Hell Rises with Him, Part 1
Title: Hell Rises with Him
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Dean/OFCs, mild Sam/Ruby
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: season 4
Warnings: DARK, AU, torture, slash, language, het, violence, bare backing, oral, mild non-con (kissing), character death, wing!fic, top!Dean, bottom!Cas
Word Count: 25,049
Note: This fic was written for the dc-dystopia reverse bang 2012.
Summary: When Castiel gripped Dean Winchester tight and raised him from perdition he had no idea that the once Righteous Man was no longer human, nor the effects that raising him thus would have.
Beta: asherahwolf
Artist: nanoks - Art Masterlist
Prologue:
Castiel had always known that he should not have been the one to raise the Righteous Man. He was merely a malakhim and should have been nothing more than a common foot soldier opening the way for the seraph or archangel to fly down and claim the Righteous Man's soul back from the demon that had dared to take it as it's own.
Nothing, however, had gone according to plan.
From the moment that they had first entered Hell, things had started to go wrong. Castiel was not sure how things had gone so awry so quickly but the mission that should have taken only a few short human weeks had quickly stretched into several months and had seemed like even more at the time though Dean Winchester had been raised only four months after his death, so clearly he had been mistaken.
The original plan had been so thoroughly shredded and in tatters that when Castiel had finally stumbled across the Righteous Man's soul he had not hesitated and had simply acted in the manner he saw fit to. Perhaps that had been wrong of him, perhaps it had been arrogance or pride guiding his thoughts and actions, but all that he had seen were his brothers and sisters struggling to keep Hell's surprisingly formidable forces at bay, his garrison decimated and an opportunity that might not present itself again. For, by the time he had managed to alert the others of his discovery and the appropriate seraph or archangel had arrived, the demons might have realized the gap in their defense and closed it off once more.
He still believed that he had made the right choice given the circumstances, but Castiel could not help but wonder now if, had the intended seraph or archangel raised Dean Winchester's soul, if they would not have realized the truth.
If they would not have realized that they were already far, far too late.
It was something Castiel could not help but wonder. As a malakhim he had never had the privilege of holding a human soul before, much less raising one, so the Righteous Man's soul had been his first. Would another angel with more experience have been able to tell? Had there been critical signs that he had missed in his inexperience?
Castiel could not help but be certain that there had been. Perhaps it had been in the way that Dean Winchester had struggled and resisted his grip the entire way, or the manner in which the soul had burned, or the way that it had needed to be specially secured into its body instead of easily returning to it. Whatever it had been, he was sure there had to have been something.
There just had to have been. Because Castiel absolutely refused to believe that this had been his Father's plan. If he had ever been sure of anything it was this thought that passed through his mind as he stood there looking into Dean Winchester's coal black eyes and a horrifying realization settled in.
The Righteous Man's soul had been demonized.
Main Story:
Dean was honestly surprised when he woke up with a start and found himself in what appeared to be a coffin. He'd seriously thought that he was a goner when that angel had grabbed hold of him and started dragging him away towards the invading angelic army. When Alastair had first told him that angels were besieging Hell, he'd wanted nothing more than to stand and fight alongside his new brethren but he'd been denied. His master had said that it wasn't for those of his rank to be cannon fodder for the angels and that he should focus on the souls selected to appear on his rack. Though it had grated to be denied, he'd been more than happy with his assignment and thus hadn't thought about it again. At least not until one of the creatures had appeared in his torture chamber.
Even now Dean winced at the memory of the sheer brightness and Light of the angel. It had hurt simply to look upon the creature but that had been nothing compared to what it had felt like to be touched by it. Sheer burning agony didn't even come close to describing it. It had been a torture on par with the worst that Alastair could dish out when enraged. He'd done his best to break free from the angel's grasp, but it had been completely futile. If he'd known what the creature was planning though, he wouldn't have fought it half as hard as he had, but who'd have thought that it wanted to do anything other than smite him?
He was under no illusions as to what he'd become and Dean knew enough about angels to know that they were the sworn enemies of demons. Even he'd known that and he hadn't even believed in their existence until his master had confirmed it. So who in their right mind would have thought that one would not only free him from Hell but return him to Earth? It was so unexpected as to be ludacris and it had to be a trick or trap somehow, it just couldn't be anything else. Well, if they thought that he'd simply bend over and do whatever they wanted then the angels were very much mistaken. It had taken Alastair thirty years to get him to say just one little word and to pick up a knife and then it had taken the demon another one hundred and twenty-five to make him semi-obedient, so good luck to Heaven if they expected him to just roll over and take it for them.
Despite that, Dean did find himself grateful to the angel for thinking that it could control him. After all, it had gotten him out of Hell as a result, for although he'd seen nothing beyond this coffin so far, he could tell that he was back on Earth. The air didn't have that heavy blood, sulfur, darkness, slick, taint feel and taste to it that the air in Hell did. The thought also inevitably made him wonder what it would be like to have an angel on his rack. Or well, whatever he'd get to substitute for his rack up here.
The thought actually managed to sadden Dean as he thought of all of his tools that he'd now lost. He'd perfected them through decades of hard work, all of which were now useless to him as he'd have to start over again from scratch. It could take him years to replace all of his tools and in the meantime he'd be left stuck with substandard knives. He snarled in anger and then decided to put it to use, attacking the wooden slates above him. It wasn't until the first soil had already leaked in and fallen onto his face that he froze in shocked realization.
Those were his hands!
As a virgin demon as far as human possession went, Dean hadn't even stopped to think about what meat suit he was in. He'd just always been himself that he hadn't thought it remarkable that he was back in his own meat until now. He'd died God only knew how long ago and yet here he was, in his own meat suit once more and it was in far better condition than he remembered it being when he'd died. Had the angel done this? And why the hell was he buried in a coffin instead of having been given a traditional hunter's funeral? Not that he wasn't incredibly grateful to be back in his own meat (it would have taken him ages to find a handsome enough substitute otherwise!), but it was odd.
With a smile for how easy it would be to lure in his chosen victims looking the way he did, Dean began attacking the wooden planks of his coffin once more. His new strength made climbing out of his own grave incredibly easy and he couldn't help but find it all so very fitting. It was a symbolic way of leaving his old pathetic life behind for his glorious new one full of sin, decadence and freedom.
The sun was bright and burning after well over two centuries in Hell but Dean welcomed it and just lay in the soil for a few minutes, basking in it. After Hell, the sun's heat was weak but fantastic on his skin in a way Perdition's heat had never been. After a short while the burning pain in his left shoulder became too much and he sat up and pulled off his over shirt so he could pull up the short sleeve of his t-shirt. The handprint literally seared into his flesh made him snarl in anger, displeasure unfurling deep within him. It was a fucking brand! How dare that angel try and make such a claim on him? He was going to fucking pluck it bald when he had it on his rack and use the feathers to make himself a nice angel pillow and comforter.
The thought made Dean smile. Now that would be his idea of a Heavenly night's sleep.
Dean was still contemplating the wreckage of his gravesite when he stumbled across the closed gas station. The sheer magnitude of the destruction had been enough to make him give some serious consideration to exactly how he was going to capture the angel. It was clearly not going to be easy, but that was okay as he enjoyed a good challenge and it would allow him to make use of all of those hunting skills he still had left over from before.
The gas station was old and almost looked abandoned except for the well-stocked store. Dean wasted no time breaking in and grabbing a bottle of water. Though he no longer required sustenance to survive, he'd longed far too long after a cold drink of water to soothe his parched throat while in Hell to forgo the opportunity now. Indeed he was done forgoing opportunities that he desired for stupid, noble reasons. The pathetic, self-sacrificing Dean Winchester from before was as dead as the day his brother had decided to bury him in a cheap wooden box in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. No, he was a new Dean Winchester now, one who wouldn't let such silly things as morals and consciousness get in the way of what he wanted. Not anymore.
He'd been carved into a new animal.
Although Dean despised and hated Alastair in many ways and for many different reasons, he'd always be grateful to the older demon for liberating him from his pathetic soul and humanity. But now that it had been accomplished, he had no further use for Alastair and he was pleased that the demon had always preferred Hell to Earth as it significantly reduced the odds of him ever meeting his former master again.
Once the bottle was empty, Dean chucked it aside and grabbed the nearest candy bar, ripping the wrapping open and sinking his teeth into it. The sweetness burst across his tongue, sending ecstasy through him after over two hundred and thirty years of nothing but bitterness, flesh and blood. Oh he was going to have so much fun up here; he could hardly wait to get started! A quick search of the back of the store turned up a rather pathetic knife that was in serious need of a whetstone and a box cutter with a more respectable blade. Weapons acquired, he moved back into the store and turned his attention to the cash register, knowing that demon or not, he'd need a certain amount of hard cash for when he couldn't simply kill the store owners or others he wanted something from.
Dean had just stuffed all of the bills in his pockets when there was a sharp flare of pain in his left shoulder. He gnashed his teeth together and then snarled when he realized that it was coming from the fucking brand. Instead of fading, the pain only worsened and he jumped when the TV turned on to static and the lights flickered. Was he doing that in his anger? Or was it a sign of an approaching angel?
Either way, Dean wasn't going to stick around and take the chance. Instead he grabbed the remaining cash from the till and jumped over the counter, scattering products everywhere. He grabbed the Mars bar near him on his way to the door but froze when he got there. An inhuman screeching sound suddenly filled the air and he cried out, dropping his candy bar to clutch at his ears in pain.
It was the angel.
Although he'd not heard this sound from it before, Dean instantly knew it for what it was. Not only was the brand on his arm hurting like it was being branded into him all over again, but the sheer agony of the sound could only mean that it was angelic in nature. And still, despite all that, he still couldn't see it anywhere. He'd gladly uncover his ears if it meant an opportunity to stick one of his two new blades into the damn creature, but that opportunity simply didn't present itself. He flinched back as the glass in the windows and refrigerator units started to crack before they all shattered in a shower of sharp shards. The only thing keeping him on his feet was his own rage and sheer stubbornness to not let this creature get the better of him.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, the sound ceased. Dean cautiously and suspiciously lifted his hands away from his ears, sure that it was just a trick, but nothing happened. The burning agony in his shoulder slowly started to fade and if it was really an indicator of his angelic stalker's presence then he could easily live with it. After all, which other demon had such a good indicator of when one of Heaven's own was nearby? The only question now was, did it work with all angels or just the one that had dragged him out of Hell and restored his meat suit for him?
Dean abandoned the junker he'd hotwired at the gas station as soon as he could and exchanged it for a far classier Mercedes. The damn thing was still a douche car and probably had Lo-jack to boot, but he didn't really care so long as it got him to Peoria where he could abandon it for a real car. He felt a pang of loss as he thought of the Impala and added reacquiring his baby to his growing to do list right after sex, alcohol, acquiring some better knives and a victim or two. Although re-acquiring his baby would provide him with some of his old knives. They wouldn't be nearly as nice as the ones that he'd lost, but they'd be a damn sight better than anything he'd be able to get his hands on easily on such short notice.
