A blinding light blasted through the catacombs, crashing through walls and splintering the stone. Piercing screams rose and were swallowed in the onslaught as thousands of mutilated bodies were consumed, burning down to a twitching mess of pulp. When the energy finally dissipated, all that was left of the undead army was an amorphous scattering of ash and gore.
Crouched outside the heavily barred doors, Dean let out a whistle.
"I'll give you this," he said. "You definitely know your explosives."
Standing a few meters away with delight in her eyes, Abaddon smiled. The effect was eerie in the soft light of the scattered glow sticks.
"I've had plenty of opportunity to perfect the technique," she said, as always sliding through her words with sinister pleasure.
Sam cringed, quickly schooling his expression. "Yeah, well, thanks I guess."
She turned her gaze on him and raised an eyebrow.
"As I said before, their infection would have rendered all hosts unusable. This was hardly for your benefit."
"I know," said Sam. "All the same, you could have just gone back to hell."
"I have interests here," she said, eyes dancing, and Dean felt his fists clench involuntarily.
A soft flutter sounded in the atrium and Castiel appeared between them.
"I've checked throughout the structure of the catacombs," he said, voice gruff. "Your insane run through the structure managed to gather them all here, and Abaddon's explosion ensured they were annihilated."
Dean let out a breath.
"No more virus?"
Castiel allowed himself a small half smile, looking at Dean. "No more virus," he confirmed.
Sam sighed and pulled himself upright, stretching his muscles. "Thank God. Or, you know, whatever fates might exist up there that actually give a crap."
"I need a drink," grunted Dean, cracking the bones in his neck.
"Or maybe five," agreed Sam.
Castiel looked sidelong at Abaddon.
"I trust our exit will me unencumbered?" he asked, carefully.
She waved a hand at them. "Our agreement stands. None of my demons will attack you until the next time you get in my way. I couldn't renege on a deal if I wanted to." She watched him steadily, the side of her mouth curling up ever so slightly, and he nodded.
"Very well then," he said, and touched Sam and Dean on the forehead.
The scene around them abruptly shifted, and Dean swung back.
"Dude, what did I say?" he demanded. "Warn me!"
"I apologise," said Castiel, looking the exact opposite of apologetic. Dean pursed his lips, completely unamused.
"Fine, whatever. Just get in the car, you giant feather duster."
Castiel let his lips curl in a smile, eyes softening. Dean rolled his eyes, and together he and Sam trudged over to the hastily parked car on the moor.
Castiel quietly turned back to survey the hole that lead into the catacombs. He glared, feeling a curling sense of dread take root in his stomach.
"Hey Cas," called Dean. "You coming or what?"
Castiel's lips tightened, and he forced himself to relax before he turned back to the two brothers.
"I think I should do one more sweep, just to be certain," he said, voice very carefully steady. "You may go, I will find you on the road."
Sam frowned.
"I thought you said we were in the clear."
"I believe we are, but my senses are not infallible. Another check would make me feel more comfortable."
Dean watched him curiously. "Okay," he said, drawing the word out. "You want some help?"
Castiel didn't look at him. "It will be quicker if I go alone."
"We can wait for you."
"There is no need."
Dean frowned, but eventually nodded.
"Just don't pop up in the backseat out of nowhere again, right? I nearly ran a tree last time."
Castiel sent him a fond glance. "Understood."
Dean grinned at him, pulling open the car door as Sam did the same. "We did good today, man. Don't stick around in this hellhole too long."
Castiel nodded, and watched at the two climbed into their car and drove off, carefully avoiding low-hanging trees. When they finally disappeared from view, Castiel took a deep, fortifying breath, and transported himself back to the atrium they had left. It seemed deserted now, but the angel knew better.
A soft rustle sounded from behind him, and he closed his eyes.
"Welcome back, precious," said Abaddon.
"I don't think I've ever needed a beer this bad in my life," groused Dean.
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's an hour and a half back to the hotel. Unless you want Cas trying to transport the whole damn car, you're gonna have to hold out."
Dean cringed in horror. He gently stroked a hand over the steering wheel. "Don't worry, baby. I won't let the clumsy angel hurt you."
Sam shook his head, looking out the window. "How much longer do you think he'll be? It can't take that long to sweep out a bunch of dead ends."
"Depends how close he's looking. But he did once search a whole town from inside a diner in less than a minute, so not long I guess."
