chapter five

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IN HINDSIGHT, it would've been smarter to stay with the group. She realizes that now.

It started when Sam and Mack got back from chasing a cold lead. It's been three very long weeks of nothing, and everyone is starting to spiral. Sam especially. So, any time he finds a lead, Mack goes along with him.

She tells herself to keep an eye on him, but really, she's just as worried about Dean as he is. She can't stop thinking about him, no matter how hard she tries. About how many small moments they had. Single moments of connection. She doesn't know why she's holding on so hard to them. It'd be so much easier, so much simpler to just let it go. Move on. Yet she can't.

She also can't understand why the fuck Dean thought it'd be a good idea to let Michael in. She doesn't know what exactly went down, how he decided to do it. Frankly, she doesn't care. If she had a choice, she'd be dead and the rest of them would be free. Dean would still be around. Michael's just using him, and it makes her sick.

She doesn't even want to think about what Michael might be doing to him on the inside.

Then it was the demon ransom call. While trying to get answers about Dean, Castiel was taken hostage in a bar full of demons.

So they all pack up and head out to get him, despite the likeness of it being a trap. Then Jack asks to come along, and Sam lets him despite him being powerless and still very new to fighting. Mack agrees though, because he'll never learn if he doesn't get any real fighting experience.

It quickly turns into a demon brawl. Mack gets thrown into multiple tables and nearly gets stabbed in the leg. But everyone survives, and that's all that matters.

When she hears a voice outside the bar, she should've ignored it. She should've ignored it the way she ignores her dreams, and driven back with Sam and Mary. For some reason, she doesn't this time. A terrible decision on her part, really.

Sam questions her, asks if she's alright. She says she'll be back in a minute.

She goes to the other side of the bar, and hears it again.

"Can you hear me?"

She freezes when she recognizes it.

She hesitates before whispering, "Dean?"

"Try again."

She turns just as Michael grabs her, and everything goes dark.

So, yeah, in hindsight, it would've been smarter to stay with the group.

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SHE WAKES sitting on the ground, with her wrists bound above her. Wherever she is, it's dark. It doesn't take long for her eyes to adjust.

When they do, she's faced with Dean– Michael, crouched in front of her with a wide smile on his face.

"Morning, sweetheart."

She yanks her arms, fighting her bonds. Her jacket and shirt are gone, leaving her in just a tank top.

Michael laughs. "I'm sure you know that's pointless."

"What do you want?"

He leans closer, and she slumps into whatever she's bound to, trying to lean away.

"The answer might not be what you think."

He stands, pulling a curved dagger from his suit jacket. He slices her bonds and grabs her by the upper arm, dragging her to her feet.

She tries to wrestle from his grip, and he only holds tighter.

"Let me go!"

He simply laughs, shoving her into a chair in the middle of the room. He shackles her wrists and ankles.

She finally takes in her surroundings. It looks like an abandoned church, in true Michael fashion. Then she notices the pile of corpses off to the side, and three other people in the same position she was just in.

"What is this? What are you doing?"

"Oh, don't worry, Kitty, they're not human."

"What?"

His sick grin hasn't faltered once. Then he sighs and moves behind her. "This vessel is strong. Very strong. It could probably hold me for a long time, nearly as long as you could. But, there's just something...not quite right. Yes, he is a Sword, but he's not my Sword. That's where you come in."

She can hear him rustling, messing around with things behind her. "Haven't we been here before, Mike? You know what I'll say."

"Of course. That's why I'm grateful Dean offered himself up when he did– because I knew this would take time."

He struts in front of her, still holding the curved dagger. "You're weaker this time. I can feel it. And...so can he."

She tries to pretend her breath doesn't catch at his words.

He leans in close, tilting up her chin with the tip of his blade.

"He's fighting," he says in a taunting whisper. "He's fighting hard, because of you. Just not quite hard enough. It's adorable, this thing he has for you. And a little sickening."

He straightens up again. "Believe it or not, you're not my top priority at the moment. I know how stubborn you are, and I have other issues to tend to. So, a little torture here and there, a little experimenting on the side. I can multitask. But, for now, let me ask you something, Kitty. What do you want?"

She simply glares at him. "Are you done monologuing?"

"I asked you a question."

"Well, I'd really like to get out of this chair and take a knife to that pretty face of yours."

He sighs. "Most people in this world seem...complicated. Everyone lies about what they really want. It's all selfish things, fame or vanity. But they say they want to help people, make a mark on the world. It's all so...fake. Depressing, really. So, I ask again. What do you want?"

She clenches her jaw. "I really, really just wanna kill you."

