Broken, a Destiel Story

Part 5

"See, worked like a charm," Dean said, beaming as he set Cas down on the floor of the study they had been taken to. His female frame was so petite that Dean hadn't had any trouble carrying him up all the winding stairs.

"Yes, you deserve a trophy," Cas said, straightening out his dress.

Dean laughed, "Did you just make a joke?" he said "I'm impressed, Cas."

"What are you doing?" Dean asked as Cas started to squirm, reaching behind his back, clearly frustrated.

"This damn bra is starting to poke me in the back," Cas complained. "I hate this thing."

"Well, cheer up, you only have two more hours of being a girl," Dean said looking at his watch. "Which means we need to find those kids."

After half an hour of searching the house and finding nothing Dean and Cas were back in the study, both exhausted, confused, and upset. "Okay," Dean said, taking out his gun. "Time for plan C. Wait here, Cas." He tucked his gun into the back of his pants and left the room. Only a few minutes later the door to the study burst back open and Mr. Richards landed on the floor hard, and a split second later Dean showed up, holding a gun on the man. Mr. Richards looked panicked. Hardly the response Cas expected from a witch.

"Where are they?!" Dean yelled, fire in his green eyes.

"Please, don't hurt me," Mr. Richards cried, cowering.

"Where are they?!" Dean repeated, stepping closer.

"Dean, wait," Cas said, stepping up to him. "I don't think he's a witch."

"What?"

"Why isn't he fighting back?" Cas pointed out. Any other witch they'd gone up against would have tried any number of spells or incantations at this point to try and kill them or at least defend themselves.

"Witch?" Mr Richards stuttered. "You think I'm a witch?" He had his hands in the air and a look of terror on his face.

"Well, if you're not a witch, then what the hell are you?" Dean asked. "We found the hex bags in your desk at the school, and you showed up at the same time all those kids went missing. So, if you know anything, now would be a good time to tell us."

"Dean," Cas said gently, "put the gun down. He's not a danger to us." Dean felt Cas's soft, gentle hand on his and he slowly lowered his gun but kept it by his side, just in case.

"Talk," Dean said sternly.

"Okay, okay," Mr. Richards lowered his hands and motioned to stand which made Dean raise his gun again, wearily. But the teacher just sat down in one of the chairs in front of the large oak desk and buried his face in his hands. "My son," he began softly. "My son is sick. He's dying. I was desperate." He looked back up at Dean and Cas, tears in his eyes.

They glanced at each other. That explained Mrs. Richards' behavior earlier that evening. "And?" Dean asked.

"About a month ago I ran into this woman at a bar. She could tell I was upset. We started talking. I told her about my son, and . . . you'll think I'm crazy."

"Try us," Dean said, impatiently.

"She said she could heal my son if I did something for her. I was so upset, and I didn't know what else to do, so I agreed. I thought if anyone could heal my son I had to take the chance. But then, what she asked me to do . . ." He buried his face in his hands again. "She said that for every child I brought to her she would extend my son's life by a year. I told her no at first, but then instead of healing my son she threatened to hurt both him and my wife if I didn't do what she asked. I didn't know what else to do. But I didn't know how to kidnap kids without getting caught. So I started looking in to stuff, you know? And then I came across some spells online. I thought it was all nonsense, but I had to try. I couldn't lose my family. And it worked."