Authors note: Bold and Italicized type is bond speech. Communication via telepathy.

Castiel really should still be sleeping. Exhausted. Yes, that is the correct word for being completely, utterly worn out. And he is. Not so much physically though, but emotionally, mentally, and mostly from spending the entire day battling the urge to smite John Winchester.

Because John spent the entire day berating Dean.

Every chance John got, and even ones John did not get, John used to demoralize Dean; Masticating Dean until there was nothing left.

Dean was devastated, though one would never know, given how very well Dean excels at veiling his feelings, leaving Castiel more than a little worried. So Castiel spent quite a lot of time inside Dean's head and their bond comforting, reassuring Dean, letting him know how loved, how cherished, how wonderful he is.

On top of all that, was the hunt.

The hunt.

Oh the hunt... Dean. Oh…Dean. Dean was hurt and all Castiel could do was clean and stitch him up, bandage his wounds. Which was quite the ordeal, as it had taken Sam and him the better part of the morning to patch Dean up, Dean was hurt that terribly.

They were all hunting a Black Dog.

Well, Sam and John were.

Dean and him, well… Castiel blushes, smiles. Dean and him were flirting.

With vigor.


They had shared a gentle, loving kiss behind a tree, their fingers entwined, hips canting into one another; Then they were nuzzling, necks were being kissed, noses rubbing, foreheads pressed together. It was soft and gentle. It was beautiful. It was tender and sweet. Everything that is Dean. His beautiful Dean.

Until John happened upon them.

John had ripped them apart and snarled the most vile, noxious, devastatingly cruel, utterly hateful, putrid words Castiel has ever heard, at Dean. Castiel nearly smote

John on the spot, but Dean had not wanted that, so John remained.

Shortly thereafter, shit hit the fan, as Dean would say, everything happening in rapid succession. The black dog had bitten Dean's hip and dug its claw into his upper thigh, dragging Dean away. Castiel was terrified; Chased after them as quick as he was physically able. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough, as the black dog had
dragged a rapidly bleeding Dean out onto a frozen lake.

Just as he and Sam had come upon the lake, so had John. Unsure of just how frozen the lake was, Sam and him had come to a halt debating the best way to get to Dean. John, however, ran out onto the lake, and for a brief moment, both Castiel and Sam, had, foolishly, thought John had cared about his eldest son; They were
wrong. John cared only for the hunt, shooting the black dog, triggering a heart-wrenching sequence of events.

Bullets had hit not only the black dog, but the ice as well. Which, of course, broke. The black dog struggled, powerful claws grabbing Dean's stomach for purchase as it fell through the ice into the lake, dragging Dean down with him as Castiel and Sam had watched in horror. The cries of agony and fear from both Dean and the black dog were nearly indistinguishable. Castiel had rushed out onto the ice and dove in. Thank the heavens he was able to find Dean quickly.

Dean was so cold. So, so, cold, and Castiel wasted no time in flying back to the hotel, cradling Dean to his chest.

An utterly miserable day resulting in Dean, as always, being the one to take the brunt of it all.

Castiel thoughts turn back to Dean's father. Castiel hates the man. Dead-beat dad indeed. The man is a monster who is slowly killing his own son with his cruelty. The things he says to Dean, the insults he hurls are so utterly vile and filled with such enmity; It is toxic, and it wounds Dean to his very soul. Castiel feels it all through their bond, and all that hurt Dean feels―hides―is what has Castiel ready to smite, smite, smite.

Castiel stares up at the stained ceiling, frowning. Sigh. Being unable to heal Dean had broken his heart. And he couldn't heal Dean because Dean had not wanted him―an angel―hurt. Dean saw the trap before Castiel did and Dean, being the self-sacrificing, righteous, selfless, man he is, Dean had pushed him out of harms way. Huff. Scowl. Dean did not want Castiel hurt. Dean. The spell would not have affected Cas, but Dean…Dean didn't care. Dean didn't want anything, even a hangnail, to happen to Castiel.

Righteous indeed. Castiel sighs softly and folds his arms behind his head, wistful smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he thinks of Dean, his Dean. Self sacrificing, Dean. Always thinking of others, Dean. It's endearing really, but when Dean's health is at stake, such reckless behavior that endangers Dean, is entirely unacceptable. Dean has been through enough pain, physically, emotionally, mentally, sexually,to last a billion lifetimes. It stops now.