He laughs softly. "All right, Kitty. Just stay put, I'll be back in a jiffy."

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SHE'S FALLING asleep by the time he returns. The second he walks in, she's alert again, guard up. He barely spares her a glance. His stoic face tells her he's not happy about something.

She doesn't know if she should be scared. Rather– she doesn't know just how scared she should be.

When he reenters her field of vision, he's holding that curved dagger. He spins it between his fingers as he studies her, like he's trying to decide what to do with her.

"You know, Catherine..." he starts. She cringes at his use of her full name. He tucks the dagger inside his suit jacket. "I know how much you're hurting inside."

He moves closer. "I can make it all go away. You know that. Just one little word..."

"Screw you."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, leaning on the arms of the chair. "We aren't really gonna go through all this again, are we?"

"You tell me."

"I can take your pain away. We both know it. I can give you paradise."

"You don't really think I'm gonna fall for that, do you?"

He laughs gently, shaking his head. He's growing impatient, she can tell. There has to be something more, though. Something else is bothering him. He pushes away from the chair and grabs the dagger.

He moves behind her, brushing her hair behind her shoulders. He starts to drag the dagger gently over her skin. Not hard enough to injure, just to taunt. Up her arm, over her shoulder, across her collarbone. She closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow.

It doesn't come.

Instead, he continues to stroke her hair.

A chill runs down her spine. She can feel both his hands running through her hair. He's not rough with it, like he's not trying to hurt her.

"What are you doing?"

His hands come to rest on the sides of her head. It makes her uncomfortable in a way she's never felt– she'd rather him stab her.

"I want to show you something."

His fingertips brush her temples and she sees a flash of light. It takes her breath away.

Then she realizes what he's showing her.

"Dean?" Her voice echoes in the abyss, reaching nothing.

He's drowning. He sinks further down, like he's being pulled. He fights, claws, screams. It's no use, he's helpless to the force dragging him.

Then she comes back to the church, gasping for air. Michael's in front of her, waiting expectantly.

"What was that?"

"You know exactly what that was."

"Let him go!"

"Oh, I will, so long as you say yes."

She fights her bonds. They don't budge.

He laughs tauntingly. "You make me laugh, Kitty. One of the things I've always appreciated about you."

The dagger appears once again in his hand. Still, he doesn't use it on her.

"I know that you're haunted by your losses. By your family members, soldiers you couldn't save. Friends."

He gets close.

"Cristina."

"Shut up."

"Leo. Charlie."

"Shut up!"

"You're not a leader, Catherine. You're nothing. You're pathetic."

He sinks down to one knee, now sitting eye level with her.

"I mean, you– you mutilate yourself in the name of loss, and call it memoriam." He takes the dagger and uses it to lift the hem of her shirt, revealing the black slashes littering her skin. They poke out from her waistband, though most of them are hidden.

"What is that, other than pathetic?"

She closes her eyes and turns her head away, like she's ashamed. Because she is.

She feels Michael's presence back away suddenly. She opens her eyes and he's struggling to get to his feet. He looks like he's in pain. One hand steadies him on the ground, the other clutches his forehead. His eyes flash blue and he gasps out, then starts looking around frantically. His eyes land on her.

"Cath..."

His gaze meets hers, and it sends a jolt through her body. "Dean?"

He rushes over, immediately examining the shackles and how to get her out of them.

"De– wha– h– how?"

"I, uh– I heard your voice. Fought my way to the front and saw him with that stupid dagger. Couldn't let him hurt you." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a key. He starts unlocking the shackles.

"Dean, you have to eject him."

"No, no, I'm gonna get you out of here."

"No, Dean, I'm fine, you have to eject him!"

He circles to the front and lowers himself to eye level. "Stop. Stop worrying about me, you need to get out of here. Go– go find Sam, and Jack and Cas and Mom."

"I'm not leaving you here."

Her shackles pop open and he bends to work at her ankles. "I'm not giving you a choice."

He helps her to her feet once all the bonds are open.

"Eject him."

"You have to go."

"He's killing you!"

He grabs her by the shoulders, trying to make her listen. "I'm fine. I can take it. Get out of here, come back for me when it's safe." He tries to push her towards the exit, but she fights him.

"No– no, Dean!"

"Go!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

He shoves her against the wall. Not to hurt her, it's just the only way to get her to stop fighting.

"Hey– look at me." She meets his eyes. "Get the hell out of here. I can't hold him for much longer."

She shakes her head. "You don't have to do this."

"It's okay."

"It's not."