"Yeah," said Sam, a little absently. Then he frowned. "Hey, yeah. He did. He could have scanned the whole area from where we were. Why'd he have to go back in?"
"I dunno, Sammy. Why does Cas do half the shit he does?"
"I suppose," said Sam, unhappily.
Dean glanced across at him, frowning.
"You think something's up?"
Sam shrugged. "I don't know, man. When that infection showed up I thought we were screwed, but this has been weirdly neat from start to finish."
"Neat?" asked Dean, smirking.
"Shut up, jerk," snapped Sam. "I mean it, though. The zombie apocalypse breaks out and out of nowhere the bitch-queen from Hell is on our side?"
"She needs hosts same as the rest of them."
"Yeah, but couldn't she have just blown up the state? She's got the manpower, and the juice. Why work with us?"
Dean shrugged. "I figured we were easy pawns. Convenient way to draw out the zombies. Hell of a lot of effort to burn an entire state just to contain a virus."
"But also much more her style."
Dean considered this, frowning at the road. "Maybe," he conceded. "I never did see her as much of a team player. Why didn't you bring this up before?"
"Because we needed her, and if she did go and burn everything down then we'd fry with it. I figured I'd let her help and wait for the other shoe to drop."
"I was watching too. I'm not an idiot. But nothing happened. I think she really is bound by that deal."
"Yeah, maybe," said Sam unhappily. "It just seems too damn good to be true, don't you think? That she'd spare the people and help us do it our way just so she didn't have to contain it herself. And then let us leave unharmed."
Dean glared forward, trying to work it out, and as a picture began to form in his head, he felt his stomach slowly fill with lead.
"Cas made that deal," he said, quietly.
Sam's breath froze. "And he told us what the terms were." They stayed perfectly still for half a second. Then Sam twisted around to the still very empty back seat and Dean swore, slamming on the breaks and jerking the wheel until they were facing the direction they'd come.
"You bastard," Dean whispered, and floored the accelerator.
"Did you have to keep me waiting, precious? This place is ever so gloomy," Abaddon purred, stepping forward in her steel-toed boots.
"I had to ensure they were safely on their way," said Castiel, hiding a grimace as the demon stepped into his space.
"Yes, your beloved hunter-children," she said, sounding disdainful. "I trust they are properly out of my hair now?"
"The spell will take effect before they realise anything is wrong."
Abaddon beamed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I would never have thought it possible, their pet angel sneaking in to alter their memories."
"It was necessary," he said, jaw clenched tight.
"Indeed," she sang, lifting a hand and running it intimately down Castiel's cheek. The angel stayed deathly still. "I finally get my very own angel to play with. We are going to have so much fun." She threaded her fingers into his hair and tightened them, just on the cusp of painful. Castiel could not suppress a shudder.
"And the Winchesters are safe from you," said Castiel, firmly.
Abaddon rolled her eyes.
"I'll not go seeking them out, but if they throw themselves in my way I can hardly coddle them. And if they ever come after you, the deal is off, and I will flay them while they dance."
"They won't come," said Castiel. "The moment you touch my grace, the curse will be triggered, and they'll have no memory of me ever being part of their lives."
"And they won't question this gaping hole in their life story?"
"The curse will compensate. It will build a believable alternative set of shared memory. It is a very thorough spell."
Abaddon tilted her head to the side, her face a mixture of amusement and hunger. "My but you are a determined little thing," she crooned, softly. "I wonder how high you can sing." She ran a hand down the back of his neck, over his shoulder and onto the space where his incorporeal wings rested. His jaw twitched, and he felt fear clawing at his heart.
Abaddon stepped behind him. "Very well then," she said. "Let's begin."
Castiel pursed his lips and concentrated, feeling a tingling in his back. He shifted his shoulders and felt matter solidify over the joints, pushing at his clothes. The fabric pulled tense, and then a harsh ripping sound filled the space as his shirt and trench coat burst apart, making way for his quickly unfurling wings. Abaddon watched on in idle interest.
Castiel's wings were rich ebony, powerful and sleek. Abaddon ran her nails over the feathers in consideration.
"You have connected to this host so well," she observed. "It's like he was born to know your wings." Abaddon curled her fingers over the prominent primary bones connecting the wings to the flesh of Castiel's back.
"You might want to bite down on something," she said, a cruel smile curling her lips.
Castiel swallowed and tensed every muscle in his body, no longer bothering to keep the terror from his face. Abaddon planted a foot between his shoulder blades, and Castiel closed his eyes.