So yes, re-acquiring the Impala was a must. But first Dean wanted a drink and a willing body to fuck. It had been far too long after all and sex in Hell just wasn't quite the same as up here somehow. Plans for the evening decided, he abandoned the douche car not far from the area he wanted to be in and walked the rest of the way. He was almost there when he happened to glance into a store window as he passed under a street light and realized just how bad his appearance was. The slight stubble on his chin didn't bother him too much as it gave him a rugged look and would attract the type of girl he wanted just now, but the dirt smudged all over his face and his clothing was another matter altogether and one that he'd have to do something about before heading into a bar.
With a displeased growl, Dean abandoned his quest for booze and sex and set out instead to find a damn clothing store. It took him longer than he liked, but he finally found something that looked promising. He managed to get in and out in under half an hour, trading in all of his clothes for cleaner and trendier models. Now that he wasn't paying for any of it he figured that he might as well look as good as he could. His new jeans were more form fitting, his new top a green button down that drew attention to his eyes and for his coat he chose a new brown leather jacket that was in far better shape than the ratty thing he'd gotten from Dad. Altogether he looked damn good if he did say so himself and he grabbed a few more pieces for later, helping himself to a nice bag to put them all in as well.
New clothes acquired, Dean made his way towards the night district and selected a tougher looking bar. He wasn't after some delicate wall flower today, but someone who'd let him really fuck them and beg for more as one round just wasn't going to be enough, not after the length of his stay in Hell. The moment he stepped in, he knew that he'd come to right place and he used all of the grace that he possessed as he sauntered his way to the bar, ordering a double of Jack. His new clothes were clearly having their desired effect as he could already feel eyes on him and he smirked in satisfaction. He'd known that it wouldn't be hard because if he'd been able to attract as many men and women as he had before wearing nothing but ratty t-shirts and over shirts, then a nice button down that hugged all the right places was a sure fire win.
Dean wasn't sure how long he spent in the bar, but now that he'd come this far, he found that he was picky. He really didn't want to get to a motel only to find that the woman he'd selected was going to disappoint him. Besides, the Jack went down smooth and he found that he wanted more. In the end he left with a feisty brunette who couldn't keep her hands to herself and who was clearly raring to go, to the point where he was sure that he could have taken her up against a convenient wall and she would have been fine with it. The good thing about that was that she didn't even blink when he took them to a sleazy pay by the hour motel with mirrors on both the ceiling and walls.
Their clothes vanished in record time and as soon as Dean got her vertical he rammed himself home in one thrust, making her scream. The clenching wet heat around his cock felt wonderful and he didn't even wait for her to adjust before he started fucking her in earnest, not that she seemed to mind in the slightest.
"Fuck! Fuck, yes, God," she moaned, clutching his back hard enough to bruise if he'd been human.
Instead of replying, Dean bit down on her neck, being careful not to break the skin. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to control himself if he spilled blood just now and he really wanted to keep burying himself into her tight heat. Then she adjusted the angle of her hips and he sank into her fully. He growled his approval and drove himself into her even harder, bringing up a hand to fondle her breasts. Her pleas became wordless noises of encouragement now and he ignored her until her breath hitched and then he looked up to see that she was watching their reflection in the mirror; watching him fuck her into the mattress.
Dean kept looking into the mirror for a few moments, watching his cock sink into her over and over again, making her body jerk in mindless pleasure. Then his attention shifted towards the new brand on his shoulder and he felt something foreign shift inside of him. He wasn't sure what it was, but rage started to cloud his pleasure and he growled, biting down on her breast, making her mewl and writhe beneath him as she came. Not even close to coming himself he kept going, fucking her for his own lust. The increased stamina was going to be something that he'd enjoy and he could already think of several very pleasing scenarios.
"God," she moaned, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist. "You're not even close, are you?"
"Told you I'd fuck you like you've never been fucked before."
It wasn't long before Dean could feel her beginning to react once more and he couldn't help but wonder if it would be possible to fuck her so long and hard that she died of it. In Hell that hadn't been possible as the soul would begin to regenerate its fake body long before he got it there, but up here... up here it was definitely a possibility and one he made a mental note to try at some point. Now, though, he felt his climax approaching and he had absolutely no intention of denying himself, not after how long it had been. It was pure chance that she came again before he did as he'd had no intention of doing anything but sating himself. It did, however, send him over the edge that much faster, her clenching down around him as she came milking his own release from him.
As soon as he'd come, Dean rolled off of her, basking in his post orgasmic bliss as he stared up at his own reflection in the ceiling mirror. Damn but he looked good! He really would have to take the time to thank the angel for returning him to his own meat suit before he started taking it apart. He just basked in the glory of satiation and being topside once more as he lay there, unsure of how much time passed before he sat up and studied himself in the mirrors on the walls. His meat suit was pretty much as he remembered it being age wise and as far as his fitness went, but that was where it ended. All of the scars that he'd gotten from a life wasted on hunting were gone, not that he minded, but it was a rather strange thing for the angel to have done and he couldn't figure out why. His tattoo, however, was still there and, what was more, was still fully intact. He wasn't quite sure how that was possible seeing as he was now technically 'possessing' his own meat suit but he figured it was probably also because of the angel.
His eyes wandered to the reflection of his newest- and only!- scar as Dean thought about the angel once more. He'd been so sure that it had raised him as part of some elaborate plot or trap, but nothing that had happened since then made any sense whatsoever. Sure it had injured him at the gas station but that was hardly even worth the effort it must have taken to pull him out of Hell. So what was going on here? Why raise him, return him to his body (which it had to have taken the time to restore and clean of all of his old injuries) and then just let him wander around and do whatever he wanted to? He wasn't sure if the fact that he couldn't figure out what the angel had planned meant that it was incredibly smart or incredibly stupid, but he definitely wasn't going to let his guard down around it, that was for sure.
There was a twinge from his scar, different from what Dean had felt before, and he frowned as he looked at it some more. Given that he kept feeling things from it- and especially since he'd been able to detect the angel's presence before it had attacked him at the gas station- it couldn't simply be a regular brand. No, it was almost as if there was some type of connection or bond between the two of them through it.
Dean frowned, not liking that thought at all. If there was a connection between them then did that mean the angel could track him wherever he was or keep tabs on what he was doing? Curiously, he poked at the brand, seeing if it felt different from a normal scar. It didn't, at least not physically. Not that that meant much, but it was always good to not overlook the obvious. Closing his eyes, he looked inwards and focused on himself. Not the meat suit that he used to be and now still wore, but at his true self. Once he'd started changing in Hell, he'd become far more aware of himself and his new form. It didn't take him but a moment to feel himself within his new meat suit, coiled around its insides like a lover. There was something odd in the way that he was attached to it, or at least it felt odd to him. For all that he knew, though, it could be perfectly normal and he wouldn't even notice it anymore in a few months.
Beyond that, however, Dean could suddenly feel it. It radiated Light and peace and burning in a way so completely different from the fires of Hell that he could hardly stand to look at it even like this and he shied away from it with a hiss of pain. The angel, it had to be. Somehow it had connected the two of them and not just at the meat suit level, but at his very essence itself so that he wouldn't even be able to rid himself of it if he abandoned his old body for a newer specimen. Oh he really was going to hurt it when he got his hands on it! What did it think that this would accomplish? That it would let the angel control him? Or was it just a means to keep tabs on him and what he did? It seemed almost far too elaborate for that though and he feared that it was there as means to punish him if he didn't do what it wanted him to do.
He tried once more to focus on the connection but it was far too bright and Light and Dean's hands clenched in the bed sheets in frustration and anger. He'd have to do some research into it and see if he couldn't sever the connection somehow. Or, failing that, if he couldn't gain some measure of control over it. Surely if the angel was able to do things to him through it then he'd be able to reciprocate once he learned how, right? The thought of being able to torment it with his own essence sent a wave of dark pleasure through him and he found himself almost savoring the possibility.
And speaking of savoring, Dean opened his eyes and glanced up as the bathroom door opened and the woman that he'd brought back with him exited, smiling when she saw that she had his attention.
"Oh, good, you're awake," she said, sauntering back towards him with far more swing to her hips than was natural. "I thought you'd fallen asleep sitting up."
"Fall asleep now? We've hardly even gotten started," Dean replied, feeling himself start to harden once more as he looked at her lips, wondering what they'd look like wrapped around his cock.
"Just the words I wanted to hear, though I might not be able to walk tomorrow if we do that more than once more."
"Walking is overrated," Dean replied, letting her kiss him before he applied pressure to her shoulders, glad when she went down easily. "Just to give you a break."
She laughed before she leaned down and licked him. "You're in luck, I don't have a gag reflex anymore."
Dean seriously doubted that, but he did have to admit that she definitely knew what she was doing once she got started. His only complaint was that she didn't go far enough, fast enough, but he soon rectified that by burying his hand in her hair and forcing her to take more of him. She flailed for a moment before adjusting and clutching at his thighs as he took control, guiding her movements and only just allowing her enough air to breathe. She definitely knew how to suck and it wasn't long before he could feel his orgasm approaching and he began to thrust into her mouth, fucking it, before stilling as he came.
With a loud moan, Dean let himself fall back onto his elbows, his eyes going half lidded with pleasure. He felt her sag against his inner thigh, gasping for breath and he looked towards her. He'd been fighting the temptation to think about cutting into her all evening and now that he'd gotten his sexual fix he found himself unable to keep from doing so. Her skin was so soft that he could practically feel how easily it would split even under the crude blades that he'd managed to obtain so far, spilling crimson liquid out onto the sheets. He licked his lips at the thought, wondering if the blood would taste even better up here where the air wasn't so weighed down with the smell of it.
And really, why should the two be mutually exclusive? He could fuck her again even as he cut into her. It would take a certain amount of caution and precision on his part, but it should definitely be possible, even as limited as he was up here where the soul couldn't simply regenerate the body as it could in Hell. It was definitely going to be the single biggest drawback that he could picture in being back on Earth, but it was one that he'd simply have to live with. If anything it would make him hone his craft even more and when his chosen victim finally died, well, there were always more... billions and billions more.
The thought delighted Dean and he was just thinking of hauling the girl up by her hair and tying her to the bed when there was a pulse of pain from his scar. He froze, cursing the angel before he scrambled into a ready position on the bed.
"Ow!" the girl exclaimed when his sudden movement caused her to fall back. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"Shut up," Dean ordered, looking around the room warily.
