A/N: Here's the other version of 11x2 I wanted to write. No Hannah in this one. And thank you Guest Castielle and Cruelest Sea for your reviews of the first one!

Dean held his phone to his ear and listened to the other line ring and ring and ring.

"Come on, Cas," he grumbled as the Impala revved down the road. The sooner Dean found the angel, the sooner they could get back to Superior and help Sam with his crazy-ass plan to cure the rabid Darkness infection.

Dean furled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel. Underneath his superficial layer of annoyance was festering worry gnawing at his gut. Cas had sounded terrible on the phone earlier, but of course the angel had only been concerned about Dean and whether the Mark was gone. Something was wrong, though, because instead of rushing to help them with the Darkness—like the angel always did—Cas had said 'goodbye.' Like, the final kind, the way Cas had sounded when he was ready to board up Heaven, back when he thought he was helping Metatron with Angel Trials and not a spell to cast the lot of winged dicks out.

Scowling in frustration, Dean pulled up the GPS app to track Cas's phone. It was still in Lebanon, but not near the bunker. It wasn't moving, either. Maybe Cas had lost his phone. Or dumped it. Dean's stomach tightened, and he pressed the gas harder.

Half an hour later, he punched redial and tried calling again. Finally, the line clicked, and Dean drew in a breath to chew out the angel for being incommunicado. The cool voice that greeted him, though, punched the air right back out of his lungs.

"Dean Winchester, I presume."

"Who the hell is this?"

"Call me Efram."

Dean's fingers clenched around the case of his cell phone. "Where's Cas?"

"Oh, he's…hanging around," came the reply, the last part unusually emphasized. "Your incessant calling has been particularly disruptive. I admit I was ready to just stab the damn thing, but then it occurred to me—Castiel always chooses the Winchesters over Heaven, running at your beck and call. So maybe you know where Metatron is."

Dean frowned. "What? How the hell should I know that?"

"Castiel did break the Scribe out to save you, didn't he?" Efram said. "That's what he always does."

Dean swallowed hard, not liking the gaps his brain was filling in here. Angels looking for Metatron, questioning Cas…though that was probably putting it very mildly.

"Look, Metatron's in the wind, but his grace is gone. He's human now! He's not a threat to you anymore." Dean quickly pulled his phone away to glance at the screen and double check the GPS beacon. It was still broadcasting from the same location.

Efram was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was low and steely. "Let's talk about a real threat, then. Castiel says the Darkness has been released, and I bet you and your brother are at the center of it."

Dean's chest constricted. What was he supposed to say to that? Yeah, the Darkness was free and it was his fault. He hadn't been able to do what needed to be done to ensure the Mark stayed on his arm and Death cast him away where he could never hurt anyone again. And Sam had gone and had Rowena remove it, even though Dean had told him not to. They both had broken the world yet again.

And it was too much to ask for the angels to actually help them. More likely they wanted to smite the Winchester brothers. Dean didn't necessarily blame them, but he couldn't let them take it out on Cas.

"Castiel won't give up your location," Efram went on before Dean could think of something to say. "So why don't you just come to us."

Dean heard the start of a muffled protest that was cut off by a dull thwack and grunt. He jammed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. "I'm already on my way."

Castiel spat a glob of blood from his mouth onto the floor, his head still ringing from Jonah striking him.

Efram set the cell phone down. "Dean Winchester will be here soon."

Castiel's heart dropped into his stomach. No. He couldn't let Dean be caught by the angels. They would torture the hunter for answers he didn't have, and then some more just out of sadistic pleasure.

The attack curse burrowing into his grace fed his panic, sending jolts of adrenaline through his quivering muscles, but it wasn't enough to give Castiel the strength to lift the chain off the hook he was dangling from. Helpless rage boiled deep in his gut like churning lava, and Castiel squirmed against the fire that felt as though it were trying to burn through him from the inside out.