They snapped open again as pounding footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Castiel turned his head to look.
"God, no," he whispered.
"Oh, perfect," said Abaddon, amused.
The door into the atrium burst open and the Winchesters stormed in, freezing when they saw Castiel's position.
"Get. The fuck. Away from him," said Dean, and the fury in his eyes promised tempests of fire and blades through cracked flesh.
Abaddon simply smiled at him, benign.
"I wonder what this will do to your curse, Castiel. I certainly hope it still holds true."
Sam twitched forward, and Abaddon glared at him, sending him crashing back into a wall. Castiel tensed to go to him, but the demon tightened her hold and he froze, breathing in sharply.
"A deal is a deal," she said simply.
"You let him go or I swear I will hunt you down and bleed you fucking dry," said Dean, his voice perfectly steady and bleeding danger. He stared into his angel's face and saw abject terror. The muscles in his neck twitched in rage, and he tightened his hold around the blade in his hand.
"Dean," said Castiel, brokenly, but his next words were cut off as Abaddon gave an almighty wrench. Bone and sinew pulled taught and snapped apart in a cacophony of angry, wet crunches.
He could not scream. There was no breath left to scream. There was only this great chasm of blinding, white-hot agony. Through the blood pounding through his ears he could vaguely hear the sounds of Dean's horrified screams as he bellowed out his name again and again. Cas! Cas! CAS!
Through the gaping wound in his back, he felt the slow movement of something warm and safe slowly being exposed to the world, and the room filled with warm light.
But it wasn't supposed to be seen. It was supposed to be hidden. This was wrong and pain and broken and wrong and sick.
With deft fingers, Abaddon reached forward and softly closed her fingers around the glowing light, easily flicking off Dean's clawing hands.
Castiel felt her touch like a sickness, and as she made contact a soft pulse filled the room. He fell forward, and was caught in Abaddon's unyielding embrace. He was vaguely aware of Dean slumping to the floor behind him, but that could have been his own mind feeding him images.
Just before Abaddon blinked the two of them out of the room, he managed to catch a single glimpse of his fallen friend, and he sent the man a thought.
I promise, you'll feel better when you wake.
Dean woke up with what felt like a mallet beating at the inside of his skull. He cringed in discomfort, and felt a hand close over his shoulder. At the contact his entire body tensed, and he balled his hands into fists in preparation.
"Whoa, whoa, easy. It's me. It's Sam," said a very familiar voice, and Dean finally cracked his eyes open.
"What the hell happened?" he croaked out.
Sam's lips thinned into an angry line. "You don't remember? The traitorous botch turned out to be a traitorous bitch. What a shock."
"Abaddon did this?" asked Dean, forcing himself into a sitting position and feeling dozens of aches and pains clamouring for his attention.
"Yeah," said Sam. "Guess we should have forced a proper deal after all."
Dean scratched his head in confusion.
"How the hell are we still alive?"
Sam nodded to a point over his shoulder. Dead turned, and spotted a giant scorch mark covering the floor in the very familiar mark of angelic wings.
"Fuck, an angel saved us?" asked Dean. "Since when do we have an angel on side?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know, man, but whoever they did send didn't make it out. Or, at least one of them didn't. I reckon we owe them a lot."
Dean's eyes widened and he nodded, turning his gaze towards the ceiling.
"Um… now I lay me down to sleep… uh, that was really good of you and thanks. A lot. And I'm sorry that you lost someone."
There was no reply, but then again, Dean hadn't been expecting one.
"Come on, dude," said Sam, offering him a hand up. "Let's get back to the bloody hotel. I need a shower."
Dean let his brother pull him to his feet and took a deep breath.
"Yeah, I reckon you're right. Christ, I need a beer."
The two picked their way through the dark atrium, barely able to see as the glow sticks slowly lost their luminescence. Just as he reached the door, Dean spotted something on the ground.
"Hold up," he said, and bent over to pick it up. It was a pile of shredded beige material, slicked in some places with blood.
"Is that a trench coat?" asked Sam, sounding incredulous. Dean held it up to the barely-there light and squinted.
"I think it might have been," he said, curiously. "Not anymore though."
"Probably belonged to one of the people before they went all walking dead," suggested Sam.
Dean frowned.
"Yeah, I guess," he said, then shrugged and dropped it on the ground. "Let's ditch."
The two made their way out of the room and back into the soft afternoon light.
Deep beneath their feet, Castiel sang.