The pain in his mark was steadily increasing just as it had the last time and before the girl could even protest his command, the inhuman screeching filled the room. With a snarl of rage, Dean covered his ears even as he bared his teeth in defiance. Oh, but when he got his hands on this angel was he ever going to make it pay! Unlike humans he'd bet that it would last and last and last up here so that he'd be able to take his sweet time with it and learn all of its strengths and weaknesses. He'd figure out exactly what it took to make an angel beg and scream and finally bend to his will. And wouldn't Alastair be jealous once he had himself an obedient little pet angel? That would teach his old master a thing or two!
The girl screamed as the horrible sound continued, only covering her ears after they'd started to bleed and all of the glass in the room was already starting to crack. Dean's eyes were drawn to the ruby rivulets running down the side of her neck and his mouth watered, but then survival instinct got the better of him and he grabbed his clothing and beat a hasty exit just before the mirror on the ceiling came crashing down in a shower of sharp shards.
Despite his suspicions that the bond was letting the angel know where he was, Dean took the first car he could stand to drive and drove several hundred miles west, not stopping until he couldn't stand to drive anymore. Then he went to the nearest library and quickly worked his way through their theology section before resorting to the internet. The problem was that there was so much crap out there about angels that it was difficult to tell what was real lore and what was simply commercial or fanatical bullshit.
Even less able to concentrate on the dry crap than before, it wasn't long before Dean felt the bloodlust rising within him and he abandoned his research and went in search of a suitable victim. Though he was tempted to grab some young thing that would scream prettily for him, he knew that they wouldn't last for crap, so he grabbed a trucker instead and hauled the guy to a conveniently abandoned warehouse nearby. As it had once been a slaughterhouse it actually had hooks and chains and he used them to string up his chosen victim.
The man screamed even while unconscious when Dean put the first hook through his shoulder, just under the bone, and the trucker was already awake when he drove the second one in. The cries were music to his ears, as were the futile pleas for mercy when the guy gained enough of his wits to realize what was going on. He didn't answer them and instead set straight to work, slicing his way across the trucker's chest and back, unable to resist tasting the blood every once in a while. Though his tools were crude and hopelessly inadequate, that just forced him to pay attention to other things and he soon noticed that his senses were sharper than they had been before, to the point where he could hear the guy's heart beating and literally even smell his fear.
Dean was enjoying himself so much that at first he missed the pain coming from his brand. It wasn't until the man passed out and he was unable to revive him despite his best efforts that he became aware of it. By then the weather outside had changed and was now stormy with howling winds as well as thunder and lightning. Knowing the forecast had been for a mild evening, he snarled as he backed up, spinning the knife in his hand so he held it in a fighting grip even though he had no idea if it would even make the angel so much as blink. All of the online sites had said that angels were nearly indestructible, but he wasn't sure he believed that considering the other crap they'd said.
The storm outside worsened in proportion to the increasing pain Dean got from the brand and then the doors slammed opened and a silhouette appeared between them. Although he couldn't make out any detail yet, he could hardly believe his eyes as it was clearly human.
What the Hell?
Were angels really humanoid? What about their wings? Dean was still puzzling that one over when it stepped inside, bursting each light as it passed underneath it. Well, that at least marked it as a supernatural creature of some sort and his brand was definitely trying to tell him that this was the angel, so he figured that it had to be. After all, what did he knew of angels anyway? Then there was a shimmer of something before he could suddenly make out the outline of wings though they were ephemeral and translucent. Concentrating harder, the image seemed to waver before solidifying so that when the angel had covered half the distance between the doors and him they appeared to be almost as solid as the rest of the angel. If he wanted he could still see through them, but they were clearly there now. It was odd but probably something about his new status that he didn't yet know about and he would have to look into if he survived this encounter.
"Hello, Dean," the angel said, stopping a short distance from him.
From here, Dean could make it out clearly and all he could do was stare in bemusement. It looked like a tax accountant. A really good looking tax accountant, but a tax accountant nonetheless, right down to the cheap black shoes that went with its cheap black suit and creeper tan trench coat. And really, had he stepped into the twilight zone somewhere? Because in what reality did angels look like someone you'd want to check twice before letting them near your children?
"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord," it stated, continuing as if they were simply strangers instead of sworn enemies.
"Yeah, I know what you are," Dean spat. "What do you want?"
"I am here to speak with you."
"Speak with me? Really?"
"Yes."
Dean frowned as he looked at the angel. Okay, so clearly Heaven didn't have sarcasm as it had answered his snark as if it had been a simple question. But still, it just wanted to talk with him? As if, he wasn't going to be fooled that easily. He wasn't born yesterday, or even a hundred years ago for that matter. No wonder demons had always been such a pain to deal with before, they literally had centuries worth of experience over any hunter still able to walk and even those too old to.
"We have work for you," Castiel stated.
"We?"
"God."
"God has work for me?" Dean laughed in disbelief before pointing towards the trucker who was, unfortunately, already dying. "What, like that?"
The angel frowned as it turned to look at his handiwork, confusion filling it's face as it did so. "I do not understand. That is not a demon or other creature that I can detect."
Huh? What? Now just wait a minute, what was going on here? It expected him to be slicing into another demon? Dean gave the idea some thought and then realized that there might actually be something to it. Another demon would definitely last far longer than a human would, that was for sure, though he might just be making life incredibly difficult for himself if he started doing that as he'd be pissing off every single demon out there. Still, it merited some further thought even if he was certain that it wasn't what this Castiel had intended.
"No, it's one hundred percent, fully human," Dean replied slowly, as if speaking with a small child.
"His soul, though tainted, is not unsalvageable, why are you torturing him thus?"
"Why? How about because I wanted to?"
The angel turned troubled eyes towards him. "I do not understand."
"Seriously?" Dean demanded in disbelief.
"Yes."
Dean could only stare at the angel in shock. It couldn't actually be asking why a demon would chose to torture a human, could it? He found it hard to believe that any angel (and most especially not one who'd been to Hell itself) could be so naive. Had this one really missed the memo on demon behavior?
"Hello, demon!" Dean exclaimed, letting his eyes slide to black.
The angel made an inarticulate little noise and drew back in horror as it stared at him in disbelief. Okay, so apparently it hadn't known that he was a demon. Dean could honestly say that this was one possibility that he definitely hadn't even considered. And really, how on Earth hadn't it known that he was a demon? It had gone into Hell itself and dragged him away from his rack where he'd been in the middle of a particularly complex and wonderfully messy organ transplant, though he'd been replacing the organs he'd removed with rolls of barbed wire rather than other organs. So really, the angel had no excuse for thinking him to be anything other than a demon.
"No, impossible," Castiel whispered, its wings trembling.
"Honestly?" Dean questioned again in disbelief. "You pull a soul from Hell, a soul that's actively torturing another soul when you find it, and you're surprised that it's a demon? What do they teach you angels up there in Heaven anyway?"
"No... You..."
It took a moment and if it'd been human then Dean would have said that it needed to take a breath but while it had looked human at first, it was now blaringly obvious that Castiel was anything but. Not only could he not understand how he'd missed it's wings at first but it didn't hold itself like a human did either. Where people were loose and flexible, it was absolutely rigid, almost painfully so. It was almost as if the angel weren't used to its own meat suit. Almost as if... no, it couldn't be, could it?
"Dude, are you possessing some innocent bastard?" Dean demanded in astonishment.
If angels did that, then it changed everything.
"No!" Castiel replied sharply. "At least not in the way that you mean."
"Bullshit. Either you are or you aren't, there's really no middle ground with possession."
"This vessel was a devout man, he actually prayed for this."
"Prayed for it?" Dean repeated in disbelief. "Yeah, right."
"An angel cannot take an unwilling vessel."
"Really?"
Now that was interesting and probably useful somehow. How precisely, Dean didn't know just yet, but it was information and as Alastair had so often pointed out to him, information was power. Knowing what made the soul on your rack tick could be crucial to breaking it, especially with the ones where the pain itself wasn't enough to do the job. So basically the more interesting ones.
Besides it was also about scoping out a new enemy of which he knew precious little, so if this Castiel was willing to just tell him things, then Dean wasn't going to complain. Not at all, especially not if it meant that the angel wasn't actively trying to either attack or kill him.
"So, what? You just appear before them and ask really nicely if you can jump their bones?" Dean asked, hoping to get lucky and keep the intel coming. "Do they actually fall for that?"
"No, that would probably kill them," Castiel replied.
"Kill them?"
"Our true form is unbearable for most humans, only a few- a special few- can stand to see our true form. Or to hear our true voice, but then you already knew that."
"True voice. Now wait a goddamn minute, are you saying that ruckus before at the gas station and the motel was you talking?"
"Yes."
"Jesus."
"Do not blaspheme."
Dean blinked once, twice, before he burst out laughing, unable to believe that an angel had actually just told him- a demon!- off for taking Jesus' name in vain. Just what did it think was going on here? There was a trucker hanging from meat hooks mere feet behind him, slowly dying from the torture that he'd inflicted upon the man. What difference did some swearing make when compared to that?
The angel seemed to have realized that too as it was back to staring at him in incomprehension. Dean shifted uncomfortably, not liking to have an enemy that focused on him. It's wings twitched slightly and he found that his eyes were drawn back towards them involuntarily. They were huge even folded back as they were and he could only imagine what they'd look like spread out. Or what they'd feel like.
The thought brought back Dean's earlier idea of plucking the angel bald and it appealed to him even more now that he could actually see the wings in question. The feathers were long, white and looked sinfully soft and the thought of sleeping on them really appealed to him. He would have to keep them after he plucked them. They could be his trophy of this victim, to mark his victory over one of Heaven's own. And if he were really lucky, then it would keep growing more after he'd plucked the original feathers, thereby giving him even more of them to savor.
"No," Castiel uttered once more, shaking it's head as if that would make it true.
Dean snorted. "Hell, remember?"
"But we got you out, I got you out."
"Yes, thanks for that, Alastair wasn't going to let me out of his sight anytime soon so I'd probably not have gotten back up here within the next century. Or well Hell century anyway."
"It was not that long, not even half a century."
"Not even half a century? Buddy, I think you need to go back to little angel school. Twenty-three decades makes well over two centuries."
"No, you were- One month on Earth is ten years in Hell. It has only been four Earth months since your death!"
That brought Dean up short. He had noticed the date while at the gas station but hadn't paid it much attention, not really caring all that much so long as he hadn't lost so much time as to be out of date in regards to technology and customs. After all, it would be a pain if he didn't know how to clean up a workshop because forensic science had advanced well beyond his understanding. He didn't want to have to ditch his meat suit because of something so stupid and preventable. And yet by the angel's calculations, far more time should have gone by then it would seem actually had. He didn't doubt for a minute that it knew what it was talking about regarding the time difference between Hell and Earth, it was an angel after all.
"So that's what Alastair was up to with that little ritual of his," Dean commented. "I never was able to work it out."
