I've been in the mood for writing sort of fix-it fics, and wanted Cas h/c so this is what I came up with. I always wanted more resolution to what happened in "Goodbye Stranger" and how it tied in with "The Great Escapist" so those are the episodes this story parallels. (Season 8 spoilers just so you know). It's not really AU, just kind of a couple little headcanons and 'deleted scenes' type stuff. Some of the dialogue is lifted directly from the episodes though it might be shortened or moved around a little. This first part is really a recap of the episodes from Cas' POV and what he was going through. The second part will be more of the h/c and some reconciliation between him and the Winchesters so keep an eye out for that. Either way, I hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Do not own Supernatural, I just play. Some dialogue belongs to the original writers.

Never Give Up, Never Give In

A Supernatural Fanfic

Part One

"You will kill Dean Winchester."

Those were the words it had started with. The ones Castiel had refused, the ones that led him to being strapped down and tortured or 're-educated' as they put it so elegantly. It was not the first time, though he had no recollection of the previous ones. This time, Naomi made sure he remembered. She made sure the pain stayed with him as she tried to brainwash him, drill into his head and remove everything but loyalty to them. Make clear what the consequences would be if he disobeyed. But what she didn't know was that Castiel had finally found where his true loyalties lay. And that was with his family. The only people who had ever been a real family to him. The Winchesters.

Which was why there was no way he was going to kill them for Naomi.

"I don't want to do this, Castiel, but you leave me no choice," she told him grimly as he was once again strapped down to be tortured, to be 'fixed'. He knew that was wrong. He knew she enjoyed it; having this power over him to control him. "But you will obey, and I will make you."

First it was their typical brainwashing procedure, the drilling, the pain, the strange numbness in his mind that followed, taking all the will, the free will, out of him, and then taking him to the warehouse where he was pitted against fake Dean Winchesters that looked too real, forced to kill 'him' over and over again. But he wouldn't. He refused. The fake Deans never fought back, they only ran, cowered, pleaded, and he couldn't, even though he knew they weren't real. He could not do that to a friend, a brother. Never. He could not betray Dean again.

"You will obey!" that mantra of Naomi's echoed in his head, pounding through his screams. When she found the brainwashing wouldn't work, she resorted to other measures, having the interrogators torture him, strap him down and cut him apart until he could do nothing but sob, and then put him back together and start over. It was like hell, like what Dean and Sam had suffered, and Castiel knew that well enough. He had been to hell twice; once to save Dean and once to save Sam and he knew what happened there. But this was not demons doing the torturing, this was angels, and that made it even worse.

"You will kill Dean Winchester."

And again and again, the torture, the refusals, defiance. He tried to fight but he was always outnumbered. Another angel would come and kill 'Dean' and take Castiel away for more 'education'. The worst part was that he could hear the Winchesters praying to him, calling him, wondering where he was and he could not answer because Naomi would not allow it.

Then came the day he realized they were breaking him. He didn't know how he realized it; it just happened that he could hardly force the energy to fight anymore. Too many days of torture, too much pain, his voice hoarse from screaming, and then Naomi, realizing his weakened state, was in his head again, manipulating, digging deeper and, barely himself, he was forced into the warehouse and pitted against a fake Dean, and before he knew what was happening, Castiel had driven his blade through his chest. He stared at the limp body on the ground, the familiar green eyes staring up in shock and betrayal and he gasped, feeling as if a hold on him was taken away and he fell to his knees. He thought if he had been human he would have vomited. The guards drew him to his feet and took him back to his cell. Naomi came to him and smiled.

"You did well, Castiel. Practice and you will get better."

That night he couldn't stop sobbing.

It just went on from there. More conditioning, more killing Dean, and he was finally allowed to go back to earth, only to kill poor Samandriel who had never done anything and the young angel had already suffered so much at Crowley's hands. He couldn't face Sam and Dean after, and decided to defy Naomi again which only resulted in more torture, and she drove him until he was too weak to fight and made him practice killing Dean again until it was almost gut reaction and he couldn't make himself care anymore. Maybe that wasn't him, maybe that was her continuous messing with his head. He didn't know; all he knew was that there was now a nothingness where the pain should have been. What bothered him the most about it was whether he didn't feel anything because he didn't care, or because he had finally given up and they had broken him after all. He began to suspect it was the latter as he stared at the warehouse that was scattered with the bloody bodies of the fake Deans.