Efram picked up the bloodied angel blade again. "While we're waiting…" He inserted the tip just underneath Castiel's collarbone, rotating it slowly. Castiel couldn't hold back the groan of pain. "I do believe that when you prayed, you said you would confess your transgressions."

Efram pushed the blade in deeper, rending a cry from Castiel's throat.

"So, Castiel, start confessing."

Dean pulled up outside the old, dilapidated building and turned off the engine. The signal from Cas's phone hadn't stopped transmitting from this location.

He knew going in alone was a bad idea, but he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Drawing his angel blade, Dean crept cautiously toward the door. He was expecting a trap, but it still stunned him when a figure emerged from a dark alcove and slammed his head against the wall. Black spots exploded across his vision, and he staggered woozily trying to clear it. A hand grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back to the point his shoulder almost dislocated, and another hand clamped over the back of his neck. Dean grunted as he was roughly manhandled through a door and into a wide space.

He had to blink several times to see straight, and the first thing his eyes caught was Cas, handcuffed and chained to a hook extending from the ceiling. He'd been stripped of his beige coat and suit jacket, his white dress shirt in blood streaked tatters. He wasn't even supporting his own weight as he dangled in the chains, eyes closed.

There was an angel with brown hair swept back like a Wall Street frat boy standing next to Cas, mouth pursed in a thoughtful moue, a bloodstained angel blade in his hand. Dean glanced over his shoulder and got a brief glimpse of the second angel: darker hair, crew cut.

"Which one of you is Efram?" Dean ground out, his head still captured in the unyielding grip.

The one holding the blade shifted to face him. "I am."

Dean gritted his teeth. That was who he was gonna kill first, then. If he could figure out his next move… Dammit, he never thought he'd miss the Mark. Well, not it, but the extra strength it gave him to take on some of the more heavy hitters.

"Well, I'm here," Dean continued, trying to maintain a degree of nonchalance. "What do you want?"

Efram's eyes narrowed. "Did you and your brother set the Darkness free?"

"No." Technically it'd been Rowena, but Dean didn't plan on getting into details with these thugs. He just needed to buy enough time to think of a way out of this.

Efram's nostrils flared and he took a menacing step forward. "I don't believe you."

"Yeah, well, I don't care if you believe me or not."

Efram lifted the blade he'd obviously been using on Cas and held it against Dean's cheek. "Where is it?"

"I don't know." He winced as the edge of the blade pressed harder, not enough to break skin yet.

"Do you have any idea what you've unleashed?"

Dean's throat bobbed. He knew it was bad, badder than anything they'd ever faced before. "You wanna stow your crap and actually help me figure out how to stop it?" he lobbed back.

Efram sneered at him. "Work with a Winchester? I wouldn't lower myself to Castiel's pathetic level."

"No, just a demon's with the whole torture gambit," Dean couldn't help but retort. He knew it wouldn't win him any points, and sure enough, Efram backhanded him across the face. It wasn't enough to knock him free of the other angel's hold, unfortunately.

Cas suddenly let out a low moan.

Efram turned to give the trussed up angel a false smile. "Oh good, he's awake. Wouldn't want him to miss this." Efram stalked around Cas and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back sharply. Cas let out a pained gasp, eyelids fluttering blearily as he fought his way to consciousness. Dean struggled against the second angel's grip.

"Look who made it, Castiel," Efram taunted, jerking Cas's head to the side so he could see Dean.

The hunter tried to give his friend an encouraging smile, but with his arm still twisted behind him, it came out more like a grimace.

Cas's bloodshot eyes widened. "No," he rasped, voice sounding wrecked from who knew how many hours of being tortured to the point of screams. Dean felt a chilled coil of ire wrap around his insides. These bastards were gonna pay for this.

