A/N: I've been re-watching early season 11, and 11x2 "Form and Void" just begs for extended codas of h/c. Also, there were a few things that bugged me. One was the episode starting with Dean trying to get a hold of Cas, and then ending with him and Sam going back to the bunker without further thought to the poor angel. (Also, how exactly does Cas get his trench coat back on while *still* wearing the handcuffs?)

So this is just another way things could have gone. I actually wrote two AU versions (because why not), and will post the second next Wednesday under this fic.

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine, I'm just playing in their sandbox. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

Sam huffed out a disbelieving breath after Dean had finished telling him what happened with Jenna and Amara. After Sam had cured the rest of the people in Superior, he'd started making his way home. Dean had picked him up at the border of Nebraska and Kansas, and they'd spent the entire drive filling each other in on everything. Well, not everything. Sam had kept some things to himself. Besides, what Dean had learned trumped the few complications that Sam had already overcome.

"Alright, I still don't understand. I mean, I thought the Darkness was a woman, not a child."

Dean shook his head, taking the exit off the highway into Lebanon. "Well, same here. I don't know. Maybe whatever I saw wasn't real. Maybe it was a vision."

Sam tensed. "Vision?" A vision from the Darkness, or…someone else? But it wasn't like Dean was the praying type. Even Sam had to be at the end of his rope to pray to God in that hospital chapel.

"Yeah," Dean replied, sounding ready to disregard the experience altogether. Sam decided now wasn't the best time to bring up his own vision. Besides, it wasn't like he knew what it meant.

"Huh. Pretty weird."

Dean let out a half snort. "Yeah, weird with a weird cherry on a weird top." He suddenly leaned forward over the steering wheel and eased off the gas. "What the…"

Sam looked up to find a roadblock made of several pickups and some police cruisers, lights flashing. A group of men of various ages, some in sheriff uniforms, others in plain clothes, but all carrying shotguns, stood clustered just off to the side.

Dean slowly brought the Impala to a stop and rolled down his window as a deputy detached from the posse.

"Gentlemen," the man greeted with a tip of his hat. "Sorry, road's closed. I'm gonna have to ask you to turn around."

"What's the problem?" Dean asked.

Sam fished out his FBI badge from his jacket and leaned over to show the deputy.

"Agents," the officer amended, injecting a bit more respect into his tone. "We've got a manhunt going on."

"A fugitive?" Dean asked.

"No, some vagrant. Local farmer and his boys were tracking something that had slaughtered some animals. Quite a surprise when they found a man instead, practically foaming rabid. Youngest boy is lucky to be alive. From what he described, sounds like this guy is hopped up on PCP or something."

Sam's mouth turned down, and he exchanged a wary look with Dean. The rabids were supposed to have been isolated to Superior, and Sam had cured them all. No way should a case be all the way out here. It could be something else, but only a few miles away from the bunker? Was that really a coincidence?

Dean swept his gaze around the area. "He in these woods somewhere?"

The deputy reached up to rub the back of his neck. "We thought so, but truth is we completely lost the trail yesterday. It's like he just vanished. Which I frankly can't explain. How do you lose a guy in a suit and beige trench coat all the way out here?"

Sam jerked ramrod straight. "What?"

"You say trench coat?" Dean blurted.

The deputy shrugged. "I know, right? Sounds nuts. Anyway, I can't let you guys through."

"Uh, yeah," Dean stammered. "Totally understand. Thanks." He rolled the window back up and then shot Sam an alarmed look. "You don't think…?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Did you ever get a hold of Cas again?"

Dean's expression hardened, and he put the car in reverse. "No."

He backed the Impala up enough to turn her around and started heading back the way they'd come in order to take another route toward the bunker. Sam pulled out his cell and tried calling Cas. It went straight to voicemail. He stared at his phone's screen until it went dark.

"I don't get it, you think Cas is hunting some monster and the locals confused him with it?"

Dean didn't respond for a beat. "Cas said on the phone that what he had we couldn't help with."

Sam furrowed his brow. What he had? What was that supposed to mean? "Maybe he made it back to the bunker, and that's how he lost the goon squad back there."

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, voice strained under the pressure of trying to remain calm and collected. "That goodbye he gave us…it sounded a little final."

Yeah, it had. Sam just hadn't had time to dwell on it when they'd been surrounded by Darkness infected people wanting to butcher them and a newborn infant. Who actually turned out to be their…leader, mother, what?

Shaking off the distraction, Sam punched the GPS locator app on his phone and tried to pull up Cas's cell. His stomach tightened when there was absolutely no signal from the angel's phone. That meant it was either off…or destroyed. Sam tried not to jump to any conclusions.