He squeezes his eyes shut and grunts in pain.

"Dean?"

He stumbles back, his hands coming up to cradle his head. She moves towards him, and he shoves his hand out and she goes flying back towards the wall. His eyes flash blue again when he looks up, and he starts laughing.

"That was– that was good. He was close." He closes the gap, grabbing her throat. "Just not close enough." He starts to squeeze, blocking her air flow.

His eyes dart away, staring into nothing. Then he squeezes them shut, like he's in pain, or straining to keep himself contained. She squeezes her throat tighter and black spots start to dance around her vision.

He throws her and she lands hard near the chair. She coughs and gasps for air, pushing herself up on shaky arms. She looks up, and all the people he has tied up simply watch her. None of them fight their bonds, they all simply watch her. The girl in the front stares with hazy, tired eyes.

Michael yanks her up by her hair and punches her, sending her back to the ground.

"What is it about you that has Dean fighting so hard, huh?" He shouts accusingly. He strides over and kicks her in the ribs, knocking the air out of her. A metallic taste fills her mouth.

He lowers himself to her level. "Oh. Don't tell me you've shacked up already? With him?"

Anger floods her and she spits blood in his face. He flinches away, slowly wiping it with his hand. He laughs dryly.

"You know, I can see into every crevice of his brain. It's quite dark in here. I don't think you'll like it, Mack."

"Fuck you."

He laughs again. He raises two fingers to her forehead and everything goes dark.

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THE NEXT few hours– or maybe even longer– pass in a daze. She drifts in and out of consciousness. Michael transports her, though she can't stay awake long enough to figure out where. He strings her up by her wrists, hanging from the ceiling. Her feet just barely brush the ground. Wherever it is, it's so much colder than the church.

She's woken abruptly by cold water splashing on her. She gasps out, her already cold body breaking out with goosebumps.

"Really? Cold water?"

Michael tosses the bucket aside and rolls in a cart stocked with weapons. She chuckles at the cliché of it all– the torture cart, the way she's strung up. It's classic Michael. She's been in this exact position plenty of times before.

He takes his trusty curved dagger and approaches her. "You're laughing now, but you'll be screaming soon enough."

"Have you ever done anything original?"

He shrugs. "Torture's torture. It all burns the same. You know that better than most."

She rolls her eyes. He doesn't hesitate to sink the dagger into her arm, making a long deep cut down her forearm. She barely makes a noise at the pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction of screaming. Warm blood spills quickly down her arm.

"You'll bleed out in minutes."

She chuckles weakly. "Lucky for me, you'll never let that happen." Blood keeps spilling down her arm. She quickly feels lightheaded. He touches her forehead and the blood disappears, along with her wound. She still feels lightheaded despite the wound being closed.

He abandons the dagger and resorts to beating on her with his bare hands. By the time he's finished, her breathing is wheezy and both his hands are bruised and bloody.

He wipes his hands on a white cloth, staining it scarlet with her blood.

"Enjoying yourself, yet, Kitty?"

"Oh, screw you," she mutters.

He laughs. Her position has him standing at eye level with her. He reaches out a hand and she leans away. He persists, brushing damp hair away from her face.

"It's been fun, but I have a trap to set. Don't wait up."

She glares until he walks away. Then she finally lets herself go, allowing the pain to overtake her. She quickly blacks out.

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DEAN WAKES on the ground just outside the church. He quickly sits up, taking in his surroundings. And then he realizes–

Michael's gone.

The last thing he remembers is seeing him throw Catherine across the room.

He shakily pushes himself to his feet. He pushes the doors to the church open. He sees his brother, mother, and Bobby. They're all tense, like they're ready for a fight. Or, more like they just ended a fight.

He stumbles forward and uses the post to steady him. He pulls off the stupid hat.

"Sammy. It's me."

He relaxes immediately. "Dean?" He rushes over and grabs his arm, helping him further inside. He sits on a step and Sam crouches in front of him.

"Dean...is it really you?"

He breathes heavily, shakily. "Yeah, it's really me."

"Are– are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!"

"But you got Michael to leave."

He shakes his head. "No, no, I don't– I didn't."

"What?" Bobby questions.

"He just– he just left." He looks up, switching his gaze between Bobby and his Mom.

"Why?" Sam asks.

"I don't know." Sam's gaze softens. Dean exhales heavily. "He took her." He meets Sam's gaze. "He took Mack."

"Where?" Mary asks.

"He– he moved her. She was here, I– I saw her, I talked to her. I tried to help her escape, but she– she wouldn't–"

Mary touches his arm, lowering herself to his level. "Dean, it's okay. Just breathe. Do you know where he took her?"