"Now, Dean says he doesn't know where the Darkness is," Efram continued conversationally. "You say you don't know either. One or both of you must be lying." He let go of Cas and walked back to Dean. "So, I'm gonna take turns asking each of you, and every time you refuse to answer, the other gets to reap the consequences. Let's see how long before one of you cracks, shall we?"

Dean braced himself for the inevitable pain as Efram raised the blade toward his chest. Cas started thrashing in the chains, and Dean was startled by the animalistic snarl that suddenly rent from the angel's lips.

Cas swung his legs up and snapped them around Efram's neck, locking his ankles and attempting to fling the angel from side to side. Efram let out a surprised cry as he was yanked off his feet.

The second angel's hold loosened as he made an abortive move to help, which was all Dean needed. He threw his elbow back into the angel's face, dislodging the hand on his other arm. Twisting around, Dean snatched the guy's own angel blade from his belt and shoved it right between his ribs into his heart. The angel's mouth flew wide as he screamed, a supernova blazing out from his throat.

Dean yanked the blade out and whirled just as Efram managed to stab Cas in the legs twice, forcing him to let go. Cas dropped like a sack of meat in those chains, and Efram raised his blade to finish the job.

Dean surged forward and thrust his own blade through Efram's throat. Another explosion of light filled the room before the body hit the floor with a thud. So Efram hadn't gone first, but he would never lay a hand on Cas again, and that was all that mattered.

Dean turned toward his friend, only to pull up short at the snapping snarl Cas directed at him. The angel's shoulders and chest were heaving, eyes wide and mixed with blood…wait a second. No, it couldn't be.

"Cas?" Dean stood stock still in the middle of this makeshift torture chamber, staring in stupefaction at his best friend writhing like a rabid animal.

Cas wrenched against the chains one more time, only to finally sag in them. He was panting, and squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head into one arm.

"Dean," his voice cracked.

"Yeah, right here, buddy. Everything's gonna be okay." Dean had no idea if that was actually true, but he took a cautious step closer, reaching out to get those chains unhooked.

Cas jerked away from him. "No, it's too dangerous."

"What is?" Dean had a guess, but was really hoping Cas would tell him otherwise.

Cas let out a shuddering breath. "Me. It's a- a curse."

Dean swallowed hard. "Rowena?"

Cas nodded, still not looking at him.

Dean inhaled sharply. Son-of-a-bitch. That was another person going on his hit list.

"You need to run, Dean."

He bristled. "Like hell. I am not just gonna leave you chained up here."

"You have to," Cas choked out, a violent tremor rippling through him. "I- I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You won't, okay? We'll get you back to the bunker."

Dean grabbed the chains and strained to lift them the few inches needed to bring them off the hook. Once free, Cas's arms dropped like dead weight to his sides and he swayed, one leg nearly buckling. Dean slipped an arm around his back to brace him.

"Which one of these dicks has the key to those?" he asked, nodding to the handcuffs.

Cas started shaking his head fervently. "Leave them on."

"Leave—" Dean forced himself to take a breath, and decided not to argue. He'd seen this particular curse in action, and it wasn't pretty. Cas was handling it well enough, though; the humans Rowena had cursed had turned completely rabid. That had to be a good sign.

Dean adjusted his grip on Cas and angled him toward the exit. "Come on."

They both staggered their way out of the building and to the Impala. Dean eased Cas into the front passenger seat, then ran back to collect the angel blades, Cas's phone, and his coat. Cas really liked the thing, and Dean didn't want to leave it behind. Then he stashed everything in the trunk and booked it back to the bunker.

Castiel shuddered, and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to ease the fire festering inside him. Rowena's curse was digging deeper, tearing into his grace and leaving it in shreds. He was barely keeping the effects at bay, and had nothing left to expend on his injuries. Blood loss was making him dizzy, and every inch of him hurt each time the Impala hit a small rut in the road. He curled in on himself.

He didn't want to be here, didn't want to risk putting Dean in harm's way. Yet at the same time, the bunker was a promise of security, a place where he could be locked up and unable to hurt anyone. He just had to keep it together until they got there.