The slowly dawning horror on the angel's face told Dean that it too had figured it out. "He created a time vortex," Castiel stated. "That is why it felt like it took so much longer to reach you and why you were so difficult to find."
"Don't suppose you know why he bothered and care to share with the rest of the class?"
"To corrupt you. To demonize you. He knew we were coming for you and that he wouldn't have enough time otherwise. But no, it cannot be."
"Why is this so hard for you to understand?" Dean questioned.
From where he stood it couldn't be simpler. Human soul goes to Hell, gets tortured and turned into a demon. True, he hadn't subsequently gotten out of Hell in the traditional manner, but that didn't seem to be the sticking point here.
"You, you are not supposed to be..."
"What? A demon?"
"Yes. You are the Righteous Man."
"I'm the what now?"
"The Righteous Man. The one who will stop the Apocalypse."
Dean was so shocked that he couldn't do anything but stare for a while. Him, a righteous man, much less the Righteous Man? The angel had to be on something or perhaps it had hit it's head on the way out of Hell or it's Grace had gotten tainted or something. Because there was absolutely no way that he fit that description, even before his little sojourn downstairs.
"Dude, you've got the wrong guy," Dean finally replied, laughing.
"No, I do not. You, Dean Winchester, are the Righteous Man."
"Trust me, righteous is definitely not something that applies to me."
"Not anymore, no," Castiel admitted, stepping closer.
"You even think about touching me and I'll cut your fingers off!" Dean snarled, stepping back and brandishing his knife. "Go find yourself another dupe. There are plenty of righteous men out there."
"For this there is only one. And your knife is useless, I am an angel."
"Like I'm gonna just take your word for it."
He wouldn't, but Dean was pretty sure that it was speaking the truth. There was something incredibly innocent and guileless about the angel though he didn't doubt that it could change in an instant. He'd seen it fight off too many demons on their way out of Hell to doubt that Castiel was anything other than a seasoned soldier. No, this seeming respite had something to do with this whole Righteous Man crap. Normally that would make him less inclined to dissuade it from thinking of him like that, but given the stalkerish behavior that the angel had already engaged in, he was willing to take his chances if it meant being left alone.
"And there are plenty of righteous men out there who'd love to fall to their knees and do whatever you want. Go find yourself a monastery or something."
"No, the Righteous Man who begins it is the only one who can end it."
"End what?"
"The Apocalypse."
"You really are off your Holy rocker, aren't you?"
"I do not know what that means."
"I'm pretty sure that I'd remember starting the Apocalypse."
"You did, the first time you shed blood in Hell."
"What?"
"That was the first seal."
"Seal? What the fuck do seals have to do with anything?"
"Not the animals," Castiel stated impatiently. "The seals are like locks on a door."
"See this? This is my completely uninterested face. What are you even still doing here?"
"You cannot be fully lost."
Okay, that right there? That set off every single alarm bell that Dean had. At the very least it sounded like the angel thought that a part of him was still partially human and he didn't even want to think about what that would cause it to do.
"Hello, demon!"
"No, Father's plan cannot be so easily derailed. You are the one who will defeat Lucifer should he rise. This is merely a test of my faith."
Though Dean reacted instantly he didn't even stand a chance. The angel used some of its psychic powers to send him flying back into the warehouse wall where it pinned him in place like a fucking bug on display. He fought the invisible grip, using everything that he'd learned of his new powers in Hell under Alastair's expert tutelage, but it was useless. Just as he'd seen Castiel almost effortlessly bat aside countless demons on their way out of Hell, it was now having the same ease keeping him exactly where it wanted him.
Panic rose hard and sharp within Dean as the angel stepped closer to him with a determined expression on its face. He'd only just gotten out of Hell and hadn't even had a chance to properly enjoy himself up here yet. There was absolutely no way that he'd allow it to either send him back or kill him. No way.
Dean screamed as the connection between them seemed to flare to life and Light flood into his very core. He trashed in place, trying desperately to get away, but just as his meat suit was pinned in place, so too was his dark essence. The angel was now right in front of him, head tilted to one side as its piercing blue eyes drilled into him, seeming to be able to see right past the physical to what he'd become. It left him feeling open and raw and he fucking hated it!
He snarled, spewing filth at it which it just ignored and that only served to increase Dean's terror and rage. When Castiel reached up to touch his forehead, he abandoned reason and struck back instinctively- switching from defensive to offensive in an instant- and surging forwards against the bond in a desperate attempt to hurt. The angel recoiled both physically and spiritually with a surprised cry and he didn't even think, just redoubled his efforts sending all that he had at their connection, focusing his rage and all of the pleasure and delight that he'd found in torture at it.
All of the Darkness that he'd become.
"No!" Castiel cried out, retreating even further, twisting away as if the gesture could protect him.
The invisible bonds holding him in place weakened and Dean struggled free even as he tried to figure out if the angel was crying out against the reality of what it could now feel that he was or in protest of the attack itself. He'd like to think it was the latter but he had the sneaking suspicion that it was the former. The note of disbelief that still tinged it's voice impossible to either ignore or deny.
Once the unexpectedness of the attack had worn off, the angel seemed to be able to tamper down on their connection and the flow of divine blessing and Hell fueled malice between them ceased. Dean found himself panting from both the exertion and effects of Castiel's own attack. It had taken more out of him than he liked to admit, even to himself, but he refused to let it show, standing tall and ready, his attention glued to the creature before him, eyes as coal black as his soul. Before him Castiel stood still as a statue, shock and confusion rolling off of it in waves.
It took Dean a few seconds to realize that it was at a loss to understand what was going on. It clearly believed everything that it had spouted earlier about the Apocalypse and God and couldn't quite believe that the Great Douche's plan seemed to have gone to horribly awry. Not one to let such an opportunity pass him by, he stepped forward aggressively.
"What's wrong? Daddy not as all-powerful as you thought?" Dean taunted, a cruel smile on his lips.
Dean probed carefully at the bond once more, trying to send more of his Darkness at it, when the angel suddenly vanished in a flutter of wings. Startled he stared at the spot it had stood for a moment before he heard it off to his left. By the time he'd turned to face it, the angel had raised two fingers to the trucker's head and he gave an enraged shout, lunging at them, but he was far too late and the two vanished long before he'd even covered a quarter of the distance.
Absolutely furious that he'd had his plaything taken from him, even if it had been nothing more than a dying slab of meat, Dean went on a rampage, slaughtering anyone he came across. Young, old, male, female, black, white- it didn't matter. All that did was that they were human, living and bled when he slashed them.
And screamed.
God but Dean loved their screams. With his inadequate tools it was the screams that told him that he was still making a real impact, even if they all died far, far too quickly. But this wasn't about finesse, no this was about rage, pure and simple. His rage at having been cheated of his victim after all the work that he'd put into him. It was also about what the angel had dared do to him, touching him with it's Grace. Or at least that was what he assumed that it had done when it had reached out to him across their bond. Despite the more than obvious differences, it had felt something like what Alastair had used to love doing when his old master had reached out and touched his soul before he'd become fully demonized himself. So, extrapolating from that, it meant Castiel had touched him with it's true essence which would be it's Grace.
On some level Dean was surprised that he'd survived the experience at all and he could only assume that it was because Castiel hadn't been trying to kill him. Well at least not from it's point of view. As far as he was concerned he'd much rather be dead than turned back into his pathetic, self-sacrificing human self, he just hoped that it didn't come to that if such a thing was even possible. The fact that he'd been able to hurt it back had clearly caught Castiel off-guard and it was an advantage that he'd use to its fullest extent if it came back and tried again.
To that end, Dean put away his knife and laughed at the look of pure relief that crossed the face of the young woman that he'd cornered. "Oh no, your pathetic whimpering hasn't swayed my hand, I've just got something else in mind for you."
The flare of panic that rippled across her face satisfied something dark deep within Dean and he laughed again as she made a break for it. Instead of chasing after her, he simply raised a hand and pushed with his mind as he had in Hell. The girl was literally swept off her feet and slammed into the brick wall five feet away with the unmistakable sound of breaking bones.
"Oops, my bad," Dean crooned as he approached. "Used just a bit too much force there. See, that's why I need to practice, you don't mind playing guinea pig, do you?"
She hung limply where he'd pinned her and Dean saw blood when she coughed before absolutely terrified blue eyes looked up at him. "Please," she begged. "Please, I'll do anything! Anything at all."
"Anything I want?"
"Yes, yes! Just tell me."
The vehemence of her response made her cough again and this time there was more blood. He'd obviously broken a rib that had then punctured her lung and Dean couldn't help but wonder if she realized what that meant. Probably not, she didn't seem the type to care about that stuff, what with her girly pink clothes and cringe worthy Twilight accessories. And really, Edward Cullen? Guy needed to just grow a pair and bite Bella as far as he was concerned. It would solve a lot of problems, not the least of which was put everyone out of the misery of having to put up with her incessant whining and cheesy lines. And seriously, what was a college student doing reading and obsessing about teenage trash?
His new prey must have tried moving her right arm as new panic flared across her face just before she turned to look at where it was roughly pinned against the bricks. Dean paid her new struggles little head though, his attention focused on the blood still on her lips. It ignited a new hunger within him and he reached out to grab her jaw, angling her head so he could devour her lips and the blood. The metallic taste of it was divine and he smiled at the comparison even as he forced his tongue into her mouth to chase the flavor. At first she froze then instinctively struggled before going completely still like some petrified rabbit, hoping that if it froze it would be left alone. Not likely, but the delicious aroma of fear was heady and combined with the sound of her racing heart and the emotions that she was projecting, he knew that he could get high on it all.
If there was one thing that Dean owed Alastair, it was this. The ability to enjoy it all like a fine wine, but also the knowledge of how to get it exactly as he wanted it. There was an art to torture after all, one which most demons never learned of, much less mastered, but Alastair was the absolute pro and his old master had passed most of that knowledge on to him in turn. It had earned him a lot of respect in Hell, to the point where most didn't even dare bring up what he used to be for fear of the wrath he'd met out for them having the gall to do so.
The desire for more rose swiftly and powerfully within Dean and that merely served to reignite his anger and frustration as he had neither the means nor the time at present to take his prey somewhere and act on that desire. Instead he pulled back just far enough so that she'd be able to see his demon black eyes. Predictably she freaked, screaming as she completely lost it. Necessity forced him to cover her mouth, but he delighted in the reaction and the mindless terror that now engulfed her.
"Shh, shh," he whispered, nuzzling her neck like a lover. "Be a good girl and hold still now. I need to practice my fine motor control skills. Or, well, my fine psychic control skills really. Let me know if it works, will you?"
With more concentration than before, Dean reached out and focused his powers on her fingers. They were held quite close together and he tried to see if he could force them to spread. A fresh scream tried to escape his victim as her fingers jerked apart, most of them breaking before hanging limply from her hand.
"Okay, this might take a while. You don't have anywhere to be, do you darling?"