Naomi was at his side as he finished the final kill. Looking down at the fake Winchester at his feet with no emotion to spare.

"Everything is back in order," she said, sounding pleased, relieved even. "You're ready." And then she sent him back to earth to fulfill his mission.

They had to find the angel tablet, his job was to deliver it to Naomi, but there was more to the mission. He just didn't allow himself to think of it. But he felt sick every time he looked at Dean, hoping that maybe he would be able to do it without having to kill him.

He had done so many things he regretted already, so many things he knew the Winchesters would never be able to forgive him for. If he killed Dean, one of the only real friends he had ever had, he knew it would be the end of him, and surely, if he did, Sam would kill him anyway—Castiel found that a strange comfort. If he was not to be himself, he at least wanted it to be over. Maybe if he gave the tablet to Naomi when he found it, she would let him go, then he wouldn't have to kill Dean.

And that had led to him and Dean going into the crypt and looking for the tablet. He tried to force Naomi out of his head as she was instructing him, but she was too persistent, her work on him had been too effective this time; he was having a harder time fighting it than usual.

Then Dean had taken the tablet from the box, and Castiel tried one last desperate maneuver.

"Give me the tablet, Dean," he said quietly.

The elder Winchester stared at him for a second, then backed away slightly, seeming to see something in Castiel that he didn't like. Castiel's stomach plummeted; even Dean did not trust him any more. Wise, but painful.

"Kill him and take the tablet, Castiel," Naomi ordered in his head.

"Dean, give me the tablet, I must keep it safe."

"It's going to Kevin," Dean told him, stepping back again.

"I'll take it to him."

"What are you waiting for, kill him!"

Castiel shook his head, trying to keep his hands still. "Give it to me, Dean." Please just for once, Dean, just listen! he begged silently. But even then, it hurt that Dean obviously didn't trust him.

"Kill him, Castiel!" Naomi snarled.

The angel blade slid from Castiel's sleeve and Dean eyed him warily. "Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there, and you can hear me, you don't have to do this."

He struck him. And what was worse, it felt natural. He had done it a thousand times before. But even then, he knew it hadn't been real, so he hadn't panicked. Now he could feel his very being revolting, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Naomi seemed to be controlling him.

Dean caught the first blow on the angel tablet. Castiel tried to stop before he did something worse.

"I won't hurt Dean!" he told Naomi.

"Yes, you will. You are."

He struck at Dean again, but the hunter dodged, telling him to fight it. So maybe he still believed in him after all. That gave Castiel strength, but it did no good, because he still couldn't stop. He panicked, floundered.

"What have you done to me, Naomi?" he demanded.

"I fixed you," she told him.

Her hold was too strong. He could barley keep a hold on his own mind anymore, even though he was aware of what he was doing. Dean swung the tablet at him, but he caught his wrist, broke it, like he had practiced, and kept swinging, until blood, Dean's blood, spattered onto the floor and his clothes.

"Please," he begged Naomi.

"End this, Castiel."

"Cas," Dean cried. "This isn't you!"

Please.

"Cas!" Dean cried hoarsely as he hit him again. "I know you're in there; I know you can hear me." He stopped. Dean's hand was held out in front of him, trying to keep him at bay, or maybe in supplication. "We're family, Cas," Dean choked out. "We need you. I need you."

And he broke. Truly, this time. Even after everything he did, though he had been sure Dean would never trust him again, he still thought of Castiel as family.

"You have to choose," Naomi told him. "Us or them."

We're family.

He dropped his blade, his mind clear again. Dean crumpled at his feet, and Castiel saw how far he had gone and it made him sick. Sick to think of what he had almost done to his friend—his brother—who had taken him in and even after everything still called him family.

And then something else caught his eye—the tablet. He picked it up, and the instant he did, the tablet glowing as it came in contact with him, his mind felt clear, clearer than it had in a very long time. He breathed a gasp of relief, no longer able to feel Naomi inside his head.