Castiel was so focused on breathing through the spasms that he didn't even realize they had pulled into the bunker's garage until Dean was crouching in front of him, the passenger door open.

"Cas?" The lines around those green eyes crinkled with worry.

He shifted, unfurling a little to get out of the car. His leg gave out when he tried to stand, and he collapsed against the door. Dean ducked in to take part of his weight.

"Easy, easy. Shit, you gonna make it down the stairs?"

Castiel nodded, because that was the ultimate goal: make it somewhere safe. Just a little further.

He limped with Dean right beside him, through the garage to the balcony and then down the steps. Dean guided him down the hallway, but Castiel stopped short when the hunter tried to make the wrong turn.

"No, the dungeon."

Dean's expression hardened. "I am not locking you up in the friggin' dungeon, Cas."

He gritted his teeth; that was the only reason he'd agreed to come here. "You have to."

"String you up like those bastards did? I don't think so." Dean yanked on Castiel's arm, now half dragging him toward the dormitory wing.

"Dean," he growled in frustration. "You don't understand."

"I know what spell this is, so yeah, I do," Dean retorted, and then he let out a long breath before lowering his tone. "We can chain you to the bed. Because you are gonna lay down and let me look at those wounds."

Castiel supposed that was an acceptable compromise. And he was in so much pain…

Dean nudged a door open with his boot and helped Castiel inside to the bed. "I'm gonna go grab the first aid kit," he said, leaving Castiel to sink onto the mattress. He was sorely tempted to lay down in search of numbing darkness, but he couldn't risk a lapse in control for the spell to take advantage of.

Dean returned several minutes later with arms full of supplies, which he set out on the dresser. Then he turned toward Castiel, an extra set of chains in his hand and a reluctant look on his face.

"Please, Dean," Castiel said, trying to alleviate the man's guilt. This was for the best.

Dean huffed, but came over and snapped one cuff around a standing pipe behind the nightstand, and the other around the chain of handcuffs Castiel was already wearing. The hunter suddenly grabbed Castiel's hand and turned it slowly from side to side, examining the bruises and places where skin had been scraped off.

"Cas…"

He tried to tug his hand back. "It's fine." The injuries hurt, and every time the metal cuff slid up or down it sent jolts of pain through the tender spots, but it was a small price to pay for ensuring Dean's safety.

Dean looked ready to argue, jaw ticking, but he kept silent, and instead grabbed some antiseptic wipes off the dresser. With a gentleness Castiel wasn't expecting, Dean pushed one metal bracelet up as far as it could go, and began dabbing at Castiel's raw wrist. It stung, but was brief in comparison to the time he'd spent being Efram and Jonah's piñata.

Dean wrapped Castiel's wrist in gauze, layering it several times over, then leaned back to study it. After a moment, he pulled out a bandana and wrapped that around the bandage as well. Then he let the handcuff ring slide back down, the wounds now sufficiently cushioned against its sharp edge. Dean did the same to Castiel's other wrist.

Finished, Dean straightened and frowned. "I'm gonna have to cut the shirt off."

Castiel glanced down at the tattered thing. If he ever found a way to remove this spell, he could probably repair it. And if he didn't…well, then it mattered little anyway.

Castiel nodded. Dean took out a small knife, and Castiel felt a thrill of fear as light reflected off the shining blade. He closed his eyes.

He heard the squeak of a floorboard, felt the displacement of air as Dean moved close, and suddenly the tang of copper was infiltrating Castiel's nose and mouth, the impacts of Dean's fists against flesh radiating through Castiel's body.

He squeezed his eyes tighter and breathed sharply through his nose. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Right now, it wasn't real.

"Cas?" Dean's voice sounded far away. "Cas, come on, buddy, talk to me."