Dean should not have had to suffer any of it. The worst is that Dean has been manipulated, been beaten into thinking he deserves all of it. Castiel feels the rage boil up to the surface the more he thinks about how badly the brainwashing, gaslighting, and conditioning was for Dean to measure his self-worth by how well he takes care of Sam and how good a hunter he is. John, and Sam both are responsible. Castiel knows everything Dean has been through. He has seen it all, for Castiel has been watching his human charge for a very long time. And, Castiel recreated Dean. Knows his human intimately. More intimately than anyone has ever known Dean; More than anyone will ever know Dean, or anyone for that matter. How anyone could ever hurt such a gentle, beautiful, kind, generous soul is something Castiel will never comprehend.

It physically hurts him knowing how very little Dean thinks of himself. How very little worth Dean attributes to himself. That Dean places himself last to everyone and anyone, everything and anything.

Castiel aches for Dean. In every way there is, so he has made it top priority to change how Dean sees himself. To prove to Dean that Dean is beautiful and selfless and good and worth so much more than he can imagine.

"Hm," Castiel hums softly to himself and turns over, nuzzling his face into Dean's pillow. "Mmmm, Dean…silly Dean. Must you," Yawn. "Must you always put your," Yawn. "… needs last? Silly," He breathes in Dean's scent and closes his eyes against the darkness.



"Dean!" Dean is not here. How could he…? I must be more exhausted than I thought…That is no excuse. How could I not know Dean left?!

Sitting up faster than the sheets can comprehend, Castiel narrows his eyes at the clock, the puffs of white linen waft down to settle in his lap; "Thirty-five minutes… after one ante… meridiem…" He scrutinizes every inch of their motel room.

For some reason Castiel is not at all optimistic.

Albeit the perpetuity of Winchester luck, or, the extraordinary fear, and helplessness he feels whenever Dean is out of his sight.

Castiel washes his face with his hands, swings his legs over the edge of bed, and just sits; Palms pressed into the bed, leaning forward, he wiggles his toes, so completely lost in his thoughts, that he fails to notice the youngest Winchester storm into the room.

"My father is an ASSHOLE!" Sam's hands tangle in his mane and link together. He paces furiously in front of Cas, lost in his own thoughts as well. "I can't believe him! Wait, yeah, yeah I can! He's always been such a fucking hard ass to us, but this… Cas, man…The shit he said," He rubs his hands over his face, dragging them down to steeple over his opening mouth, pinching his bottom lip between his hands, folding them as in prayer, staring, unblinking in disbelief at the wall. "The way he was talking about you…" His voice is trembling along with his hands. "The things he said about Dean…. What he'd do… Cas, man… Damn it! I should have stayed awake after he left. I was just so tired and it was early, you know…I didn't think... "

Castiel slowly meets Sam's eyes and cants his head. Confused. It's all so foggy. Sam… Why is Sam in here?

Castiel continues to observe Sam, squinting in thought, tips his head to the other side. Hm, interesting; Sam is frantic. Sam is frightened. Sam is a ball of nervous energy and Sam's gesturing is progressing from wild to crazed…annnnnd Sam only gets this way over…

"DEAN!" The clouds have lifted, the fog dissipating into a terrifying clarity. Castiel rockets to his feet, sheets billowing upward and then down with his motion, exposing him in all his angelic glory(as Dean would say).

"Gahhh, Cas!," Sam, unable to not look, Man, Dean, I know that had to hurt. I had no clue Cas was hung like a damn Pegasus! does, blushing furiously, before averting his eyes and throwing up his hands, blocking the general area of Cas'…area. "Clothes, dude! Clothes!" Sam guffaws, suddenly amused as the mental image of Cas wrapped around Dean pops in his head. His big brother, self-imposed bad ass, big and tough, manly man Dean, the little spoon. Oh that is just priceless and he can't wait to bust Dean's balls about it. I bet Dean bottoms too. Ha!

Castiel's cheeks redden a bit. "My apologies, Sam." With a thought, he's dressed, and with a sigh, regrets the waste of Grace. "Where is Dean? He is no longer here. What is going on, Sam? Where is Dean? What did John say?" His tone is dark, laden with wrath. "What happened?"

Cas has smite written all over his face, leaving Sam with the impression that Cas will do just that if anything has so much as left a particle of dust on Dean. Cas is officially on the warpath.

