Hello! This is my first official fanfiction story ever. I've finally managed to get the guts to post one. Please be gentle for I suck at grammar and have to slowly type every word on my iPad.

I've had this idea in my noggin for a long time and just needed to get it out. I love my share of Destiel but I'm afraid of taking my writing to that level haha. So take this story however you want, friendship, Destiel, whatever.

There's a music album that inspired the title and storyline-it's called Transmissions by Starset. Have a listen or don't-it doesn't change anything but they're a great band.

Anyways, Supernatural rights belong to Eric Kripke and the songs I refer to belong to Dustin Bates and his crew.


The clinking sound of shackles echoed off the cement walls, fading into a shrill wail in Castiel's ears. He stood in the far corner of the room, unsure if he should get any closer to the tethered form in the dungeon that he once knew as the bunker's library. The air was cold and dry to a point where it was almost unbearable to breathe. Or maybe it was because of the other presence in the room.

How they got here still felt unreal to the fallen angel but here he was, standing only mere feet from the demon he once knew as human. The man he fought for to save from hell, the man whose soul he pieced back together, who became his first friend and showed him what it truly meant to be human. The Righteous Man-that has now fallen.

Castiel let out a sigh and rubbed his temple with his right hand. With his Grace gone and his current state of weakness, with the additional vast knowledge Metatron gifted to him, the angel had never felt more human. The emotions came in waves at the thought of the man in front of him and he knew he had to do this. It was his purpose, his reason for existence and he knows that now. All this time, this is why he was sent to be among the mortals.

Save the Righteous Man.

"Castiel."

The angel shot his head up, his hand slowly falling back to his side. Dean Winchester had made himself comfortable in the chair he was chained to. His jean-clad legs were slightly spread apart, leather boots firmly planted to the ground. His head was cocked back, resting on the back of the chair, making his half lidded gaze sinister. Dean's calloused fingers were wrapped around the arms of the chair and the slow rise and fall of his chest indicated his calm, almost bored, mood.

"Dean."

Castiel had removed his trench coat long ago, his suited form taking a step forward into better lighting. The angel couldn't recall the last time Dean had said his whole name and it made his stomach churn. Castiel moved his gaze from the demon and towards the floor, unable to look at the face he knew and yet couldn't recognize.

The silence that filled the room was uncomfortable and made Castiel feel uneasy with Dean's gaze still upon him. The angel let out another sigh before glancing up at a clock mounted on the wall opposite of him. It was time.

The angel removed a large syringe from his pocket, the cold metal weighing heavy in his hand. Never before had he felt such extreme discomfort until now. Castiel has eight hours but his strength is dwindling and he's not even sure if he'll finish the ritual in time. That's why he should hurry up and get started.

The demon lifted his head and widened those emerald eyes just a fraction so they bore into Castiel's sapphire ones. The half wicked smile that Dean gave Castiel made the angel's blood run cold.

"Time to confess your sins, Angel of The Lord."