Smoke

Sam stitched Cas up while Hannah and Bela worked on the cuffs, talking in some shorthand that implied they’d known each other for a while and trusting each other’s ideas so easily that Dean felt like his head was spinning.

“What you said back there,” he said, glancing up at Bela as she handed Hannah yet another mix of some oil with herbs and a drop of her own blood. “About, er, about…” He stopped and tilted his head to the side and back, as though that meant anything.

Bela smirked.

“You mean about me being brilliant in bed?”

Dean saw Sam look up briefly, but only to frown. Probably more bothered Bela and Dean weren’t focused on the task than wanting in on the gossip. But Dean couldn’t do anything but sit here, and Hannah was the one coating the manacles in that oil and muttering in a language Dean didn’t know.

“You and Hannah, huh?” he asked. “How’d that happen?”

“Aren’t you more concerned with how we’re here at all? With how Hannah’s alive and I made it off the rack?”

Dean didn’t shrug, but only because he didn’t dare jostle Hannah.

“Sure. That too. But I didn’t expect the two of you to hit it off.”

“And I’m sure you spent a lot of time mulling it over,” Bela said. “Tell me, Dean, did you ever wonder about what happened to me? I thought a fair bit about you, I have to say. Well, I would do. I heard about you. For years. Hell’s darling, let off the rack in only a few decades. Under the Master himself, no less. And then later, saved by an angel. We all heard about Dean Winchester’s angel. Those who saw it mostly died for the privilege. He didn’t stop to save any of the rest of us.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t exactly out of the goodness of his heart that he dragged me out,” Dean said, and it’s been years since he thought about that, about the fact he was just a mission to Cas back then.

“Who cares?” Bela shot back. “You got out. And don’t start with the self-pity over everything else. You fought off everything that came your way, no matter who it cost. We heard the rumors, even down in the dark reaches I was stuck in. A Knight of Hell. Crowley’s favourite. What I wouldn’t have given for that sort of connection.”

“Yeah, well you always were a conniving-”

Hannah gripped Dean’s wrist, stopping him.

“I understand the two of you have a history,” she said, her voice too calm, “but you won’t insult Bela.”

Dean let out a breath, shifting things around in his head again. So, not just a physical thing.

“Okay,” he said. “No insulting demon-Bela.”

Bela rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the table, her back only inches from Cas’ legs. She didn’t seem concerned about that.

“Please, Dean. As though you’re better than me. You’ve been a demon. A baby-Knight, even. And you killed Death himself, so anything I’ve ever done is automatically less awful than what you’ve managed. Though I suppose I should thank you for that last one.”

“I killed Death so you’re out?” Dean asked. “What, I killed people being dead?”

“Still a demon,” Bela said. “Really, it should hardly be so surprising to you that I’m out and about. But killing Death did disrupt the Veil even more, and with the Darkness out as well… Well, it hasn’t been a time of stability between the realms. And instability means opportunity, of course.”

“So you just waltzed right out of Hell?”

“I waltzed,” and she paused, something dark on her face, “out of Hell and into some hideous nether region full of lost ghosts. And monsters. Really, Dean, it’s a wonder reality is holding at all.”

“I’m not the only one who’s back,” Hannah said. “Bela helped a lot of us to find our way back. In some form or another. But you can hear about this later. For now…”

A flash of heat and a shower of sparks told Dean something had worked, and Hannah pulled the first manacle from his wrist. A slight smile settled on her face.

“I think I can adapt this to work on Castiel,” she said. “It might take a while, but this is promising.”

Dean waited only long enough for the second cuff to be off before he was on his feet and by Cas’ side, giving in to the urge to reach out and press his palm against the side of Cas’ face. It was cold.

“You said you locked his Grace in?” he asked. “So, he’s sleeping or something? Like, a medically induced coma?”

“Something like that,” Hannah said. “Dean, he’s weak. His injuries are severe, and not just to his vessel. That cut went right through to his real self. And the collar is something I never thought I’d see. He’s going to need all of his strength, even if I get the iron off him as quickly as I can. You… You might need to prepare yourself.”

Fear brought a taste to the back of the throat that Dean sorely wished he could forget.

“Why’d you think you’d never see it? What is it?”

Bela answered, voice clear and precise as always. Dean told himself he was imagining the sympathy in it.

“It’s an adaptation of the spells used to bind Lucifer, before he was cast into the Cage. It limits an angel, keeps it controllable. This version was meant to keep Castiel down until they could get what they needed from him. I have to hand it to them. They’ve got more ingenuity than I thought they did.”

Before Dean could lay into Bela for praising demons bent on making Dean into a cult leader, Sam spoke up.

“How much time do you think we have to get that off him? And how close might it get?”

Hannah shook her head.

“It might only take minutes, or it might not work at all. Any help you give me would be useful.”

And Dean found himself sitting alone with Cas as the rest of the them clustered around the other table, debating and experimenting and failing over and over again to find a way to get Cas free.