Part 2
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Dean/OFCs, mild Sam/Ruby
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: season 4
Warnings: DARK, AU, torture, slash, language, het, violence, bare backing, oral, mild non-con (kissing), character death, wing!fic, top!Dean, bottom!Cas
Word Count: 25,049
Note: This fic was written for the dc-dystopia reverse bang 2012.
Summary: When Castiel gripped Dean Winchester tight and raised him from perdition he had no idea that the once Righteous Man was no longer human, nor the effects that raising him thus would have.
Beta: asherahwolf
Artist: nanoks - Art Masterlist
Prologue:
Castiel had always known that he should not have been the one to raise the Righteous Man. He was merely a malakhim and should have been nothing more than a common foot soldier opening the way for the seraph or archangel to fly down and claim the Righteous Man's soul back from the demon that had dared to take it as it's own.
Nothing, however, had gone according to plan.
From the moment that they had first entered Hell, things had started to go wrong. Castiel was not sure how things had gone so awry so quickly but the mission that should have taken only a few short human weeks had quickly stretched into several months and had seemed like even more at the time though Dean Winchester had been raised only four months after his death, so clearly he had been mistaken.
The original plan had been so thoroughly shredded and in tatters that when Castiel had finally stumbled across the Righteous Man's soul he had not hesitated and had simply acted in the manner he saw fit to. Perhaps that had been wrong of him, perhaps it had been arrogance or pride guiding his thoughts and actions, but all that he had seen were his brothers and sisters struggling to keep Hell's surprisingly formidable forces at bay, his garrison decimated and an opportunity that might not present itself again. For, by the time he had managed to alert the others of his discovery and the appropriate seraph or archangel had arrived, the demons might have realized the gap in their defense and closed it off once more.
He still believed that he had made the right choice given the circumstances, but Castiel could not help but wonder now if, had the intended seraph or archangel raised Dean Winchester's soul, if they would not have realized the truth.
If they would not have realized that they were already far, far too late.
It was something Castiel could not help but wonder. As a malakhim he had never had the privilege of holding a human soul before, much less raising one, so the Righteous Man's soul had been his first. Would another angel with more experience have been able to tell? Had there been critical signs that he had missed in his inexperience?
Castiel could not help but be certain that there had been. Perhaps it had been in the way that Dean Winchester had struggled and resisted his grip the entire way, or the manner in which the soul had burned, or the way that it had needed to be specially secured into its body instead of easily returning to it. Whatever it had been, he was sure there had to have been something.
There just had to have been. Because Castiel absolutely refused to believe that this had been his Father's plan. If he had ever been sure of anything it was this thought that passed through his mind as he stood there looking into Dean Winchester's coal black eyes and a horrifying realization settled in.
The Righteous Man's soul had been demonized.
Main Story:
Dean was honestly surprised when he woke up with a start and found himself in what appeared to be a coffin. He'd seriously thought that he was a goner when that angel had grabbed hold of him and started dragging him away towards the invading angelic army. When Alastair had first told him that angels were besieging Hell, he'd wanted nothing more than to stand and fight alongside his new brethren but he'd been denied. His master had said that it wasn't for those of his rank to be cannon fodder for the angels and that he should focus on the souls selected to appear on his rack. Though it had grated to be denied, he'd been more than happy with his assignment and thus hadn't thought about it again. At least not until one of the creatures had appeared in his torture chamber.
Even now Dean winced at the memory of the sheer brightness and Light of the angel. It had hurt simply to look upon the creature but that had been nothing compared to what it had felt like to be touched by it. Sheer burning agony didn't even come close to describing it. It had been a torture on par with the worst that Alastair could dish out when enraged. He'd done his best to break free from the angel's grasp, but it had been completely futile. If he'd known what the creature was planning though, he wouldn't have fought it half as hard as he had, but who'd have thought that it wanted to do anything other than smite him?
He was under no illusions as to what he'd become and Dean knew enough about angels to know that they were the sworn enemies of demons. Even he'd known that and he hadn't even believed in their existence until his master had confirmed it. So who in their right mind would have thought that one would not only free him from Hell but return him to Earth? It was so unexpected as to be ludacris and it had to be a trick or trap somehow, it just couldn't be anything else. Well, if they thought that he'd simply bend over and do whatever they wanted then the angels were very much mistaken. It had taken Alastair thirty years to get him to say just one little word and to pick up a knife and then it had taken the demon another one hundred and twenty-five to make him semi-obedient, so good luck to Heaven if they expected him to just roll over and take it for them.
Despite that, Dean did find himself grateful to the angel for thinking that it could control him. After all, it had gotten him out of Hell as a result, for although he'd seen nothing beyond this coffin so far, he could tell that he was back on Earth. The air didn't have that heavy blood, sulfur, darkness, slick, taint feel and taste to it that the air in Hell did. The thought also inevitably made him wonder what it would be like to have an angel on his rack. Or well, whatever he'd get to substitute for his rack up here.
The thought actually managed to sadden Dean as he thought of all of his tools that he'd now lost. He'd perfected them through decades of hard work, all of which were now useless to him as he'd have to start over again from scratch. It could take him years to replace all of his tools and in the meantime he'd be left stuck with substandard knives. He snarled in anger and then decided to put it to use, attacking the wooden slates above him. It wasn't until the first soil had already leaked in and fallen onto his face that he froze in shocked realization.
Those were his hands!
As a virgin demon as far as human possession went, Dean hadn't even stopped to think about what meat suit he was in. He'd just always been himself that he hadn't thought it remarkable that he was back in his own meat until now. He'd died God only knew how long ago and yet here he was, in his own meat suit once more and it was in far better condition than he remembered it being when he'd died. Had the angel done this? And why the hell was he buried in a coffin instead of having been given a traditional hunter's funeral? Not that he wasn't incredibly grateful to be back in his own meat (it would have taken him ages to find a handsome enough substitute otherwise!), but it was odd.
With a smile for how easy it would be to lure in his chosen victims looking the way he did, Dean began attacking the wooden planks of his coffin once more. His new strength made climbing out of his own grave incredibly easy and he couldn't help but find it all so very fitting. It was a symbolic way of leaving his old pathetic life behind for his glorious new one full of sin, decadence and freedom.
The sun was bright and burning after well over two centuries in Hell but Dean welcomed it and just lay in the soil for a few minutes, basking in it. After Hell, the sun's heat was weak but fantastic on his skin in a way Perdition's heat had never been. After a short while the burning pain in his left shoulder became too much and he sat up and pulled off his over shirt so he could pull up the short sleeve of his t-shirt. The handprint literally seared into his flesh made him snarl in anger, displeasure unfurling deep within him. It was a fucking brand! How dare that angel try and make such a claim on him? He was going to fucking pluck it bald when he had it on his rack and use the feathers to make himself a nice angel pillow and comforter.
The thought made Dean smile. Now that would be his idea of a Heavenly night's sleep.
Dean was still contemplating the wreckage of his gravesite when he stumbled across the closed gas station. The sheer magnitude of the destruction had been enough to make him give some serious consideration to exactly how he was going to capture the angel. It was clearly not going to be easy, but that was okay as he enjoyed a good challenge and it would allow him to make use of all of those hunting skills he still had left over from before.
The gas station was old and almost looked abandoned except for the well-stocked store. Dean wasted no time breaking in and grabbing a bottle of water. Though he no longer required sustenance to survive, he'd longed far too long after a cold drink of water to soothe his parched throat while in Hell to forgo the opportunity now. Indeed he was done forgoing opportunities that he desired for stupid, noble reasons. The pathetic, self-sacrificing Dean Winchester from before was as dead as the day his brother had decided to bury him in a cheap wooden box in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. No, he was a new Dean Winchester now, one who wouldn't let such silly things as morals and consciousness get in the way of what he wanted. Not anymore.
He'd been carved into a new animal.
Although Dean despised and hated Alastair in many ways and for many different reasons, he'd always be grateful to the older demon for liberating him from his pathetic soul and humanity. But now that it had been accomplished, he had no further use for Alastair and he was pleased that the demon had always preferred Hell to Earth as it significantly reduced the odds of him ever meeting his former master again.
Once the bottle was empty, Dean chucked it aside and grabbed the nearest candy bar, ripping the wrapping open and sinking his teeth into it. The sweetness burst across his tongue, sending ecstasy through him after over two hundred and thirty years of nothing but bitterness, flesh and blood. Oh he was going to have so much fun up here; he could hardly wait to get started! A quick search of the back of the store turned up a rather pathetic knife that was in serious need of a whetstone and a box cutter with a more respectable blade. Weapons acquired, he moved back into the store and turned his attention to the cash register, knowing that demon or not, he'd need a certain amount of hard cash for when he couldn't simply kill the store owners or others he wanted something from.
Dean had just stuffed all of the bills in his pockets when there was a sharp flare of pain in his left shoulder. He gnashed his teeth together and then snarled when he realized that it was coming from the fucking brand. Instead of fading, the pain only worsened and he jumped when the TV turned on to static and the lights flickered. Was he doing that in his anger? Or was it a sign of an approaching angel?
Either way, Dean wasn't going to stick around and take the chance. Instead he grabbed the remaining cash from the till and jumped over the counter, scattering products everywhere. He grabbed the Mars bar near him on his way to the door but froze when he got there. An inhuman screeching sound suddenly filled the air and he cried out, dropping his candy bar to clutch at his ears in pain.
It was the angel.
Although he'd not heard this sound from it before, Dean instantly knew it for what it was. Not only was the brand on his arm hurting like it was being branded into him all over again, but the sheer agony of the sound could only mean that it was angelic in nature. And still, despite all that, he still couldn't see it anywhere. He'd gladly uncover his ears if it meant an opportunity to stick one of his two new blades into the damn creature, but that opportunity simply didn't present itself. He flinched back as the glass in the windows and refrigerator units started to crack before they all shattered in a shower of sharp shards. The only thing keeping him on his feet was his own rage and sheer stubbornness to not let this creature get the better of him.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, the sound ceased. Dean cautiously and suspiciously lifted his hands away from his ears, sure that it was just a trick, but nothing happened. The burning agony in his shoulder slowly started to fade and if it was really an indicator of his angelic stalker's presence then he could easily live with it. After all, which other demon had such a good indicator of when one of Heaven's own was nearby? The only question now was, did it work with all angels or just the one that had dragged him out of Hell and restored his meat suit for him?
Dean abandoned the junker he'd hotwired at the gas station as soon as he could and exchanged it for a far classier Mercedes. The damn thing was still a douche car and probably had Lo-jack to boot, but he didn't really care so long as it got him to Peoria where he could abandon it for a real car. He felt a pang of loss as he thought of the Impala and added reacquiring his baby to his growing to do list right after sex, alcohol, acquiring some better knives and a victim or two. Although re-acquiring his baby would provide him with some of his old knives. They wouldn't be nearly as nice as the ones that he'd lost, but they'd be a damn sight better than anything he'd be able to get his hands on easily on such short notice.
