(Warnings: some violence, sexual references and encounters, harsh language, mentions of slavery, and the twisted use of Supernatural characters for my own writing pleasures. I consider all characters, any season, free game. This is AU and Destiel-centric.)
(Obviously, I don't own Supernatural.)
X.
Prologue
A bodyguard, Gadreel, waits just past the doors to the Rogue Cells, inside the infamous Caging Grounds. The Grounds hold all types, from feral humans and demons, to domestically bred servants. The building's sole purpose is to house slaves, creatures who will be sold to the highest bidder when their time comes. He tries to keep his face slack, uninterested, as he mildly inspects the chained, angry creatures littered throughout the room while he waits for his charge to arrive. He's one of many personal body guards. It's Auction Day, and only the wealthiest demons of the city have come to bid.
He's never been in this section. Never been past the calamity of the domestic Birthing Units, where he, himself, was born and hand picked to serve as a guard to the wealthy daughter of the Caroline house after they both reached full maturation. That time had come several years ago.
His eyes follow the line of bonded captives, pausing appreciatively on each one in turn. They are demons, like himself, but First-Born. They are the oldest, most powerful demons Hell had ever produced, though their strength in this world is materialized only through prettier faces and sharper senses.
The guard knows little about their original purpose. He only knows the stories he was initially taught about them by Tessa, the she-demon who raised him and provided his training. She told him the First-Born are the first of Hell's occupants to have breached the borders of the new world. They manifested into their new found bodies, saw Earth's beauty as something to be cherished, and wandered to the separate corners of each hemisphere. Their younger, more ambiguous brothers followed along behind them reluctantly. They, however, could not see Earth's beauty. It was only a sphere with an abundance of pleasures to be plundered. Humanity was something to control.
The guard hates to recall these lessons. He is, in fact, a product of the new world –his existence only possible from the squandering of human virility. To think that his ancestry might be tainted by such ideas of greed ails him.
The rogue closest to his position shifts subtly, dragging the guard's attention back to the present. He had been chosen to serve as a body guard for his slightly larger size, but as he sees the rank cells holding the First-Born –rogues– he has to choke down his disbelieving gasp.
They are no larger than he is, but their bodies seem to excrete a thick, powerful energy that radiates from something much deeper than physical strength. Their wings, which are merely a somatic interpretation of a demon's inner soul, are near double the length of the guard's own.
Mostly, though, the rogues are exotically beautiful. He's never seen intelligent creatures of such colors, outside the diversity of humanity. The one nearest him is red-haired, with flushed wings that almost resemble the embers of a freshly stoked fire. The next one is fair-haired, his wings like wheat.
On the end, nearly separated further from the others, is a dark rogue unlike the rest. His skin is sun-kissed golden. His vast, forcibly splayed wings are shiny like silk. Both his head and his feathers are midnight black.
He is... quite breath-taking. Even the guard, who ultimately prefers the soft skin and smooth curves of females, can appreciate the strength radiating from the First-Born. The creature's nostrils flare repeatedly with the heavy strokes of anger. His arms flex under the strain of his bonds. His head is held exceptionally high compared to the others.
Gadreel swallows and glances to the other sentinels to witness their reactions. Most wear the same looks of disbelief as himself, but the others appear stoic; bored, even. He assumes they've been to these auctions several times before. They've already seen their fair share of rogues, and are no longer struck by their beauty.
"Isn't it sort of sad that these guys were once the first leaders of Hell, and now they're being auctioned off like antique furniture?" The escort beside him asks quietly. His eyes obediently remain on the prisoners in front of them as he speaks. "I overheard my Keeper talking to Metatron. I guess most of them are sold as bed slaves."
Gadreel glances askance at him. "They're angry and unpredictable. Who would want a wild animal in their bed?"
The escort smiles slyly, and this time he does turn to look at the other guard. "Women who like to destroy those stronger than them, and men who like to be dominated, that's who. The domestic slaves are far too docile, and human slaves are stubborn and too easily broken." His smile curls up almost cruelly. "My Master likes to be legitimately held down when he gets fucked."
Gadreel startles with shock at the brash words. His face must show his surprise because the escort simply snorts and turns away. Gadreel can't believe a guard would speak so disrespectfully about his Keeper.
It's nearly forbidden.
There's a silent announcement for the auction to begin and the room is quickly filled with wealthy bidders. The sentinels part through the growing crowd to find their charges, and Gadreel finds Hannah Caroline amongst the throng, followed about by her less than grateful brother.
