Stolen(Destiel)

Chapter 1

The door was opened with a worried hand, Castiel having only come for a moment to check on Dean. He stepped in to the room, and looking at the floor he saw the upturned blue chair. Books strewn over it, pages laid bare or upside down, bent to never be as flat as they had been when printed or for all the years they stood upright within their binding on a shelf. What had happened there, Castiel wondered to himself. His voice came from a corner by the lockers, deep but flat,

"Cas," he turned in time to just barely see Dean open one of the locker doors where he saw that hateful writing. The very inscription he had shown Dean and Sam when they had needed protection from angels. And now Dean was turning it on him, the angel who had protected him, the angel who had guided him, the angel who had pulled him from the pit of Hell. His own scream sounded far away, and he felt first pain, then agony. The excruciating seer of being ripped from that very spot and thrown anywhere else in the world, that pain was almost intolerable, even for an angel.

He was gone in a bright flash, and Dean looked up from covered eyes in to the empty hallway. Darkness and quiet greeted him, and that stink of mold and stale water were the only visitors to Dean as he stepped through the door and out of the holding cell. Quietly and with the stealth that John Winchester had taught him, he kept his eyes fixed on the point of entry for Sam and Bobby upstairs as he grabbed his jacket hanging on the wall. It was cold as it touched his skin, but he knew it would warm as it warmed him. He went up the back exit, pushing open one side of the wooden cellar door that led off to the side of the house.

"The end is nigh, the apocalypse is upon us. The Angels talk to me, and they ask me to talk to you. The apocalypse-" he was interrupted under the torrid red sign that told all down trodden and seedy residents (or visitors) in this area where they could get their fix for sex, drugs, or drink at any hour.

"Hey," Dean felt no hesitance interrupting this bible-thumping jerk as he crossed the street, "I'm Dean Winchester, do you know who I am?" He could only hope.

"Dear god," The man was in shock, for he knew exactly who Dean Winchester was. It was THE Dean Winchester, the one the Angels had whispered about through each scorching day and each frozen night that he spent on aching feet or on an uncomfortable mattress with but a sheet and the bible as his pillow.

"I'll take that as a yes," though that was the reaction Dean had been expecting, it still shocked him. "Listen I need you to pray to your angel buddies and let them know that I'm here."

The man, keeping his shocked eyes on Dean went to his knees to pray, hands clasping together over that most holy of books as he spoke in the same tone that he had been using to decry those he viewed as sinners as they walked by, "Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," he couldn't even get past these opening words to his prayer before Dean heard him cut off by the one voice he didn't want to hear,

"You pray too loud." Both Dean and the holy man turned.

A simple touch was all it took. A touch to the shoulder and the man collapsed, passed out on the sidewalk under the sign that all passersby recognized. And with this, people would pass him and think he was but a bible thumping drunk; a holy man by day and a sodomite by night.

Castiel grabbed Sam by the scruff and dragged him to an alley with the intention of forcing him in to compliance.

"What are you, crazy?!" Dean sputtered out as Castiel pushed him back in to the old brick that lay claim to the buildings on either side of a trashed alleyway, reeking of piss and human garbage. Dean found himself thrown against the other wall as Castiel stalked towards him like a lion with its prey. Dean hit the wall hard, managing with mild success to keep the wind in his lungs,