Sam is irritating Castiel immensely. "What did he do, Sam?" Castiel inhales deeply; Focusing on the air filling his chest, slowly releasing, in and out, calm, he must be calm, emotionless if he is to find Dean. Tears however, heed him not.

Sam renews his assault on the carpet, arms swing, fists clenching; He's fucking fuming. "Shortly after we had taken care of Dean and went to bed…I, I'm assuming you guys were…sleeping?" Sam waggles his eyebrows at Cas, to which Cas rolls his eyes. "Dad woke me up―screaming," Sam stops,realizing, for the first time, that Cas and his brother are, in fact, together, a couple, and smiles at Cas. "I'm really happy for you and Dean, Cas. I just want you to know that I am not homophobic, and that I fully support you and my brother. I already know you treat him right," Wide grin. "I mean,"

"Sam," Castiel finds the sound of Sam's voice grating. Very grating.

"I've known Dean was bi-sexual,well, since you're an angel and Dean has always seemed to fall for who the person is, not that he's ever fallen for anyone as hard as he has for you,"


" I guess that means he's pansexual, actually, huh. Yeah, yeah, that fits. But, uh, what was I saying…oh, yeah, it's about fucking time, man; You guys were driving me crazy—"


Sam is startled out of his rambling, and sheepishly, rubs the back of his neck. Probably should have stayed on the path. Cas is… Wow…. He… Damn. Cas is almost in tears. Cas isn't just pissed. He's scared. Shit. That scares the shit out of me. "I'm sorry, Cas."

Cas' shoulders slump and he looks away, lips tightening to a thin line, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "No, I am sorry, Sam…I, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that." Castiel looks away, closes his eyes. Deep breath. Opens his eyes, turns back to Sam, smiling sadly. "Thank you for your support… I just.." Watery cerulean meets soft hazel.

"I know, Cas. I know. Sorry," Sam places his hand on Castiel's shoulder hoping to give some comfort to his distressed friend. Before he continues, he smiles, giving Cas' shoulder a squeeze in a further gesture of support. "The bartender just called me, woke me up, actually said he was calling the cops on my dad for starting a brawl. And do you know why? Because Dad just can't help himself. Dad was furious this morning. He was screaming: 'Fucking fagg—"

Dean suddenly consumes Castiel. Grace and blood and muscle and thought and bond, everything is Dean. Castiel is pitching forward, eyes blown wide open and he's cutting Sam off ―"Castiel…help…" ―with a gasp, then a sharp cry of pain before dropping to his knees. "Dean." Dean is in terrible pain…he's even more hurt…Cas doubles over and holds his stomach. Dean is reaching out to him with an onslaught of emotions and agony. Dean used his full name. This is bad. So bad. The pain…the pain is staggering in its intensity. Castiel curls in on himself, suddenly unable to draw breath. He can't hear, he can't breathe…and then…nothing.

For a moment Sam just stares, gaping, at Castiel. He has no clue what happened. Why Cas is on the floor in tears, gasping for air. Shit. . Sam kneels beside the angel and places his hand on Cas' back. "Cas, man, Cas, what is it? Are you alright?"

Castiel gains control and stands, paying no mind to Sam's gesture of comfort. There is no time. "We have to go." Castiel rushes to the door, not waiting.

Sam blinks and shakes his head. What the hell? "Cas? Cas what's up?What happened?"

"We do NOT have time, Sam! Dean is going to die if we do not leave Now."

"Dean what? Wait…what? Where is he? The bar? How do you know he will die?"

Castiel storms over to Sam, eyes hard, Grace on fire and visible in his eyes. "Sam, Dean and I share a profound bond. That bond is fully is open. Dean called to me, spoke to me. He said: 'Castiel…help…' " Castiel's expression of 'You good? Can we leave? Make enough sense? And he is not waiting. Castiel turns and storms out the door racing down the road, headed to the bar, scanning for Dean.

Sam searches Castiel for further explanation,watching his retreating form with growing unease, until he finally understands. "Shit! Cas! Wait up! I'm coming!" Sam takes off, trotting up beside Cas.

Castiel stops and looks around. The bar is roughly a quarter mile away, with several shops lining either side of the road before tapering off into forests to Castiel's left, and an abandoned farmstead on his right. The motel is next to the farmstead. Where are you, Dean? Castiel, for some reason is drawn to the large, dilapidated barn. He starts to walk toward it, but a large hand wrapped around his bicep halts him in his tracks. Sam.