So yes, re-acquiring the Impala was a must. But first Dean wanted a drink and a willing body to fuck. It had been far too long after all and sex in Hell just wasn't quite the same as up here somehow. Plans for the evening decided, he abandoned the douche car not far from the area he wanted to be in and walked the rest of the way. He was almost there when he happened to glance into a store window as he passed under a street light and realized just how bad his appearance was. The slight stubble on his chin didn't bother him too much as it gave him a rugged look and would attract the type of girl he wanted just now, but the dirt smudged all over his face and his clothing was another matter altogether and one that he'd have to do something about before heading into a bar.
With a displeased growl, Dean abandoned his quest for booze and sex and set out instead to find a damn clothing store. It took him longer than he liked, but he finally found something that looked promising. He managed to get in and out in under half an hour, trading in all of his clothes for cleaner and trendier models. Now that he wasn't paying for any of it he figured that he might as well look as good as he could. His new jeans were more form fitting, his new top a green button down that drew attention to his eyes and for his coat he chose a new brown leather jacket that was in far better shape than the ratty thing he'd gotten from Dad. Altogether he looked damn good if he did say so himself and he grabbed a few more pieces for later, helping himself to a nice bag to put them all in as well.
New clothes acquired, Dean made his way towards the night district and selected a tougher looking bar. He wasn't after some delicate wall flower today, but someone who'd let him really fuck them and beg for more as one round just wasn't going to be enough, not after the length of his stay in Hell. The moment he stepped in, he knew that he'd come to right place and he used all of the grace that he possessed as he sauntered his way to the bar, ordering a double of Jack. His new clothes were clearly having their desired effect as he could already feel eyes on him and he smirked in satisfaction. He'd known that it wouldn't be hard because if he'd been able to attract as many men and women as he had before wearing nothing but ratty t-shirts and over shirts, then a nice button down that hugged all the right places was a sure fire win.
Dean wasn't sure how long he spent in the bar, but now that he'd come this far, he found that he was picky. He really didn't want to get to a motel only to find that the woman he'd selected was going to disappoint him. Besides, the Jack went down smooth and he found that he wanted more. In the end he left with a feisty brunette who couldn't keep her hands to herself and who was clearly raring to go, to the point where he was sure that he could have taken her up against a convenient wall and she would have been fine with it. The good thing about that was that she didn't even blink when he took them to a sleazy pay by the hour motel with mirrors on both the ceiling and walls.
Their clothes vanished in record time and as soon as Dean got her vertical he rammed himself home in one thrust, making her scream. The clenching wet heat around his cock felt wonderful and he didn't even wait for her to adjust before he started fucking her in earnest, not that she seemed to mind in the slightest.
"Fuck! Fuck, yes, God," she moaned, clutching his back hard enough to bruise if he'd been human.
Instead of replying, Dean bit down on her neck, being careful not to break the skin. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to control himself if he spilled blood just now and he really wanted to keep burying himself into her tight heat. Then she adjusted the angle of her hips and he sank into her fully. He growled his approval and drove himself into her even harder, bringing up a hand to fondle her breasts. Her pleas became wordless noises of encouragement now and he ignored her until her breath hitched and then he looked up to see that she was watching their reflection in the mirror; watching him fuck her into the mattress.
Dean kept looking into the mirror for a few moments, watching his cock sink into her over and over again, making her body jerk in mindless pleasure. Then his attention shifted towards the new brand on his shoulder and he felt something foreign shift inside of him. He wasn't sure what it was, but rage started to cloud his pleasure and he growled, biting down on her breast, making her mewl and writhe beneath him as she came. Not even close to coming himself he kept going, fucking her for his own lust. The increased stamina was going to be something that he'd enjoy and he could already think of several very pleasing scenarios.
"God," she moaned, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist. "You're not even close, are you?"
"Told you I'd fuck you like you've never been fucked before."
It wasn't long before Dean could feel her beginning to react once more and he couldn't help but wonder if it would be possible to fuck her so long and hard that she died of it. In Hell that hadn't been possible as the soul would begin to regenerate its fake body long before he got it there, but up here... up here it was definitely a possibility and one he made a mental note to try at some point. Now, though, he felt his climax approaching and he had absolutely no intention of denying himself, not after how long it had been. It was pure chance that she came again before he did as he'd had no intention of doing anything but sating himself. It did, however, send him over the edge that much faster, her clenching down around him as she came milking his own release from him.
As soon as he'd come, Dean rolled off of her, basking in his post orgasmic bliss as he stared up at his own reflection in the ceiling mirror. Damn but he looked good! He really would have to take the time to thank the angel for returning him to his own meat suit before he started taking it apart. He just basked in the glory of satiation and being topside once more as he lay there, unsure of how much time passed before he sat up and studied himself in the mirrors on the walls. His meat suit was pretty much as he remembered it being age wise and as far as his fitness went, but that was where it ended. All of the scars that he'd gotten from a life wasted on hunting were gone, not that he minded, but it was a rather strange thing for the angel to have done and he couldn't figure out why. His tattoo, however, was still there and, what was more, was still fully intact. He wasn't quite sure how that was possible seeing as he was now technically 'possessing' his own meat suit but he figured it was probably also because of the angel.
His eyes wandered to the reflection of his newest- and only!- scar as Dean thought about the angel once more. He'd been so sure that it had raised him as part of some elaborate plot or trap, but nothing that had happened since then made any sense whatsoever. Sure it had injured him at the gas station but that was hardly even worth the effort it must have taken to pull him out of Hell. So what was going on here? Why raise him, return him to his body (which it had to have taken the time to restore and clean of all of his old injuries) and then just let him wander around and do whatever he wanted to? He wasn't sure if the fact that he couldn't figure out what the angel had planned meant that it was incredibly smart or incredibly stupid, but he definitely wasn't going to let his guard down around it, that was for sure.
There was a twinge from his scar, different from what Dean had felt before, and he frowned as he looked at it some more. Given that he kept feeling things from it- and especially since he'd been able to detect the angel's presence before it had attacked him at the gas station- it couldn't simply be a regular brand. No, it was almost as if there was some type of connection or bond between the two of them through it.
Dean frowned, not liking that thought at all. If there was a connection between them then did that mean the angel could track him wherever he was or keep tabs on what he was doing? Curiously, he poked at the brand, seeing if it felt different from a normal scar. It didn't, at least not physically. Not that that meant much, but it was always good to not overlook the obvious. Closing his eyes, he looked inwards and focused on himself. Not the meat suit that he used to be and now still wore, but at his true self. Once he'd started changing in Hell, he'd become far more aware of himself and his new form. It didn't take him but a moment to feel himself within his new meat suit, coiled around its insides like a lover. There was something odd in the way that he was attached to it, or at least it felt odd to him. For all that he knew, though, it could be perfectly normal and he wouldn't even notice it anymore in a few months.
Beyond that, however, Dean could suddenly feel it. It radiated Light and peace and burning in a way so completely different from the fires of Hell that he could hardly stand to look at it even like this and he shied away from it with a hiss of pain. The angel, it had to be. Somehow it had connected the two of them and not just at the meat suit level, but at his very essence itself so that he wouldn't even be able to rid himself of it if he abandoned his old body for a newer specimen. Oh he really was going to hurt it when he got his hands on it! What did it think that this would accomplish? That it would let the angel control him? Or was it just a means to keep tabs on him and what he did? It seemed almost far too elaborate for that though and he feared that it was there as means to punish him if he didn't do what it wanted him to do.
He tried once more to focus on the connection but it was far too bright and Light and Dean's hands clenched in the bed sheets in frustration and anger. He'd have to do some research into it and see if he couldn't sever the connection somehow. Or, failing that, if he couldn't gain some measure of control over it. Surely if the angel was able to do things to him through it then he'd be able to reciprocate once he learned how, right? The thought of being able to torment it with his own essence sent a wave of dark pleasure through him and he found himself almost savoring the possibility.
And speaking of savoring, Dean opened his eyes and glanced up as the bathroom door opened and the woman that he'd brought back with him exited, smiling when she saw that she had his attention.
"Oh, good, you're awake," she said, sauntering back towards him with far more swing to her hips than was natural. "I thought you'd fallen asleep sitting up."
"Fall asleep now? We've hardly even gotten started," Dean replied, feeling himself start to harden once more as he looked at her lips, wondering what they'd look like wrapped around his cock.
"Just the words I wanted to hear, though I might not be able to walk tomorrow if we do that more than once more."
"Walking is overrated," Dean replied, letting her kiss him before he applied pressure to her shoulders, glad when she went down easily. "Just to give you a break."
She laughed before she leaned down and licked him. "You're in luck, I don't have a gag reflex anymore."
Dean seriously doubted that, but he did have to admit that she definitely knew what she was doing once she got started. His only complaint was that she didn't go far enough, fast enough, but he soon rectified that by burying his hand in her hair and forcing her to take more of him. She flailed for a moment before adjusting and clutching at his thighs as he took control, guiding her movements and only just allowing her enough air to breathe. She definitely knew how to suck and it wasn't long before he could feel his orgasm approaching and he began to thrust into her mouth, fucking it, before stilling as he came.
With a loud moan, Dean let himself fall back onto his elbows, his eyes going half lidded with pleasure. He felt her sag against his inner thigh, gasping for breath and he looked towards her. He'd been fighting the temptation to think about cutting into her all evening and now that he'd gotten his sexual fix he found himself unable to keep from doing so. Her skin was so soft that he could practically feel how easily it would split even under the crude blades that he'd managed to obtain so far, spilling crimson liquid out onto the sheets. He licked his lips at the thought, wondering if the blood would taste even better up here where the air wasn't so weighed down with the smell of it.
And really, why should the two be mutually exclusive? He could fuck her again even as he cut into her. It would take a certain amount of caution and precision on his part, but it should definitely be possible, even as limited as he was up here where the soul couldn't simply regenerate the body as it could in Hell. It was definitely going to be the single biggest drawback that he could picture in being back on Earth, but it was one that he'd simply have to live with. If anything it would make him hone his craft even more and when his chosen victim finally died, well, there were always more... billions and billions more.
The thought delighted Dean and he was just thinking of hauling the girl up by her hair and tying her to the bed when there was a pulse of pain from his scar. He froze, cursing the angel before he scrambled into a ready position on the bed.
"Ow!" the girl exclaimed when his sudden movement caused her to fall back. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"Shut up," Dean ordered, looking around the room warily.