He turned back to Dean, who was kneeling broken and bloody in front of him. His stomach twisted to see what he had done with his own hands, and he reached out, somewhat hesitantly. It hurt to see Dean cower from him, the fear in his eyes, as Castiel put his hand on the side of his face and healed him.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," he whispered.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, visibly shaken.

Castiel didn't know what to say, how to explain everything; not at that moment. So he gave a poor excuse and fled because he couldn't face the Winchesters anymore after what he had done. And he also ran in the hope his troubles wouldn't find the Winchesters again. Not this time. If he could do nothing else, he at least vowed he could protect them as he always had endeavored to do. Especially with Sam down for the count with the trials. He knew Dean didn't need more worries on his plate.

Right now, he knew first and foremost he needed to protect the tablet from Naomi. If she had gone to this much trouble to get it, it could only mean that she shouldn't be in charge of it. Besides, it had broken his contact with her, and he thought it was shielding him from the other angels as well, so he was not about to let it go. In fact, in a stroke of desperation, he hid it in a place he hoped no one would ever find it; the only place it would truly be safe: In the body of his vessel.

It wasn't pleasant by any means, he had to cut himself open and shove the tablet in behind his ribs, but it was better because he couldn't lose it now, and he wouldn't risk letting go of it and allowing Naomi back into his head. Once again, he was back on the run.

And then, despite his best efforts, he had somehow been found again though he had tried everything he could not to be, but Naomi's men had caught up with him, doing the one thing that would draw him out—killing innocents.

He would never forget the pleading of the woman they had left alive, pleading for him to stop. He tried to ease her pain, but in that moment of emotional insecurity, the others finally caught him and he was trapped with an angel blade to his throat.

Predictably, they roughed him up, and soon Naomi was there, a cold, satisfied gleam in her eye that was not befitting to an angel as she saw him in the grasp of her guards looking worse-for-wear.

"You're the spanner in the works, Castiel," she told him viciously. "You have never done anything right."

"How many times?" Cas asked, meeting her cold gaze with his own steely one. "How many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?"

She sneered at him. "Frankly, too damn many."

She wanted the angel tablet, and all the time, Castiel could feel it weighing inside his stomach, fearing they would be able to sense it, and hoping he wouldn't give anything away. He would never give it up, not after everything, all the problems it had already caused. He had realized that the tablet was not meant for the angels. It should never have come to light again. He would die before he put it into Naomi's hands—and it looked more and more like he might have to. It would be just as bad as if the demons got it.

The other angels beat him around some more as Naomi watched.

"Where is the tablet, Castiel?" she asked coldly, and he could tell she was losing her patience.

"In the words of a good friend," Castiel told her firmly, leaning forward. "Bite me."

Naomi gave him a small amused smile, leaning forward as well until her face was only about a foot from his. "Oh, we'll bite. Don't worry." Then she turned back to the other angels and told one to search through the other Biggersons' to see if he had left the tablet there.

That was Castiel's only comfort; that she seemed to think he had hidden it somewhere. They couldn't sense it as he had feared they could.

"Why are you doing this, Castiel? Why must you always cause problems?" Naomi asked as she watched the other angel hit him around the face."

"I need to protect it," Castiel said quietly, licking his split lip.

"From the angels?" she asked scornfully.

"From all of us." He met her eyes before he was hit again. Naomi strode forward and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back viciously.

"I'm just going to have to pull you apart, aren't I?"

"It won't do any good," Castiel ground out. "As you have obviously witnessed, I don't change."

"No, you don't," she said and raised a hand to hit him herself, her angel blade gleaming in her palm, when the door opened and in strode Crowley with a gun.

"Hello, Naomi, it's been a while," he said after he had shot the two other angels.

A few words were exchanged which Castiel listened to with interest, finding one of the angels, Ion, had been working with Crowley the whole time. Then Naomi left, and Crowley turned to Castiel, the pistol held casually in his hand, a bored sigh on his lips.

"Why are you here?" Castiel had to ask not sure whether to be thankful for the interruption or even more afraid.

"Don't think I came to rescue you, Cas," Crowley said. "I'm sure you know I have my own agenda." And before Castiel knew what was happening, Crowley shot him in the stomach.