"Cas? Where are you going?" Sam releases Cas in favor of the pockets of his Carhart.

"I," Cas lifts his arms up, staring at the barn. "I don't," His arms fall to his side as he turns to face Sam, deflated, "I do not know, I…there's just…there's just something about this barn…" Castiel squats down, pressing into his eyes with the heels of his palms, desperately seeking out Dean in their bond.

"Yeah," Nods. "Yeah, it's creepy, definitely. We should check the bar first. That's where Dad would have gone, and that's where Dean will be," Sam draws out the words at length, brow knitted together as he watches Cas.

"He's hurt―hurting―I…Dean…"

Sam shifts his stance, opens his mouth to speak, thinks better of it, then changes his mind again. "Uh, hey, hey, Cas?"

"Hm?" Castiel is slow in getting up, and even slower dragging his gaze , heavy, distracted, to meet the curious expression of the youngest Winchester.

"Did, did uh, did Dean really use your, uh…full name?"

Inexplicably sad, Castiel rolls his shoulders, wings itching to unfurl and stretch, provide comfort. "Yes. And he spoke it in Enochian. He is very badly hurt, Sam." Turning away from Sam and the barn, Castiel starts walking back toward the bar, scanning the pavement, sides of the road, alleyways―everywhere―for his mate. "I can feel it. I think the bar is waste of time,"

"It's the best place to start though." Sam shivers. "It's fucking freezing out here, man; We should've taken the Impala. Brrrrbbbrbbrrrr," Shuddering away the cold, along with hitchhiking snowflakes, Sam tears his eyes from Cas, unable to look into the very depths of true heartache any kicks at a chunk of road filthy snow, failing to notice that Cas has put distance between them. Sam scrapes his boot on the pavement, making shapes into old and new snow, thinking on what Dean's plea in Enochian means. Dean can speak fluent Enochian? Shit. I can't even do that. When was he gonna tell me about it? "So should we go back and get the Impala, Cas? Caaa…? Shit!" Sam races to catch up to Cas.

"Wake the fuck up, faggot!" John snarls at his unconscious child. He's eager to straight'n the princess out, but Dean needs to be awake to grasp this lesson.

The barn here will serve his purpose just fine. He missed it walking to the bar, but then again, he was shitfaced. He's sobered up quite a bit since then. Couldn't let Dean know that though. As he was dragging his little princess back to the motel, he happened to catch sight of the old barn. Pleasant surprise. Damn thing was a bitch to get into, though, locked up tighter than a virgins pussy, but there ain't nothing John can't get into. 'Cept maybe Dean's head, he thinks. At any rate he's got Dean setup just how he wants him. All prepped for his lesson. John's seen this particular form of punishment in action, up close and personal.

And it worked.

John will be damned if his eldest is gonna stay gay. Shit ain't right and it happening on John's watch. He did not raise Dean to be weak and a cock sucker. He raised Dean to be strong, to be a ladies man. Not no damn fruitloop. And a monster fucking one at that. Fucking kid left him no choice. "I said," John kicks the leg of the chair, jostling Dean.

Dean groans.

John kicks again. "Wake the fuck up!"

Dean moans, muscles twitching, hurting him. He tries to open his eyes, but the damn things must be taped shut for all the good it does him. A sudden jolt has his eyes flying open, and a flurry of expletives between hissing and gasping. It's a process, getting himself under control enough to take stock of his situation:

Tied to a chair.



Bound at the ankles, calves, wrists , stomach….ugh…A chair with no bottom…

Oh you have got to be kiddin' me…

He's naked from the waist down. What the fuck… His shirt is pulled up a bit from the rope, gifting Dean with quite a view. His abs are twitching and jumping, each twitch pumping more blood out from his wound. He pouts. Damn. Love trail of lovely light blonde hair is matted down with blood. Blood that has pooled in his pubic hair. Shudder. Blood and Little Dean do not mix. Memories. No. He's scared. No denying it. Blood has soaked his lower body. Remnants of his toilet paper bandage job look ridiculous now. Seems like a lifetime ago he was sitting in the bar's bathroom, make bandages out of toilet paper.

Dean can feel his father standing behind him. The calm before the storm. Before his dad's anger takes a life of its own and Dean ends up, well, not anywhere good, that's for damn sure.