The pain in his mark was steadily increasing just as it had the last time and before the girl could even protest his command, the inhuman screeching filled the room. With a snarl of rage, Dean covered his ears even as he bared his teeth in defiance. Oh, but when he got his hands on this angel was he ever going to make it pay! Unlike humans he'd bet that it would last and last and last up here so that he'd be able to take his sweet time with it and learn all of its strengths and weaknesses. He'd figure out exactly what it took to make an angel beg and scream and finally bend to his will. And wouldn't Alastair be jealous once he had himself an obedient little pet angel? That would teach his old master a thing or two!
The girl screamed as the horrible sound continued, only covering her ears after they'd started to bleed and all of the glass in the room was already starting to crack. Dean's eyes were drawn to the ruby rivulets running down the side of her neck and his mouth watered, but then survival instinct got the better of him and he grabbed his clothing and beat a hasty exit just before the mirror on the ceiling came crashing down in a shower of sharp shards.
Despite his suspicions that the bond was letting the angel know where he was, Dean took the first car he could stand to drive and drove several hundred miles west, not stopping until he couldn't stand to drive anymore. Then he went to the nearest library and quickly worked his way through their theology section before resorting to the internet. The problem was that there was so much crap out there about angels that it was difficult to tell what was real lore and what was simply commercial or fanatical bullshit.
Even less able to concentrate on the dry crap than before, it wasn't long before Dean felt the bloodlust rising within him and he abandoned his research and went in search of a suitable victim. Though he was tempted to grab some young thing that would scream prettily for him, he knew that they wouldn't last for crap, so he grabbed a trucker instead and hauled the guy to a conveniently abandoned warehouse nearby. As it had once been a slaughterhouse it actually had hooks and chains and he used them to string up his chosen victim.
The man screamed even while unconscious when Dean put the first hook through his shoulder, just under the bone, and the trucker was already awake when he drove the second one in. The cries were music to his ears, as were the futile pleas for mercy when the guy gained enough of his wits to realize what was going on. He didn't answer them and instead set straight to work, slicing his way across the trucker's chest and back, unable to resist tasting the blood every once in a while. Though his tools were crude and hopelessly inadequate, that just forced him to pay attention to other things and he soon noticed that his senses were sharper than they had been before, to the point where he could hear the guy's heart beating and literally even smell his fear.
Dean was enjoying himself so much that at first he missed the pain coming from his brand. It wasn't until the man passed out and he was unable to revive him despite his best efforts that he became aware of it. By then the weather outside had changed and was now stormy with howling winds as well as thunder and lightning. Knowing the forecast had been for a mild evening, he snarled as he backed up, spinning the knife in his hand so he held it in a fighting grip even though he had no idea if it would even make the angel so much as blink. All of the online sites had said that angels were nearly indestructible, but he wasn't sure he believed that considering the other crap they'd said.
The storm outside worsened in proportion to the increasing pain Dean got from the brand and then the doors slammed opened and a silhouette appeared between them. Although he couldn't make out any detail yet, he could hardly believe his eyes as it was clearly human.
What the Hell?
Were angels really humanoid? What about their wings? Dean was still puzzling that one over when it stepped inside, bursting each light as it passed underneath it. Well, that at least marked it as a supernatural creature of some sort and his brand was definitely trying to tell him that this was the angel, so he figured that it had to be. After all, what did he knew of angels anyway? Then there was a shimmer of something before he could suddenly make out the outline of wings though they were ephemeral and translucent. Concentrating harder, the image seemed to waver before solidifying so that when the angel had covered half the distance between the doors and him they appeared to be almost as solid as the rest of the angel. If he wanted he could still see through them, but they were clearly there now. It was odd but probably something about his new status that he didn't yet know about and he would have to look into if he survived this encounter.
"Hello, Dean," the angel said, stopping a short distance from him.
From here, Dean could make it out clearly and all he could do was stare in bemusement. It looked like a tax accountant. A really good looking tax accountant, but a tax accountant nonetheless, right down to the cheap black shoes that went with its cheap black suit and creeper tan trench coat. And really, had he stepped into the twilight zone somewhere? Because in what reality did angels look like someone you'd want to check twice before letting them near your children?
"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord," it stated, continuing as if they were simply strangers instead of sworn enemies.
"Yeah, I know what you are," Dean spat. "What do you want?"
"I am here to speak with you."
"Speak with me? Really?"
"Yes."
Dean frowned as he looked at the angel. Okay, so clearly Heaven didn't have sarcasm as it had answered his snark as if it had been a simple question. But still, it just wanted to talk with him? As if, he wasn't going to be fooled that easily. He wasn't born yesterday, or even a hundred years ago for that matter. No wonder demons had always been such a pain to deal with before, they literally had centuries worth of experience over any hunter still able to walk and even those too old to.
"We have work for you," Castiel stated.
"We?"
"God."
"God has work for me?" Dean laughed in disbelief before pointing towards the trucker who was, unfortunately, already dying. "What, like that?"
The angel frowned as it turned to look at his handiwork, confusion filling it's face as it did so. "I do not understand. That is not a demon or other creature that I can detect."
Huh? What? Now just wait a minute, what was going on here? It expected him to be slicing into another demon? Dean gave the idea some thought and then realized that there might actually be something to it. Another demon would definitely last far longer than a human would, that was for sure, though he might just be making life incredibly difficult for himself if he started doing that as he'd be pissing off every single demon out there. Still, it merited some further thought even if he was certain that it wasn't what this Castiel had intended.
"No, it's one hundred percent, fully human," Dean replied slowly, as if speaking with a small child.
"His soul, though tainted, is not unsalvageable, why are you torturing him thus?"
"Why? How about because I wanted to?"
The angel turned troubled eyes towards him. "I do not understand."
"Seriously?" Dean demanded in disbelief.
"Yes."
Dean could only stare at the angel in shock. It couldn't actually be asking why a demon would chose to torture a human, could it? He found it hard to believe that any angel (and most especially not one who'd been to Hell itself) could be so naive. Had this one really missed the memo on demon behavior?
"Hello, demon!" Dean exclaimed, letting his eyes slide to black.
The angel made an inarticulate little noise and drew back in horror as it stared at him in disbelief. Okay, so apparently it hadn't known that he was a demon. Dean could honestly say that this was one possibility that he definitely hadn't even considered. And really, how on Earth hadn't it known that he was a demon? It had gone into Hell itself and dragged him away from his rack where he'd been in the middle of a particularly complex and wonderfully messy organ transplant, though he'd been replacing the organs he'd removed with rolls of barbed wire rather than other organs. So really, the angel had no excuse for thinking him to be anything other than a demon.
"No, impossible," Castiel whispered, its wings trembling.
"Honestly?" Dean questioned again in disbelief. "You pull a soul from Hell, a soul that's actively torturing another soul when you find it, and you're surprised that it's a demon? What do they teach you angels up there in Heaven anyway?"
"No... You..."
It took a moment and if it'd been human then Dean would have said that it needed to take a breath but while it had looked human at first, it was now blaringly obvious that Castiel was anything but. Not only could he not understand how he'd missed it's wings at first but it didn't hold itself like a human did either. Where people were loose and flexible, it was absolutely rigid, almost painfully so. It was almost as if the angel weren't used to its own meat suit. Almost as if... no, it couldn't be, could it?
"Dude, are you possessing some innocent bastard?" Dean demanded in astonishment.
If angels did that, then it changed everything.
"No!" Castiel replied sharply. "At least not in the way that you mean."
"Bullshit. Either you are or you aren't, there's really no middle ground with possession."
"This vessel was a devout man, he actually prayed for this."
"Prayed for it?" Dean repeated in disbelief. "Yeah, right."
"An angel cannot take an unwilling vessel."
"Really?"
Now that was interesting and probably useful somehow. How precisely, Dean didn't know just yet, but it was information and as Alastair had so often pointed out to him, information was power. Knowing what made the soul on your rack tick could be crucial to breaking it, especially with the ones where the pain itself wasn't enough to do the job. So basically the more interesting ones.
Besides it was also about scoping out a new enemy of which he knew precious little, so if this Castiel was willing to just tell him things, then Dean wasn't going to complain. Not at all, especially not if it meant that the angel wasn't actively trying to either attack or kill him.
"So, what? You just appear before them and ask really nicely if you can jump their bones?" Dean asked, hoping to get lucky and keep the intel coming. "Do they actually fall for that?"
"No, that would probably kill them," Castiel replied.
"Kill them?"
"Our true form is unbearable for most humans, only a few- a special few- can stand to see our true form. Or to hear our true voice, but then you already knew that."
"True voice. Now wait a goddamn minute, are you saying that ruckus before at the gas station and the motel was you talking?"
"Yes."
"Jesus."
"Do not blaspheme."
Dean blinked once, twice, before he burst out laughing, unable to believe that an angel had actually just told him- a demon!- off for taking Jesus' name in vain. Just what did it think was going on here? There was a trucker hanging from meat hooks mere feet behind him, slowly dying from the torture that he'd inflicted upon the man. What difference did some swearing make when compared to that?
The angel seemed to have realized that too as it was back to staring at him in incomprehension. Dean shifted uncomfortably, not liking to have an enemy that focused on him. It's wings twitched slightly and he found that his eyes were drawn back towards them involuntarily. They were huge even folded back as they were and he could only imagine what they'd look like spread out. Or what they'd feel like.
The thought brought back Dean's earlier idea of plucking the angel bald and it appealed to him even more now that he could actually see the wings in question. The feathers were long, white and looked sinfully soft and the thought of sleeping on them really appealed to him. He would have to keep them after he plucked them. They could be his trophy of this victim, to mark his victory over one of Heaven's own. And if he were really lucky, then it would keep growing more after he'd plucked the original feathers, thereby giving him even more of them to savor.
"No," Castiel uttered once more, shaking it's head as if that would make it true.
Dean snorted. "Hell, remember?"
"But we got you out, I got you out."
"Yes, thanks for that, Alastair wasn't going to let me out of his sight anytime soon so I'd probably not have gotten back up here within the next century. Or well Hell century anyway."
"It was not that long, not even half a century."
"Not even half a century? Buddy, I think you need to go back to little angel school. Twenty-three decades makes well over two centuries."
"No, you were- One month on Earth is ten years in Hell. It has only been four Earth months since your death!"
That brought Dean up short. He had noticed the date while at the gas station but hadn't paid it much attention, not really caring all that much so long as he hadn't lost so much time as to be out of date in regards to technology and customs. After all, it would be a pain if he didn't know how to clean up a workshop because forensic science had advanced well beyond his understanding. He didn't want to have to ditch his meat suit because of something so stupid and preventable. And yet by the angel's calculations, far more time should have gone by then it would seem actually had. He didn't doubt for a minute that it knew what it was talking about regarding the time difference between Hell and Earth, it was an angel after all.
"So that's what Alastair was up to with that little ritual of his," Dean commented. "I never was able to work it out."
The slowly dawning horror on the angel's face told Dean that it too had figured it out. "He created a time vortex," Castiel stated. "That is why it felt like it took so much longer to reach you and why you were so difficult to find."
