"Ahhh!" he screamed as I twirled my fingers, and just for a second the predominant haughty derision in his eyes froze, and gasping, he clutched at his chest which was bleeding- once again, surprisingly not followed by a moronic quip about...well, just about anything.

Maybe, he is getting weaker. Maybe, he'll meet his maker. Hell, I sure won't mind!

I walk up to him, as he lets out a disgruntled moan, and attempts to crouch only to be coerced by the shackles- stretched to their limits- to regain his position. I look him up and down and ask, "Why, nephew, tired already? You weren't this weak the last time we met, I guess aging does take its toll on people...oops, angels, even the castaways who've just sat in a cage for years."

He chuckles, "No wonder my Auntie Amara is hysterical. I'd say you've attained menopause. It is a difficult time."

I almost crack a smile, as it becomes clearer why he was my brother's favorite- his cheekiness, and unparalleled wit. Brother must have certainly enjoyed that...after all, birds of a feather..

I shake that thought off, and upon further contemplation, tighten the hold of his shackles so he's totally flat on his back, unable to move and writhing in pain, "Oh, you think I'm hysterical? You are yet to see my anger, then."

I place my hand on his chest and clench at his insides, and for a moment it almost feels as if he's going to beg me to stop- but, all he does is scream. I increase the intensity of the torture, and that's when I notice it.

His ribs. His sternum. I can see them.

I immediately let go. My brother needs to see him like this. He must be kept alive.

He chuckles again, "Don't tell me you stopped out the goodness of your heart."

If the vessel gives up, this whole thing will have been useless. He could escape very, very easily.

I sigh.

"What to do now? Maybe we should play a game of 'I Never', I've heard it can be quite the party starter...of course, Michael never seemed to think so. I'll begin. I Never….."

I am not going to listen to his constant yammering.

"Shut up." I say to him, placing two fingers on his forehead as he instantly loses consciousness.

I sit down, and close my eyes. Dean. I wonder what he's up to. Dean…

Suddenly, a stoic voice- the kind that seems has woken from a slumber of a hundred years- startles me. I turn around.

"Dean…" The voice commands.

I realise whose it is and call him in recognition, "Castiel."

Castiel blinks around nervously.

This could be fun.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hey! Hi. So this idea came to me, and I decided to pen it down. Part 2 and Part 3 will be up soon.