbling in. 'Cas, I need some hel–'

He stopped cold, unable to process what he was seeing, which was Cas lying sprawled facedown in the kitchen, surrounded by pills and spilt bourbon. Which was impossible, because Cas loved him, Cas was waiting for him, therefore Cas could not be lying there like he'd just attempted suicide ( oh please god no, not this, anything but this ), because then Dean would start screaming and not stop until either the world broke or he did, and he couldn't – he couldn't –

'Cas?'

He knelt down beside him. Put a shaking hand on his back. Found a pulse, but one so weak and thready as to barely count. Pulled the phone from his pocket. Called 911. Spoke to the dispatcher. Gave the address in a voice that was flat and calm only because he was still in shock, because he was still tied to a chair in Ruby Blue's basement and hallucinating and he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction, but yes, please hurry, please come quickly oh god I don't think he's breathing

'Cas, baby, please, you have to wake up now. Please. I need you. I love you. Please?'

Dean pulled his lover into his lap, and cradled him, and Cas didn't move, and that was when he started screaming, the sound so raw it was like gargling blood, and still was ten minutes later, when the paramedics arrived.