"Don't suppose you know why he bothered and care to share with the rest of the class?"
"To corrupt you. To demonize you. He knew we were coming for you and that he wouldn't have enough time otherwise. But no, it cannot be."
"Why is this so hard for you to understand?" Dean questioned.
From where he stood it couldn't be simpler. Human soul goes to Hell, gets tortured and turned into a demon. True, he hadn't subsequently gotten out of Hell in the traditional manner, but that didn't seem to be the sticking point here.
"You, you are not supposed to be..."
"What? A demon?"
"Yes. You are the Righteous Man."
"I'm the what now?"
"The Righteous Man. The one who will stop the Apocalypse."
Dean was so shocked that he couldn't do anything but stare for a while. Him, a righteous man, much less the Righteous Man? The angel had to be on something or perhaps it had hit it's head on the way out of Hell or it's Grace had gotten tainted or something. Because there was absolutely no way that he fit that description, even before his little sojourn downstairs.
"Dude, you've got the wrong guy," Dean finally replied, laughing.
"No, I do not. You, Dean Winchester, are the Righteous Man."
"Trust me, righteous is definitely not something that applies to me."
"Not anymore, no," Castiel admitted, stepping closer.
"You even think about touching me and I'll cut your fingers off!" Dean snarled, stepping back and brandishing his knife. "Go find yourself another dupe. There are plenty of righteous men out there."
"For this there is only one. And your knife is useless, I am an angel."
"Like I'm gonna just take your word for it."
He wouldn't, but Dean was pretty sure that it was speaking the truth. There was something incredibly innocent and guileless about the angel though he didn't doubt that it could change in an instant. He'd seen it fight off too many demons on their way out of Hell to doubt that Castiel was anything other than a seasoned soldier. No, this seeming respite had something to do with this whole Righteous Man crap. Normally that would make him less inclined to dissuade it from thinking of him like that, but given the stalkerish behavior that the angel had already engaged in, he was willing to take his chances if it meant being left alone.
"And there are plenty of righteous men out there who'd love to fall to their knees and do whatever you want. Go find yourself a monastery or something."
"No, the Righteous Man who begins it is the only one who can end it."
"End what?"
"The Apocalypse."
"You really are off your Holy rocker, aren't you?"
"I do not know what that means."
"I'm pretty sure that I'd remember starting the Apocalypse."
"You did, the first time you shed blood in Hell."
"What?"
"That was the first seal."
"Seal? What the fuck do seals have to do with anything?"
"Not the animals," Castiel stated impatiently. "The seals are like locks on a door."
"See this? This is my completely uninterested face. What are you even still doing here?"
"You cannot be fully lost."
Okay, that right there? That set off every single alarm bell that Dean had. At the very least it sounded like the angel thought that a part of him was still partially human and he didn't even want to think about what that would cause it to do.
"Hello, demon!"
"No, Father's plan cannot be so easily derailed. You are the one who will defeat Lucifer should he rise. This is merely a test of my faith."
Though Dean reacted instantly he didn't even stand a chance. The angel used some of its psychic powers to send him flying back into the warehouse wall where it pinned him in place like a fucking bug on display. He fought the invisible grip, using everything that he'd learned of his new powers in Hell under Alastair's expert tutelage, but it was useless. Just as he'd seen Castiel almost effortlessly bat aside countless demons on their way out of Hell, it was now having the same ease keeping him exactly where it wanted him.
Panic rose hard and sharp within Dean as the angel stepped closer to him with a determined expression on its face. He'd only just gotten out of Hell and hadn't even had a chance to properly enjoy himself up here yet. There was absolutely no way that he'd allow it to either send him back or kill him. No way.
Dean screamed as the connection between them seemed to flare to life and Light flood into his very core. He trashed in place, trying desperately to get away, but just as his meat suit was pinned in place, so too was his dark essence. The angel was now right in front of him, head tilted to one side as its piercing blue eyes drilled into him, seeming to be able to see right past the physical to what he'd become. It left him feeling open and raw and he fucking hated it!
He snarled, spewing filth at it which it just ignored and that only served to increase Dean's terror and rage. When Castiel reached up to touch his forehead, he abandoned reason and struck back instinctively- switching from defensive to offensive in an instant- and surging forwards against the bond in a desperate attempt to hurt. The angel recoiled both physically and spiritually with a surprised cry and he didn't even think, just redoubled his efforts sending all that he had at their connection, focusing his rage and all of the pleasure and delight that he'd found in torture at it.
All of the Darkness that he'd become.
"No!" Castiel cried out, retreating even further, twisting away as if the gesture could protect him.
The invisible bonds holding him in place weakened and Dean struggled free even as he tried to figure out if the angel was crying out against the reality of what it could now feel that he was or in protest of the attack itself. He'd like to think it was the latter but he had the sneaking suspicion that it was the former. The note of disbelief that still tinged it's voice impossible to either ignore or deny.
Once the unexpectedness of the attack had worn off, the angel seemed to be able to tamper down on their connection and the flow of divine blessing and Hell fueled malice between them ceased. Dean found himself panting from both the exertion and effects of Castiel's own attack. It had taken more out of him than he liked to admit, even to himself, but he refused to let it show, standing tall and ready, his attention glued to the creature before him, eyes as coal black as his soul. Before him Castiel stood still as a statue, shock and confusion rolling off of it in waves.
It took Dean a few seconds to realize that it was at a loss to understand what was going on. It clearly believed everything that it had spouted earlier about the Apocalypse and God and couldn't quite believe that the Great Douche's plan seemed to have gone to horribly awry. Not one to let such an opportunity pass him by, he stepped forward aggressively.
"What's wrong? Daddy not as all-powerful as you thought?" Dean taunted, a cruel smile on his lips.
Dean probed carefully at the bond once more, trying to send more of his Darkness at it, when the angel suddenly vanished in a flutter of wings. Startled he stared at the spot it had stood for a moment before he heard it off to his left. By the time he'd turned to face it, the angel had raised two fingers to the trucker's head and he gave an enraged shout, lunging at them, but he was far too late and the two vanished long before he'd even covered a quarter of the distance.
Absolutely furious that he'd had his plaything taken from him, even if it had been nothing more than a dying slab of meat, Dean went on a rampage, slaughtering anyone he came across. Young, old, male, female, black, white- it didn't matter. All that did was that they were human, living and bled when he slashed them.
And screamed.
God but Dean loved their screams. With his inadequate tools it was the screams that told him that he was still making a real impact, even if they all died far, far too quickly. But this wasn't about finesse, no this was about rage, pure and simple. His rage at having been cheated of his victim after all the work that he'd put into him. It was also about what the angel had dared do to him, touching him with it's Grace. Or at least that was what he assumed that it had done when it had reached out to him across their bond. Despite the more than obvious differences, it had felt something like what Alastair had used to love doing when his old master had reached out and touched his soul before he'd become fully demonized himself. So, extrapolating from that, it meant Castiel had touched him with it's true essence which would be it's Grace.
On some level Dean was surprised that he'd survived the experience at all and he could only assume that it was because Castiel hadn't been trying to kill him. Well at least not from it's point of view. As far as he was concerned he'd much rather be dead than turned back into his pathetic, self-sacrificing human self, he just hoped that it didn't come to that if such a thing was even possible. The fact that he'd been able to hurt it back had clearly caught Castiel off-guard and it was an advantage that he'd use to its fullest extent if it came back and tried again.
To that end, Dean put away his knife and laughed at the look of pure relief that crossed the face of the young woman that he'd cornered. "Oh no, your pathetic whimpering hasn't swayed my hand, I've just got something else in mind for you."
The flare of panic that rippled across her face satisfied something dark deep within Dean and he laughed again as she made a break for it. Instead of chasing after her, he simply raised a hand and pushed with his mind as he had in Hell. The girl was literally swept off her feet and slammed into the brick wall five feet away with the unmistakable sound of breaking bones.
"Oops, my bad," Dean crooned as he approached. "Used just a bit too much force there. See, that's why I need to practice, you don't mind playing guinea pig, do you?"
She hung limply where he'd pinned her and Dean saw blood when she coughed before absolutely terrified blue eyes looked up at him. "Please," she begged. "Please, I'll do anything! Anything at all."
"Anything I want?"
"Yes, yes! Just tell me."
The vehemence of her response made her cough again and this time there was more blood. He'd obviously broken a rib that had then punctured her lung and Dean couldn't help but wonder if she realized what that meant. Probably not, she didn't seem the type to care about that stuff, what with her girly pink clothes and cringe worthy Twilight accessories. And really, Edward Cullen? Guy needed to just grow a pair and bite Bella as far as he was concerned. It would solve a lot of problems, not the least of which was put everyone out of the misery of having to put up with her incessant whining and cheesy lines. And seriously, what was a college student doing reading and obsessing about teenage trash?
His new prey must have tried moving her right arm as new panic flared across her face just before she turned to look at where it was roughly pinned against the bricks. Dean paid her new struggles little head though, his attention focused on the blood still on her lips. It ignited a new hunger within him and he reached out to grab her jaw, angling her head so he could devour her lips and the blood. The metallic taste of it was divine and he smiled at the comparison even as he forced his tongue into her mouth to chase the flavor. At first she froze then instinctively struggled before going completely still like some petrified rabbit, hoping that if it froze it would be left alone. Not likely, but the delicious aroma of fear was heady and combined with the sound of her racing heart and the emotions that she was projecting, he knew that he could get high on it all.
If there was one thing that Dean owed Alastair, it was this. The ability to enjoy it all like a fine wine, but also the knowledge of how to get it exactly as he wanted it. There was an art to torture after all, one which most demons never learned of, much less mastered, but Alastair was the absolute pro and his old master had passed most of that knowledge on to him in turn. It had earned him a lot of respect in Hell, to the point where most didn't even dare bring up what he used to be for fear of the wrath he'd met out for them having the gall to do so.
The desire for more rose swiftly and powerfully within Dean and that merely served to reignite his anger and frustration as he had neither the means nor the time at present to take his prey somewhere and act on that desire. Instead he pulled back just far enough so that she'd be able to see his demon black eyes. Predictably she freaked, screaming as she completely lost it. Necessity forced him to cover her mouth, but he delighted in the reaction and the mindless terror that now engulfed her.
"Shh, shh," he whispered, nuzzling her neck like a lover. "Be a good girl and hold still now. I need to practice my fine motor control skills. Or, well, my fine psychic control skills really. Let me know if it works, will you?"
With more concentration than before, Dean reached out and focused his powers on her fingers. They were held quite close together and he tried to see if he could force them to spread. A fresh scream tried to escape his victim as her fingers jerked apart, most of them breaking before hanging limply from her hand.
"Okay, this might take a while. You don't have anywhere to be, do you darling?"
Part 2