Castiel let out a shuddering gasp and his eyes snapped open. He shivered as cold air washed over his exposed back and chest. His shirt lay in bloodied strips on the floor, and Dean was no longer holding the knife.

"You with me?" Dean asked, trying to sound composed, though Castiel detected the slight tenor of worry in his voice.

Not trusting himself to speak, Castiel gave a slow, measured nod.

"Okay." Dean's gaze shifted downward, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Castiel held very still, not looking down at his wounds. Dean moved to grab a cloth and water bottle from the dresser. Castiel closed his eyes again.

The first brush over one of the lacerations was light, but Castiel still tensed. He felt his grace and the curse churning inside him, Rowena's spell skewering him like taloned barbs, worming ever deeper. Like being eaten alive from the inside.

"You're hunching too much," Dean's voice broke through the haze. "Can you lay down?"

Castiel lifted his gaze to Dean's, frowning in confusion. Dean shifted awkwardly, and then reached out to take Castiel's shoulders and guide him back to rest against the pillows. His chest constricted at the more vulnerable position, and he dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself grounded.

"Where's Sam?" he finally asked, trying to find something else to concentrate on. He flinched when Dean continued wiping the blood from another gash.

Dean didn't respond right away. "Nebraska. When the Darkness was released, there was this smoke, and it infected the people of a nearby town, turning them into…well, rabid animals. Not a curse, though; more like a disease, a contagious one."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "But…why is Sam still there? Did- is he?" Castiel tried to sit up in a panic, but Dean gently pushed him back down.

"Sam stayed behind to try to find a cure. Save people," he added in a low tone. "There was this baby at the hospital we were hiding in. I got it and another person out of town while Sam stayed behind."

"I don't understand," Castiel stammered. "Why- why aren't you back there now?"

Dean shot him a bland look. "I was coming to find you first."

Castiel started shaking his head. "I can't help with this, Dean. I'm…the spell…"

"I know, Cas, I'm not asking you to." Dean dabbed away more of the blood. "Okay, I'm gonna start stitching this. You good for that?"

Castiel gaped at him, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "What? No. Dean, you need to get back to Sam."

The Winchester's expression darkened. "First you tell me to leave you trussed up in that building, and now you're telling me to leave you chained up and bleeding all over the bed?"

"But Sam—"

"Is a big boy." Dean turned away with a scowl to pick up a needle and thread. His movements were stiff with barely concealed anger, and he turned back too quickly. Castiel jerked away from him.

Dean froze, threaded needle in hand. "Cas?"

"I'm sorry," he rasped, ducking his gaze. "This is too dangerous, Dean. Please, just go back and help Sam."

Dean didn't say anything for several long moments, and then Castiel felt the edge of the mattress dip as Dean slowly lowered himself onto it. "I'm not gonna hurt you," the hunter said, voice low and contrite.

Castiel made a choked sound in the back of his throat. "I'm not worried about that."

"You sure?" Dean pressed. "Cas, look at me."

Castiel refused. He didn't want Dean to see the violence he knew was swirling in his eyes, the fetid wrongness consuming him piece by piece, trying to rip him apart and exert control, just like the Leviathan had, like Naomi had. Dean didn't need to see Castiel ruined and loathsome like that again. It was bad enough Dean seeing him this weak.

"I don't blame you for not trusting me," Dean said quietly. "Hell, if Sam were here, I'd let him patch you up if it made things easier. But he's not, and I'm all you got."

Castiel finally looked at him. "Of course I trust you, Dean."

A muscle in the hunter's jaw ticked. "That why you start having a panic attack every time I come near you with something sharp?"

Castiel's throat tightened. "I don't want the spell to get triggered if it perceives a threat."

"And you have every reason to see me as one." Dean sighed. "What I did…"

"You weren't yourself," Castiel automatically replied.

"That's not an excuse," Dean retorted, then shook his head. "I nearly killed you. God, if I had actually gone through with it…" His expression pinched in pain and misery. "I never would have come back from that."