"Bullets forged from angel blades," Crowley said as Castiel blinked through waves of pain, slumping on the chair. "I thought that would do the job well." Then he snapped his fingers and they were suddenly in some office with Ion standing behind Castiel, still his guard. Crowley went to sit at the desk, leaning back casually as he placed the gun in front of him.

"Just wanted a moment away from the main action to chat with my old business partner."

Castiel panted, trying to get a hold of the pain so as not to show too much weakness. Of course it wouldn't heal, not with the angel blade bullet. Blood soaked into his pants as he tried to keep his head up. Crowley tsked, nodding his head to the wound.

"I assume you won't die just yet. Takes a painful long time to bleed out from the gut."

"You can do whatever you want, Crowley. It doesn't matter anymore," he gritted out from between clenched teeth. "I'll never tell you where the tablet is."

"I know, Cas, I know," Crowley said, standing up with a contemplative sigh, steepling his fingers against his mouth as he turned to the wounded angel. "But Luckily, I don't believe you'll have to. You see, Naomi thinks that your touching the tablet broke her spell over you, which seems a plausible enough theory. But she missed something I didn't, something blatantly obvious—so like an angel. I was thinking to myself, self, if Cas got away by touching the tablet, why would he ever stop touching it?" He advanced on the angel until he was bent over him, his face only a few inches in front of Castiel's. "Because you haven't, have you?"

Castiel stared at him, trying to make his expression as unreadable as possible. Crowley smiled and then suddenly ripped Castiel's shirt open and dug his fingers into his bullet wound. Castiel screamed in shock and agony as Crowley shoved his hand into his belly and fished around until he found the tablet and then yanked it out, holding the bloody object in his hands as Castiel slumped, panting, in the chair, unable to help the whimpers that escaped his throat. He felt like he was going to pass out. Ion, almost as if he took pity on him, put a steadying hand on his shoulder, keeping him in the chair.

"There, see?" Crowley grinned. "Easy."

Then he got some phone call that Castiel could barely decipher through the pain he was going through and almost didn't realize it when Crowley left.

This was his only chance. Ion went to look out the window, thinking he was hardly a threat in his condition, and Castiel mustered what little strength he had left to push his own fingers into his torn flesh and dig the bullet out. A small gasp escaped him and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and pass out. He tried to summon his grace for healing, but it may as well not have been there it was so sluggish. He had no strength left, and even closing the wound was too much for him.

Finally, as Ion was talking about Naomi's treatment of them, how he always knew, even after he was 're-educated', how Castiel and the other soldiers were lucky because they had never known the truth, Castiel took his chance and overpowered him, breaking Naomi's hold on him with the bullet, and then he ran again, getting away as fast as he could.

He had no destination in mind, he only knew he needed to get back to Dean and Sam. He doubted they even wanted to see him again, not after what he had done to Dean, but he had no one else to turn to, and he was too hurt to run any farther. The bunker would be safe, but he had so little strength that by the time he was finally able teleport in that direction, he missed by miles and ended up lying in the middle of the road, barely conscious and his wound hurting worse than anything he had ever experienced.

Then he heard a familiar sound and tried to push himself up on his elbows as headlights blazed onto the pavement. He turned and saw exactly who he had been looking for, the Winchesters in the Impala, coming straight for him. He knew they would run him down, he tried to open his mouth to scream, but could barely muster the breath, and then there were squealing tires and he buried his head in his arms, preparing for the impact.

But it never came, instead, there was just the sound of the doors screeching open and then Dean's voice, so very welcome to his ears.

"Cas! Cas, you alright?"

Dean's footsteps pounded over to him, and the elder Winchester knelt down, a hand hesitantly on Cas' shoulder.

"A little help," Castiel managed to get out.

"Dean?" He glanced up and saw Sam standing leaning against the car for support, looking terrible, almost as bad as Castiel felt right then.

Castiel couldn't help the moan that escaped his throat as Dean pulled him up and wrapped one of his arms around his shoulders.

"It's okay, buddy, we got ya now. What happened to you? Where's all this blood coming from? Cas? Hey, Cas!"

But Castiel had had enough for the time being. Knowing he was safe with his friends, his brothers, he allowed himself to finally give in to the darkness, and just barely felt Dean grip him tightly with both arms as he slumped and then he knew nothing.

Part Two