After a moment of consideration, he worked a few tricks with the app, and was able to retrieve data on where Cas's phone had last been transmitting from. Sam's breath nearly caught in his throat. It wasn't far.

"Dean, here." He showed his brother the map and the faded gray dot where Cas's cell had last been active. It was three miles away from the hunting posse, but not necessarily headed toward the bunker. Sam still thought that had to be where Cas ended up. But this location was closer, so they'd check there first, just to be on the safe side.

Dean pulled the Impala to a crawling stop outside the old abandoned building. Never a good place to be hanging out, he thought ruefully. Why would Cas be here when the bunker was so close?

Oh, Dean had a hunch. Why would Cas ever bother going back to the bunker after what Dean did to him there? Sure, the angel had been worried about Dean, had wanted to know if the Mark was gone, but that didn't mean Cas had any intention of teaming up with them again, ever. Though, when he'd said goodbye like that…it was almost sad, pained, like Cas didn't really want it.

Dean pushed those morose thoughts aside. He needed to focus here, because he did not like the vibe of this place.

He and Sam quietly exited the car and crept toward the building. They both froze in their tracks at the guttural scream that echoed up from inside. Exchanging harried looks, they drew their guns and moved forward with practiced stealth. Dean spotted a doorway with bent hinges, as though the door itself had been ripped clean off. There was another agonized cry, and then shouting by more than one voice.

Screw this, if Cas was in there, they needed to be too. Dean surged forward and through the doorway. He hadn't known what to expect, but the sight of Cas bloody and tied to a chair with that metal…thing on his head, made Dean's heart do a terrified flip. He counted three mooks—had to be angels—but one was on the ground while another kicked him mercilessly, and the third had his gaze fixed on Cas.

Which meant it took them a second too long to notice the Winchesters. Dean whipped out his angel blade and charged down the few steps toward the angel closest to Cas. The guy's mouth dropped open in surprise, and Dean rammed his blade through the angel's throat.

He yanked the weapon out and spun, just as the angel who'd been beating on the third whirled, eyes blazing with rage. The wingless dick took a step forward, but then Sam was emptying his magazine into the angel, whose body jerked violently from each bullet's impact. Dean ran forward and tried to stab the guy, but Sam's bullets were barely a distraction, and the angel dodged Dean's strike, grabbing him by the throat and flinging him over his shoulder.

Dean toppled over the angel on the ground and rolled until his back hit the wall with a jarring thud. He heard Sam's cry next, and blinked the black spots from his vision in time to see his brother land on the other side of the room.

"Would you look at that," the angel said. "I ask for the Winchesters, and they get dropped right in my lap."

Dean coughed and clutched at his chest, trying to regain his breath enough to get up.

"Guess I don't need Castiel anymore," the angel continued. "Since he insists he doesn't know anything." The angel flicked his wrist, and the screws already placed in the contraption on Cas's head simultaneously pushed in deeper. Cas threw his head back and screamed.

"No!" The angel on the ground pushed himself up and lunged at the first. Dean could barely keep track of who was who, but the sadistic angel ended up with the upper hand again, pulling an angel blade from his sleeve and stabbing it through the other angel's throat. There wasn't even a scream as light exploded from the gaping mouth.

"I warned you, Hannah," he seethed, shoving the body off his blade and to the ground.

Dean was stunned for a moment. Hannah?

There was the sound of wood snapping, and Cas leaped from the chair with a visceral roar. He charged the last angel left standing, shoving him back against a column. The angel punched Cas across the face, but Cas merely snarled and ducked under the next swing with swift agility. Dean would have been impressed if it wasn't for the wild look in Cas's eyes, completely devoid of conscious thought and rationale. He watched in growing horror as Cas stabbed the angel through the heart. There was another supernova of a dying angel, and then the sound of a body thudding on the ground.

Dean tensed as Cas turned toward him, eyes filled with red like blood and mouth open in a half-snarl. He tightened his grip on his angel blade instinctively, even as his brain was screaming at him not to hurt his friend, not again.

Dean was saved from having to make that decision, thankfully, because lucidity crept into Cas's eyes a second later, and his expression slackened in horror.

"No," Cas uttered. "No, no." He crumpled to his knees on the floor.

Dean slowly got up, as did Sam across the room, and they both cautiously approached the angel.

"Cas?" Dean called tentatively.

"No," Cas continued chanting under his breath, his gaze flitting frantically around the dead bodies.

