Castiel swam back into consciousness through a sea of blinding pain only to find himself pinned flat against a cold, smooth surface. He forced his eyes open and gasped air through lips bitten raw and bloody, trying to focus his gaze.
Where was he?
When was he?
A dark shape glided into his field of vision and he squinted in a failed attempt to see. The shape stopped in front of him and tilted its head. Even without saying a word, it felt menacing.
”Where am I?” Castiel ground out. ”Who are you?”
The shape let out a soft noise of amusement but didn’t respond, apparently more than content to watch Castiel struggle his way into coherence.
”I am the Angel of the Lord, I demand—”
”Oh, you demand, do you?” the shape asked in a low, purring voice. ”Tell me, Cass, does that intimidation actually work on anyone?” The man—because it was a definitely male voice—drew Castiel’s nickname out in an obscenely long hiss. Castiel couldn’t hold back a flinch.
”It works when it has to,” he said curtly.
The man snorted. ”Whatever you say, Angel.”
”Why are you keeping me here?” Castiel asked.
”Entertainment,” the man said nonchalantly.
”What?”
”Did you know that while the Angel wings are a manifestation of their Grace and usually seen only as shadows or lightnings, our wings are quite solid?”
Castiel frowned. Our wings?
The room was dim and his sight was still hazy from the pain he did see quite clearly the massive black shapes unfurl from the man’s shoulders. And yet, there was something disturbingly familiar about him. Something about the way he moved, the shape of his shoulders, the slight bow-legged stance—
Oh, God.
”Dean?” Castiel whispered, incredulous.
”Mmm…not quite.”
The shape stepped forward and leaned close enough so that Castiel could see the black eyes.
And then he winked.
”Dean, whatever happened, I’ll help you! I promise,” Castiel said, his voice low and urgent.
The demon threw his head back and laughed. ”And how, exactly, did you plan on doing that?”
Castiel tried yanking himself forward but stopped short when a hot burst of pain shot through his wings.
“What did you do?” He gasped in horror.
”Oh, yes,” the demon purred. ”I have your wings pinned down and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
”Why?”
”Because it amuses me,” the demon replied with a grin. ”Because it’s interesting. Because I want to.”
He turned to his right and clicked something, and a strange humming spread into life around them, filling the air with the scent of ozone.
”Well then,” the demon said. ”Shall we?”
He clicked again and Castiel’s wings lit into a thousand burning suns.
And then there was nothing but white pain.