Castiel reached out to squeeze Dean's wrist. "You're stronger than you think."

Castiel hadn't stopped Dean that day. Oh, he'd tried, tried to get through to Dean underneath the rage and bloodlust. But he'd failed. Dean was the one who pulled back of his own accord, and not because of anything Castiel had done or said.

Dean looked away, a sheen gathering in his eyes. After a few moments, he apparently collected himself and turned back. "Okay if I stitch these up now? If it gets to be too much, just tell me and we'll take a break."

Castiel took in a shuddering breath. He knew Dean was only trying to help, that any pain that came next was with the intent to heal. But he was afraid of setting off the spell.

"Dean, I don't trust myself."

Dean twisted his wrist out of Castiel's grip to take hold of his forearm, returning the comforting squeeze. "But you said you trust me, right?"

Castiel frowned, but nodded.

"Okay, well I trust you. So you're covered."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "That doesn't make sense."

Dean smiled, and patted his arm. "Just trust me."

Castiel wanted to be exasperated, but it took too much energy and he was getting so tired. So he decided to let go this one time, and put not only his life, but his responsibility for Dean's life in the Winchester's own hands.

It took forever for Dean to stitch all the wounds on Cas's body. They'd had to take several breaks when Cas's trembling got to be too jerky for Dean to keep working. Cas kept trying to apologize, as if everything was his fault, which it wasn't, not even close. At one point, Cas had started getting a little delirious, mumbling about being a burden and problem for the Winchesters.

Dean had given up trying to convince the angel otherwise after the fifth episode, and settled for silently wiping the sweat off Cas's brow during bouts of tremors, hoping actions rather than words might do a better job of getting the message across. After all, Dean wasn't dense enough not to realize how his actions over the years might have contributed to his best friend's current estimation of himself.

Words and actions. How often did they really align in the Winchester sphere?

Of course Dean was worried about Sam, but there was no way he was leaving Cas like this. And if Sam were here, he would agree. Putting other people first. Saving them.

Once Cas was all patched up and dozing in what he hoped was a healing sleep, Dean draped a couple blankets over the angel and stepped out into the hall. He tried calling Jenna to see how she and Amara were doing, but there was no answer. He left a voice message.

Then he considered calling Sam. How long had it been since they last checked in with each other? Only a day? Felt like longer.

He decided to text his brother instead, just in case Sam was neck deep in something. Hopefully a cure and not bodies, though Dean honestly didn't have much hope for that. This was the Darkness, after all. Something pre-everything.

Dean slumped against the wall. Now that Cas was resting, he had nothing to do, no action to take. It left him exhausted after the past few days, but also antsy. He hated waiting around.

His phone started ringing, startling him so bad he smacked his head on the wall. Glancing at the caller ID, he immediately answered. "Sam?"

"Dean! I did it." Kid sounded as giddy as when he was chatting about his serial killer fetish. "I found a cure."

It took Dean a moment to process that before his knees nearly turned to jello. "Seriously?" Son-of-a-bitch, that was the last time he'd doubt the effectiveness of his little brother's tenacity.

"Yeah! Tracked down everyone in town who was left and cured them. We're making our way to the next county right now. Where are you?"

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. "The bunker. I found Cas."

"He okay?" Sam asked, no doubt detecting the strain in Dean's voice.

"No, he's…he's in bad shape. Can you make it back here on your own?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam hurried to assure him, all trace of that triumphant high gone and replaced with urgency. "We hot-wired a few cars from town. I'll be there soon." The line disconnected.

Dean took a deep breath, looking through the doorway at Cas's still form buried underneath the blankets. Sam had just found a cure for the impossible; they'd find a way to beat this too.

A/N: We can assume that Dean later hears about Jenna's and her grandmother's deaths, maybe even that a "Father Crowley" was involved. The Winchesters are smart; they'll figure it out. ;) Thanks for reading!