"Cas," Sam tried. "You're safe now. It's Sam and Dean. Can you hear me?"

Cas darted his eyes up at them as they gradually closed the distance. "Help me," he rasped desperately, and the utter terror Dean saw in his friend made his gorge rise.

Dean drew to a stop. Cas may have been asking for help, but he was obviously terrified, and Dean didn't want to make it worse. After all, he couldn't blame Cas for not wanting to be near him.

"Yeah, yeah, we're gonna help you," Sam soothed, slowly crouching down in front of him. Cas recoiled sharply.

"No, please. Don't- don't let me hurt…anyone else."

"Cas, that angel was gonna kill us, kill you," Dean said, finally lowering himself down to Cas's level too. "You did what you had to."

Cas squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, a low, guttural groan sounding in the back of his throat. "No," he gasped, breaths coming more labored now. "Rowena…cast a spell. I- I can't control it." He shuddered violently.

Dean froze. That feral look he'd seen in Cas's eyes suddenly took on a whole new meaning. They'd seen Rowena use that spell before. It turned innocent people into rabid attack dogs before killing them. "What I have you can't help me with."

Dean ran a hand down his face. "Shit." As if they didn't have enough problems.

Sam eased forward a little, keeping his voice low and calm. "Cas, let me get this off."

Cas was breathing raggedly through his nose and didn't bother opening his eyes, but he didn't protest, either, so Sam carefully started pulling out those horrific pins from Cas's brain. Some were stained red two inches up from the tips.

Dean swallowed a surge of bile, and lowered his gaze to take in the rest of Cas's wounds. His dress shirt had several slashes and holes in it, all covered in blood. How long had these bastards had him chained up and tortured?

"I'll get these cuffs off," he said gruffly, but Cas jerked his hands up, hitting Sam's arm as he was pulling a pin out and jarring it. Cas folded in on himself with a strangled cry, and would have hit his head on the ground if Dean hadn't lashed out to catch him by the shoulders.

"Easy, easy!" Dean braced Cas as the angel practically convulsed in his arms. Sam twisted around to get the last pin, and finally pulled the heinous contraption off, tossing it clear across the room with a raucous clang.

"Cas!" Sam gripped Cas's arm, trying to help hold him still as the angel continued to tremble violently.

"Leave…the cuffs," Cas choked out. "It's…too dangerous."

Dean's stomach clenched. "Hey, you're okay. You got this, man; you are controlling it."

Cas shook his head against Dean's shoulder. "It's digging deeper."

Dean met his brother's worried gaze. "Okay. Okay, the bunker's real close, Cas. You were almost there. Can you stand?"

Cas didn't respond for a moment except for a low keening sound in the back of his throat. But then he slowly pulled away from Dean and tried to sit up straighter. Sam hooked his arms under Cas's right while Dean took his left, and together they hefted the angel to his feet. Dean spotted Cas's coat and cracked cell phone on a nearby crate, and had half a mind to leave them there so local law enforcement would blame one of these bastards for the animal killings. But Dean couldn't bring himself to do that. Angling himself to the side, he snatched them both up.

"Okay, here we go," he said, turning toward the door.

He and Sam half-supported, half-carried Cas out to the Impala and laid him down in the backseat. Then they quickly got in the front and gunned it out of there.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "How'd the angels find you?" he asked. If the wingless dicks were roaming around this close to the bunker, then maybe the warding needed a tuneup.

Cas was so quiet, Dean thought he might have passed out. Sam twisted in his seat to check.

"I…prayed," Cas said in barely above a whisper. "For help." He let out a bitter, garbled sound. "I should have known better."

Dean's fingers cramped around the steering wheel. Cas…hadn't been heading to the bunker at all. He had prayed to his brothers for help, knowing how they felt about him, how pissed they were about everything. He'd gone to them for help instead of the Winchesters.

And why not, a vicious voice slithered in his mind. The last time Dean had seen the angel, Dean had beaten the crap out of him, threatened to kill him. Cas had no reason to come to them for help ever again.

"We're gonna fix this, Cas," Dean promised. Because he couldn't let his best friend, his brother, down the way Cas's angel family always did. Dean had to do better. He vowed to do better.

Sam's stomach was a mess of knots throughout the short drive back to the bunker. Cas was…in really bad shape. That spell Rowena cast, it was fatal to humans. Sam hoped Cas's angel wiring would fight it off, though that obviously wasn't happening yet. Not that he was in much shape to fight off a witch's curse after having been tortured for a day.