It's fucking downright terrifying, and it scares the shit outta him. Hell, his dad in any state scares the shit outta him. Always has though… His dad hasn't acted this strange in a long time. An'that never means anythin' good. He leans back in the chair, tips his head back, looking for and not finding his dad. This sucks. Instincts have him squirming, testing his bindings. Very bad idea. His vision starts to swim, glittering bright and painful, like water reflecting the sun. Such a bad idea. Painful reminder that he's got a fucked up back now on top of everything else.

Just great.

The pain forces his head to drop and he stares at his lap again. Huh. No jeans. No boxer-briefs.

Oh yeah.

He's fucking naked from the waist down. Tied to a chair. With no seat. Which is in itself extremely painful. He snaps his eyes shut and squeezes tight.

Oh no….nononononononononononooooooo…..


Dean forces himself to open his eyes again. It's dark, save for a sliver of pinkish-orange, the color of a snow storm, forming a slat of light rapidly filling with snowflakes and swirls of dust. Out of that snowy dust stalks his father: Puffs of hot air escaping anger flared nostrils, eyes overflowing with cold hate.


"School's in session, dude."John cheerfully informs Dean.

School? What the fuck?

No, no, no, no. There is something not quite right about his―John―tonight. Suddenly Dean is overcome with a flashback: He's fourteen and pretty, wearing his mom's dress and perfume( John saved from the fire). John made Dean put mascara on. Not that Dean even needed it. He knows he has ridiculously long eyelashes, and how girly that is. He knows his lips are plump and girly too. He knows because he's been picked on for it. He's in front of a mirror in the bathroom of yet another bar and his dad is stroking his shoulders and arms, nuzzling his head. Dean is confused and terrified. He squirms. He's so scared. Wants to run like hell. But…but this is the most affection and the closet EVER Dean has come to getting a hug. But it feels wrong. Soooooo fucking wrong. It's not comfort…it's weird and he's really scared…he didn't want to do any of this. He told his dad so, but that had earned him the buckle end of belt and the promise of more, but on his *front* if he didn't comply. That kinda pain on his chest and stomach…he couldn't…no way. That makes this on him. Dean's fault. As usual.

As quick as it came, the flashback is gone and Dean is a sweating, bleeding, panicking, terrified, pitiful, agonized, mess and he fucking whimpers god damn it all to fucking hell.

So Dean tries, tries so hard, so, so, so fucking hard not to sound weak, pitiful, but it's an inevitability; He is hurt and it hurts and he can't help it and it always makes the beatings so much worse. "…D-Dah…ddd, ples…'m'urt…" Begging and losing his voice now, "…b-bad…" so not good.

Gasping for air.

Can't breathe right.

Somethings wrong.


Think,think, think…

It's so hard to think clearly.



Flail chest.

Gotta be.

He knows enough to know paradoxical breathing is extremely bad, wrong, and that's how he's kinda sort not really breathing. Fuck, I…I feel awful…

Gotta stay still. "Dih, duh, ddddaaad…wh't'r…" Cough. Static fireworks behind his eyes. Blood on his lips. That did not feel right. Things shifted.


Dean is coughing up blood and it's running out of his mouth, down his chin; More is streaming from his broken nose, which is yet one more obstacle to overcome if he has any shot at breathing. He's hot and sticky. "…rrr'ya…du'win?" His head drops, chin to chest and Dean notices his thigh for the first time. It's bandaged. Huh. Did he get bit?

Why can't I remember?

He looks up at his father to ask if he knows, only to end up flinching from the hatred he reads in John's eyes, spewing from his commanding officer's mouth. All directed at him.

"You're a faggot, Dean, a homo, ya understand that? I did not raise you that way. I am so fucking ashamed of you. You disgust me. How, Dean? How? How did you end up this way? I know it ain't my fault, 'cause I am a man A man. Ya…ya even know what that is, son―son… ya ain't my boy. Men are straight, Dean. Men do not fuck other men. You don't stick yer dick in a mans asshole! You don't kiss men! It's wrong, Dean. Wrong. I mean, how…how stupid are you? Ya ever even read the Bible, Dean?"

Dean can't help it. He snickers as best he can at that. Cas is an angel. And hell, he pretty much lived through Revelations.