Hannah waits patiently for Gadreel to join them before taking her designated seat in the front rows. Gadreel stands obediently behind his Keeper and her kin, and takes a fast moment to examine the back of Hannah's head. She has never been power hungry, nor did she seem like the type to desire a shattered lover. Gadreel has no idea why she would want to come here today.
X.
Castiel still remembers the first time he saw this world. Two centuries ago, he and his first demon brothers crawled out of the wastelands, crossing the Styx and passing through Limbo. They dug upward through the pliable soil and saw the first tendrils of sunlight. The star's shine had warmed the fresh, raw skin of their faces, and they'd known immediately they could never go back.
He can't remember what possessed them to do so. He had heard his kindred sing songs about the creatures, humans, and their interpretation of the world created solely for them, but it had seemed unattainable then. Castiel's imagination of colors and light were far too overwhelming to comprehend, and the reality ended up being much more consuming than the fantasy.
He can no longer recall the entire journey; the bland memories are dislodged by his birth onto nature. He does, however, distinctly remember finding his hands first, inspecting his new golden skin and playfully petting the nails at his finger tips. A creature –a bird– had lifted gracelessly from the trees above him, and at the sight of it, his fresh wings had given a jolt of excitement that paralleled the quickening of his heart beat.
There had been a strange feeling of something, though he saw nothing, gracing along the slopes of his foreign embodiment. He learned later that it's called 'wind.'
His next awareness had been of Earth's scent. It was an entirely new sensation for a demon. Hell has no balm or odor. Existence there is a simple plane, and their senses are reduced to only two: dulled sound, and a limited portrayal of sight. Castiel had been delighted that he could trail each unique, exotic scent to its source in this world, from the bark of the trees to the cool stones of the river banks.
He'd spent those first years moving about the woods, eyes roaming amongst all that he could find, his fingers quickly learning which items are pleasant to touch and which are painful to his nerves. The first time it rained, Castiel had stood beneath it, letting each drop tickle his skin and slide down the dips of his waist. He slowly trailed the water's path with curious warm palms, the tips of his fingers caressing the soft skin and sending a tingle up his spine. He then discovered his sex. It had been... exhilarating.
With time, though, Castiel grudgingly learned that being Earth-bound made him more like the humans. His stomach needs to be filled with food near constantly, and the waste has to be departed at a later time. Water is essential to life. If Castiel goes too long without it, his muscles bind and cramp. Age is a viable limit now, in both mentality and physicality. Though he ages impossibly slow, immortality is no longer an option.
Castiel wants to scoff at the thought of his own naivety upon his arrival to Earth. He'd been gullible, distracted by Earth's intimate beauty, and he'd neglected his brothers, leaving them to their own fates. With the abandonment of their elder brothers and chaos beginning to acclimate in Hell, the lesser demons, too, decided to follow the acclivity leading to Earth. It's Castiel's greatest regret.
His brothers became greedy, and the humans became resistant. There were numerous battles for control of the surrounding lands. Almost all of the human's vast cities were either overrun by Castiel's brotherhood or left to crumble. All of the humans that remained alive migrated to the feral forests in small groups, packs, to establish villages in some of the more remote areas. Castiel's kind then took over most of their stone cities, living in massive groups of their own, pods, with a developing system of laws and currency. A luxurious boredom swept over the pods, and that's when they began forcing others to servitude.
Castiel has known about this for quite some time. Samandriel, another First-Born who became a close companion and a fond lover of Castiel's, was the first to inform him of it. He said that their lesser brothers were hunting down humans and forcing slavery on them. The humans were stubborn and tough to handle, though, so they decided to breed the creatures instead, and train the spawn to heed obedience. When the thrill of that was lost, they found their very first First-Born. They saw how different they were in looks and size. We are no longer their betters, he said, we are naught but wild animals to capture and ultimately tame.
How very right Samandriel had been. Castiel's wrists are currently bound to chains, as well as his ankles. The links are clipped immediately to the wall. The outer vanes of his wings are pierced through completely by something cold and metal. It splays them in a dramatic viewing for possible 'bidders.'
A Grounds servant feeds him something foul smelling with each meal, and he only takes it willingly because he'd witnessed what will happen if he doesn't. It dulls the outer world to him, like a drug, making his vision blur and his hearing nearly mute. The drugs leave him trapped in his own mind for hours.
From a distance he thinks he hears voices. They resonate with the concrete walls but meld together in an unrecognizable buzz. It's been hours since he'd last been administered the drug, and its effects wane dramatically. He pushes his head up off his chest and continues the struggle to keep it there. If he's to be sold, the bidder might as well see the battle they're about to embark on.
He will not be an easy conquest.