What had possessed Cas to ask the angels for help? After breaking Metatron out of Heaven's prison, Cas had to know the angels wouldn't be so forgiving. But he'd gone to them anyway. He hadn't even bothered to tell Sam and Dean what was going on when they'd talked on the phone a couple days ago. He'd just said goodbye and that it might "be a while" before they saw each other again…like he knew he was about to be taken away. But dammit, why?

Sam closed his eyes against a wave of grief. He knew why. It was Sam's fault Cas had been cursed. He'd told the angel to get that spell to save Dean done, no matter the cost. And Dean had been right, there was a cost. The Darkness was now loose, something only God had defeated way before anything existed.

And Cas was hurting, possibly dying. The angel had probably kept quiet about it because he thought Sam's priority was always and only his brother. Which, given their track record, neither of them have given Cas much evidence to the contrary. Sam had meant it back in that hospital when he told Dean they had to change, asking when they'd lost sight of saving other people. Sam had found a cure for the Darkness's affliction, and he was damn well going to find a cure for this curse too.

Dean pulled into the bunker's garage, and then he and Sam helped Cas out of the backseat and down the stairs. Each of Cas's steps felt heavier with each one, and he was practically sagging in their arms by the time they got him into one of the bedrooms. They laid him on the bed, which Cas sank into like a dead weight, eyes closed and breaths wheezing in his chest.

Dean leaned over the angel and gently lifted a tattered flap of shirt, his mouth turning down. "These aren't healing fast enough."

Yeah, that was worrying. The cut on Cas's cheek looked like it was starting to scab over, but that seemed to be the extent of healing he'd done. There was still blood mixed in his hair from the puncture holes, and Sam had no idea if there was even some kind of damage done by that device. It was hard to tell with the symptoms of Rowena's spell.

"I want to take these damn cuffs off," Dean growled.

Cas's eyes opened to mere slits. "No," he croaked.

"You're barely strong enough to sit up, let alone hurt either of us," Dean argued.

Cas clenched his fists, holding his arms tucked tightly against his body.

Sam worried at his lower lip. The cuffs could be holding the curse at bay, but they could also be making it more difficult for Cas to heal.

"Cas," he prompted gently. "Just for a short time, while we patch you up, okay? If you don't get some healing in…" He didn't want to say that he was worried Cas would die sooner, but the angel seemed to read it in his expression.

"I won't risk you," Cas said, voice sounding wrecked and pitiful.

Sam reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "And we're not risking you. First sign of violence and they'll go right back on, okay?"

Cas still looked reluctant, but either he was acquiescing or he just didn't have the energy to argue.

Sam went to get the first aid kit and bandages. By the time he returned, Dean had gotten the cuffs and shirt off, revealing a torso ravaged by an angel blade. There were cruel slashes, and even some deeper puncture wounds where the angels had inserted the blade straight in.

Dean was bending over Cas's head, having rolled him up a little on one side. His mouth was pressed in a tight line. "This one goes all the way through," he said.

Sam swallowed hard, but pushed down his emotions and started laying out the supplies. The two of them got to cleaning and stitching. It was difficult at times when a spasm would wrack Cas's body to the point they had to stop and hold their breaths, waiting to see if Cas was about to jump up like a rabid animal.

But each episode passed, leaving the angel more worn out each time. Sam moved to examine Cas's head, dabbing at the pin holes he could see through hair matted with blood.

"What were they trying to do?" Sam asked without meaning to.

Cas winced as a patch of gauze was pressed against one of the wounds still oozing blood. Sam noted how he deliberately moved his gaze to the wall opposite him and Dean.

"They wanted to know where to find you," Cas said in a soft voice.

Dean paused in his stitching of Cas's stomach. "Us? Why?"

"The Darkness," Cas whispered.

A lump gathered in Sam's throat. So the angels were gunning for them for starting the end of the world again. No surprise there.

"And you wouldn't tell them," Dean said quietly.

Cas still kept his gaze averted.

Sam suppressed a weary sigh. Once again, Cas had given up everything to protect the Winchesters.

They finished bandaging him up, and Sam collected the bloodied gauze and trash scattered across the mattress. "I'm gonna start looking for a cure," he said, and though part of him wanted to stay and make sure Cas would be okay, Sam knew the only way that was truly going to happen was if they found a way to lift this spell.

Dean grabbed a gray wool blanket from a drawer and draped it over Cas. The angel looked far too pale with all the blood wiped off, and there was a faint sheen on his brow. Dean placed the back of his hand against Cas's forehead, frowning at the heat radiating from it. Was the fever from the wounds, or the curse? Or both? Because that would be their kind of luck.