John backhands Dean. "Laugh it up, faggot. Why do you think your monster Fell, huh? Your 'angel'," John makes a big production using air quotes. "Fell, not for you, dumbass, but for being a homo. Don't like that, do ya? Hit a sore spot? I know all about it. Know'bout that handprint too. An' that's next on my list,"

The pain Dean feels from the backhand is nothing compared to the fury he feels when his father insults his angel. Panic fuels adrenaline and Dean is struggling as hard as can to rip his dad to pieces as Castiel's handprint on Dean's should is threatened.

"Ha, don't like that, huh? Well guess what, kiddo? Your mother wouldn't be happy about you being queer. Oh, you didn' know that, did you? Oh yeah, Mary thinks homosexuality is a sin. Just like her prick of a father. But at least we all agree on that. An'on top of all that, you're fucking a monster. You are sticking your fucking prick in a giant birds asshole,"

Dean feels John's words like a punch to the gut, driving the wind right outta him. Fury and fear and shame and agony spin round and round and round, leaving him strung out and weak. "N-N-Nooooo," He can barely shake his head; It's all too much…it's all too much. It hurts. It hurts so badly he's choking on it. It crawls up from the pit of his stomach and burns all the way to his eyes, to expose him, leave him vulnerable for more. The hurt is followed by insurmountable anger. His angel ain't no monster. "N'nnn…tttt, m'ster,"

In one quick, long stride, John is in front of Dean. He wraps his hands around Dean's sweat slick neck and squeezes. "Shut your goddamn mouth, and be a good little soldier, ya goddamned girl."

Tears stream down Dean's face, watering down the blood. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. John squeezes harder. Dean squirms, fights to breathe, speaking through lips glistening with his blood. "Nuh-no,"

"You little shit; Now you're gonna forget about that monster a yours and learn a fuckin' lesson. And you're gonna keep learning until it sinks in. I was taught this from another hunter; Not sure where he learned," Releasing Dean's throat John turns and walks out of sight for a moment. "But it works. Works real well,"

Dean tracks him like a cornered animal, panting.

When John returns back in Dean's sight, John's holding one of Dean's blood soaked socks. There's something inside his sock. Dean's heart skips a beat and he starts to panic, because he's got a pretty good idea what's inside his sock.

John watches the gears turn in Dean's head, grinning venomously once Dean figures it out, the fear kicking in, "You got it in one, cocksucker: billiard balls. See, I tied your legs, your arms, and your stomach, to the chair. Notice how your balls and dick, which, by the way, who'd a thunk it, Dean, ya got a big ol'dick. Least I can be proud of something about you. What was I saying? Oh, see how your scrotum and cock are just hanging free?" John starts to swing the billiard ball filled sock back and forth.

Back and forth.



…and back…

…and forth…

Nononononoonononononooooono, oh god, oh no, oh no, please, please, please, god, oh god, no, no, no…Dean's eyes widen with terror. Adrenaline has him squirming and struggling. He can't help the squeak of "No," that flies out of his mouth.

Back and forth…

"Oh yes," John licks his lips, pupils blown wide with anticipation. Back and forth… He's excited. The screams Dean is gonna make…he can't help getting hard at the thought. For a brief moment, some part of John's brain acknowledges how fucked up this all is, but any trace of human empathy burned on the ceiling with his wife a long ass time ago. "Be honest with me, Dean or it's only gonna be worse. How many times?" Back,

And forth…

Dean is stumped. Tormented. How many times what? He stares, dumbfounded, up at John before he goes back to tracking the sock. "Huh…m'ny't'ms…wha…tt?" Paralyzed, petrified.

Back and forth…

Dean's eyes haven't left the sock.

Back…and back…and all the way back…

Dean's eyes go wide.


…And forth. "Wrong answer, dumbass," John swings the sack forward and slams it into his son's scrotum and penis.

Dean screams.

And screams. Rabid with agony.

Screams until his vocal chords give and he's convulsively swallowing their blood.

There it is. John is rock solid and nearly cums right there. Dean screams unlike anyone or anything John has ever heard. It's primal, feral. Guttural and high-pitch and so full of abject misery,despair, anguish, and excruciating levels of agony there is no name for. It's pure terror, horror, pain and suffering. And John hates himself for loving it;Being addicted to it since Dean was a child. Even before Mary died.