He shakes his head. She rubs his arm soothingly.

"It's okay. We'll find her."

He nods.

"Did he– did he hurt her?" Sam asks.

"I don't know."

"We should go," Bobby says.

Sam helps him up and they all leave the church.

Despite how much he loves his car, he doesn't let himself be happy at the sight of it. It feels wrong that he's walking out of this unscathed while Catherine's out there somewhere.

Sam tosses him the keys. He slips off the thick overcoat and blazer, despite the cold air nipping at his skin. He just wants to be out of this ridiculous suit.

Mom and Bobby sit in the back with Sam in the passenger seat, like always.

They drive for a while, until he suddenly gets the urge to turn. It startles him, how strong the gut feeling is. He yanks the wheel to the side, startling everyone else in the car.

"Dude– what are you doing?"

He grips the wheel tightly. "I don't know."

"Uh–"

"Just...don't say anything."

They take a few more turns. Then they come to a dead end, and there's a house. It looks abandoned, like it's close to caving in on itself.

Then he knows. He doesn't know how. He just knows. "She's here."

"What?"

"She's here. Mack's here."

"How do you know?"

"I just know. C'mon." He shoves the door open and stalks towards the house.

"Dean– wait!" Sam calls after him. He doesn't stop.

The door opens. Inside, it's virtually empty. No furniture, just lots of dust and mold. Sam comes rushing in.

He hands over a flashlight. Dean takes it and scans the room. He spots a door in the corner, and he immediately goes over to test the doorknob. This time, it's locked.

He backs up slightly, and kicks it hard. It absolutely shatters.

"You could've picked the lock."

Dean shrugs. "It was close to falling apart anyway."

He shines the flashlight, revealing a set of stairs.

"Basement?"

"Yep."

Sam hands Dean his gun, pulling his own.

He starts down the stairs, not waiting for Mom or Bobby. It's a long flight of stairs.

There's a door at the bottom. Of course, locked again. Sam stops him from kicking it in again, pulling out his lockpick. Dean rolls his eyes. The door swings open and they're faced with Catherine in the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling by her wrists. Her head hangs low.

"Shit." He rushes towards her, stuffing his gun into his waistband. She's beat up bad, bruises and blood littering her body.

"Hey, hey, Cath, wake up." He's nervous to touch her.

Sam reaches up and starts working at the shackles. Her head lifts slightly.

"Back for round two already, Mike?" Her voice is weak and raspy. She doesn't open her eyes.

"No, no, it's me. It's Dean."

She looks up slowly. Her eyes rake over him for a second, as if she doesn't believe him. Then she meets his eyes. "Dean?"

"Michael's gone."

She breathes out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. Are you okay?"

"Me– what about you?"

The shackles click open. She drops to her feet, and her legs buckle from not expecting it. Dean catches her before she hits the ground. She groans, gripping his arms tightly.

"Ow."

"Cath..."

"Dean. You ejected him?"

He shakes his head. "He left on his own."

"That can't be good."

"We'll deal with it later."

"Are you okay?" She stares at him, concern dripping from her eyes. Sam watches them closely, though it seems like she hasn't noticed him.

"I'm fine."

She chuckles gently. "I know you're lying, but I'm choosing to believe you." Her eyelids flutter.

"Hey, hey, you good?"

She nods weakly. "Don't freak out." Then her eyes close and she collapses into his arms.

"Woah, shit–" He drops to the ground, holding her close. Sam calls for Mom and Bobby, and they come rushing in. Sam crouches on her other side. Dean checks her pulse. It's racing, and he feels a weight lift off his chest.

"I think she's just passed out."

"Are there worse injuries?" Mary asks

"I don't know." He lifts her tank top, revealing majorly bruised ribs. "Broken ribs, maybe?"

"She doesn't look like she'll die on us. Let's get her out of here, Cas can take a look at her," Sam says. Dean hooks an arm under her legs, hauling her up as he stands. They all make their way up the stairs.

"Sam, you drive," Dean says.

"You sure?"

He nods. Sam takes the keys from his pocket. Bobby sits in the passenger, and Mary sits in the back with the other two. Dean leans her against him, her legs in Mary's lap.

Something about it feels so complete. Despite the shitshow of Michael still out there, they all survived him. They made it out.

Now they just have to find him, and kill him.

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author's note !!

i can't lie this chapter had me struggling a bit but i made it thru

anyways i hope you guys liked this chapter!!

please leaves votes and comments if you're enjoying <3

thanks for reading!!

-skye