"Sit tight for a minute, okay, Cas? I'm gonna get some stuff."

Cas lashed out to grab his wrist, and Dean immediately tensed, prepared to see mindless rage staring up at him. But while Cas's eyes were still coated in red, it was the angel behind them.

"Put the cuffs back on."

Dean tightened his jaw. "Not yet."

"Dean, please. I don't want to hurt you. Please don't make me hurt you…" Cas's eyelids fluttered as he trailed off in exhaustion.

Dean's throat constricted at the words, far too similar to what Cas had pleaded to him not that long ago.

He gently pried Cas's fingers from around his wrist. "You're not gonna hurt me, Cas."

"I do. I always do," he mumbled.

Dean's stomach clenched. "Not always," he said in a low voice. "Not when you should have."

Because that day, in the library, Cas hadn't fought back. He hadn't delivered a single blow amidst Dean's brutal beating. How would things have gone differently if he had? Would Cas have managed to restrain Dean, keep him from walking out like that? Or would Dean have been pushed to actually go through with killing his best friend?

That thought alone was almost enough to make him throw up, and Dean fled the room to collect himself. He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, telling himself to get a grip. Cas needed his help now, and wallowing in guilt and self-loathing wasn't gonna accomplish anything.

After taking a few steadying breaths, Dean gathered some small towels and filled a bowl with cold water before returning to the bedroom. Cas's eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping fitfully, facial muscles twitching, brow puckered. Dean took a seat next to the bed and started pressing a damp cloth against Cas's forehead.

Cas moaned, turning his head into the cool touch. "Hannah," he mumbled in what sounded like a sob.

Dean stilled in his ministrations.

"No." Cas tossed his head to the side, expression pinching in pain.

Dean reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Cas, you're okay. Cas."

The angel's eyes shot open, wide with terror as he jerked his gaze around the room.

"You're in the bunker," Dean continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor. He'd never seen Cas like this, had always seen the angel bounce back from things. Dean moved his hand to gently cup the side of Cas's neck. "You're safe."

Cas slowly relaxed against the pillows, and Dean placed the cool cloth back on his forehead.

He waited for the angel's breathing to even out a little more before hesitantly asking, "So that was Hannah back there?"

Cas looked away.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't care for her," Cas replied tonelessly.

"Yeah, but you were friends. I know how much that hurts." Maybe that was when Dean and Sam had stopped fighting so hard to save people—when all their efforts turned out futile and they still lost those they cared about.

"Were friends," Cas repeated.

Frowning, Dean took the cloth away to drop it back in the bowl to re-soak. He scrutinized Cas's listless posture, the anguish in his feverish eyes. A sinking feeling started worming through his gut.

Dean rested his arms on the mattress. "Cas, did Hannah help do this to you?"

Cas's throat bobbed, and he looked down at his bandaged wrists, the stark white gauze looking like sports wraps.

Dean reeled back. Son-of-a-bitch, and he'd actually felt sorry the bitch was dead. He clamped his jaw together to keep from saying anything nasty in front of Cas. The angel was dealing with enough complicated emotions as it was, having been betrayed by someone he trusted.

And shit, didn't that ring all too familiar as well.

"Why didn't you tell me and Sam what was going on?" Dean couldn't help but ask. Demand. Because dammit, this wouldn't have happened if Cas had just been upfront with them.

Cas avoided looking at him. "You were…busy."

"We still would've come and got you."

"There's nothing you can do against this spell," Cas replied weakly. "I thought the angels could heal me…but not only did they not care at first, it turned out they can't."

Dean leaned forward again. "Sam and I will figure something out, we always do. We'll track down Rowena if we have to."

Cas sighed. "Don't you think the Darkness is a little more important?"

Dean blinked, stunned by the slightly bitter, mostly defeated tone in his friend's voice. Cas didn't really believe they'd just ignore this, did he? But that had to be it, because Dean kept going back to one thing—Cas turned to the angels for help first, knowing what they were capable of.

Dean had no idea how to fix this, how to repair the trust he'd broken. If it even could be fixed. Just like with the Darkness being let loose. But both were on Dean, so he had to try. And he sure as hell wasn't giving up on Cas.

Dean pulled out the sopping cloth and wrung out the excess water, then placed it back on the angel's forehead. Cas's eyes had drifted shut again, minute tremors running through his frame as the fever from the spell or his wounds pulled him under once more.

"Hang in there, Cas," Dean whispered. "We're gonna save you."

Because if there was one thing Winchesters were good at, aside from breaking the world, it was pulling family back from the brink.