Time loses all meaning for Dean. A sock full of pool balls hitting his balls and dick is absolutely excruciating, beyond what the words pain and agony could ever hope to describe. His world shatters into fragments of white so bright, there is nothing left. No color. No sound. Just silently shattering glass. Fire and ice consume him, dance on and in and through and over his abdomen. It's wet and hot and full. He's so full. There's pressure with the pain. A fullness, pressure-pain that twists and twists and twists, then stabs with angry jolts. He's run through and pulled back.

It doesn't end. Over and over this pain. Pressure and pain and fullness and swelling and heat and ice and then a warmth spreads down his legs, drip, drip, drip, drip, dripping…NO! GOD NO! Not there…not there…But…his toes are wet and sticky. Vomits. "Castiel, please…help…"

"Jesus Christ, Dean. You fucking pissed yourself. Fucking so pathetic and weak. Such a fucking disappointment. How many times, Dean? How many times did you and that monster fuck? He fuck ya with his feathers too?"

Dean couldn't answer even if he wanted to. And he doesn't. He really, really doesn't. And that's as coherent as he's able to be. The remainder of his fleeting lucidity is, unfortunately devoted, in its entirety to feeling the pummeling of his balls and dick again and again and over and over and over, and, and, it hurts really bad, really bad, so bad, so, so bad. "Oh my god Castiel it hurts. It really hurts…please help me, Castiel."

The utter agony of it's so intense, Dean can actually feel his balls retreat upwards. That's why he feels full. Oh….oh he's gonna be sick. PainPainPainPainPainPain! Vomit and dark blood bursting from his lips and he can't breathe and everything hurts and it's all so wrong and he's so full and hot and sticky and he just wants to pass out because then he won't hurt so fucking badly and hurt so badly and hurt so badly and he's so confused and he wants to cry and he wants Cas and pain can't even hold a candle to this level of agony and that doesn't make sense unless it does and Cas, Cas, Castiel,Castiel, Castiel, Cas, Cas, CasCasCasCCaasssCccccaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhssssssssCaaaaasssssss….

Castiel is fuming. He stalks out of the bar, wings manifesting, incinerating the snowbanks flanking the bar entrance as he storms out. After several protesting rolls of his shoulder, his wings finally retreat, slow in disappearing, as it goes against his very nature to not have them out when his mate is in danger. He feels Sam trailing behind him like a comet tail, and for some reason, that only serves to incite Castiel's rage further. "I told you after I saw the barn this was an exceptional waste of time we do NOT HAVE, SAM,"

Sam has never, not really, been scared of Cas before.

At least, until today.

Right now, Castiel is angelic wrath incarnate. He's going to kill, Sam is certain of it. And Sam really can't have Cas killing his dad. No matter what John has done, he's still Dean and his dad. Even though Sam could strangle him half the time, John is their father. But Cas, shit. Right now Cas is a walking bolt of lightening. If Sam wasn't just as worried for Dean he'd try and stall…

"Keep up, Sam, or I will leave you behind," Castiel is double checking everywhere he checked on the way to the bar, just to be sure. He wants to fly, but he can't afford to miss anything.

"Cas, Cas look," Sam jogs up alongside 'Wrath Incarnate', "I'm sorry, I am, I didn't know the bar would be a dead end. At least we know they were here…"

Castiel whips around, eye's bright, bright cerulean, crackling with grace electrified, "Yes, we do. And we know that your," Spits, "father dragged my mate out after attacking him! What is wrong with him? Sam, if dared to hurt Dean any―" Castiel goes silent before his eyes cloud over with quite literally, blinding agony, and he falls to his knees, hands flying to his crotch. The only sound is the crunch of Cas' knees , followed by Sam's into the hardened snow.

"Cas! Cas! What…is, is it Dean? What's going on? Wha-aahhh!" Sam is knocked back as Cas abruptly leaps to his feet.

Without looking back, Castiel commands. "MOVE! Barn. Now." In less than a thought, Castiel is in front of the barn. His wings unfurl to their full span, flight primaries stiffening into razor sharp swords.

He blows the remainder of the roof off along with the doors, and draws lightning from the snowstorm. Grace is now electricity curling around his body. Castiel is going to rain down the full wrath of Heaven upon John Winchester.

Dean's good eye, the not swollen shut one stares with open relief, awe, pride, and love at his angel. "You came for me…"

Castiel pulses strong love/comfort/love through their bond. "I would die for you. I always come for you, Dean. Being my mate changes nothing."