The heat was searing, the air thick with ash and soot and screams. His body whirled through the long strings of rusted chains, a body of light in the midst of darkness.
Find him. The orders had been clear. Simple and sweet, so different from how the task was actually turning out.
Angels weren't supposed to be in Hell.
Castiel searched, his mind determined and pulsing. His squadron was still clumped together, but their numbers had lessened. From time to time, a horde of demonic smoke would hurl itself into their midst, interrupting their mission.
As they sped onwards, going deeper and deeper into the fire and the darkness, one such horde flanked them. One demon came straight at Castiel, a cruel blade emerging as a semi-corporeal body formed from the dust. Castiel instinctively turned and brandished his own sword, the holy light that made up his body clenching together into matter.
The demon, vaguely humanoid now, eyes black and cold, smiled. Castiel took a defensive stance, and the demon lunged forward with his blade. The angel was lost in the battle, the steps, the swift jabs and cuts and cries of pain from the enemy.
As the demonic form dispersed, the being destroyed by the angelic light of Castiel's blade, he hovered, his energy lessened, his glow fainter.
And then there was the silence.
Castiel looked around. There were no demons. But there were also no other angels.
His mind seemed to be screaming now. Where were they, his brothers and sisters, where were they, they needed him, he needed them, he was alone…
He hovered over the depths of Hell, a solitary, slightly flickering angel of the Lord.
In the back of his numbed mind, a tiny pinprick. The mission.
He couldn't move.
The pinprick continued to jab. The mission. Find him. The Righteous Man.
Castiel looked down, his eyes unfocused. But then the screams wormed their way into his ear. The screams of the damned.
He snapped to attention, instinct and training kicking back into gear.
His fallen brethren would not have died for naught.
The mission.
Castiel hurled himself downwards, his wings taut against his body as his body regained its former radiance. The righteous man had been here for thirty years, thirty years, before he had finally caved. And according to their information, he had to be in the darker bowels of Hell.
Castiel was careful. Castiel was quick. He paused behind obstructions, hiding his form, gathering his strength. An angel was powerful, but not powerful enough to fight off a demon horde of hundreds. Hell did not lack in numbers, that was sadly true.
From spot to spot, Castiel flitted down, farther and farther. The heat was almost unbearable, but Castiel didn't feel it.
The loss of his brethren had faded into the back of his mind, and all that consumed him now was the mission.
The screams were intensifying. Castiel hid behind what once must have been a construction of some sort, and was now a melded mass of metal. He peered around the thing carefully. In a rocky crevice was a man, and strung up in front of him were countless souls struggling in vain against the hooks that had been dug into their skin.
Over to the side, Castiel saw a powerful demon, his substance so dark that within, just barely visible, Castiel could spy a white-hot core, a subversion of light. The angel shuddered as he looked from the demon to the man's soul. Where there should have been a human wholeness, erosion had hollowed out a painful and scarred abyss.
And as the man pulled out a wicked device from a tray of torture instruments, Castiel realized, with a sinking heart, that this was the man he had come here to find.
The angel looked quickly around him, begging his Father that somehow, someway, the other squadrons would find him, that this didn't have to fall only to him.
But he knew that the others were too far away. He was alone in this.
He turned back to the torture scene, his body buzzing with renewed strength. The man had sidled his way up to an already maimed soul and leaned in close.
He whispered something that caused the soul to suddenly erupt into shrieks and pleas for mercy.
And the man laughed.
This was the man they were sent to pull from Hell? Castiel braced himself. He had to somehow get in, grab the man, avoid the powerful demon in the corner, and race up to the Earth's surface.
Sweet and simple?
Castiel grimaced.
It was now or never.
As the man dug the blade into the soul's skin, starting to carved the body a new limb, Castiel dove towards his target, the wind whistling in his ears, his hand outstretched, praying that somehow this wouldn't all end in failure.
The demon barely had time to notice Castel before the angel had dug his hand into the man's shoulder, sinking through the slightly intangible skin to cling to the what passed here for a body, and started pulling him up. "Hey!" the human barked, swinging his armed hand violently until the force of Castiel's flying threw the deadly instrument from him.
Castiel looked down at the man's face. A face that was so twisted by years of pain and defeat that it looked barely human now. Castiel looked away, trying to ignore the blackness of the man's eyes.
Just get to the top, just get to the top, find him, get him out, the righteous man…
As he dragged the human upwards, he noticed a tingling in the hand touching his charge. He looked down. No, no, this wasn't good, why was that happening?
The man's soul was somehow flowing underneath his translucent skin towards Castiel's hand, as if being pulled magnetically by the angel's grace. Castiel started to panic. Why was he still alone, where were they?
Dark rumbles started growing louder. Castiel looked down and saw that the hordes had unfortunately noticed the angel's quick ascent. Fly, fly, get to the top. But now the man's soul was pushing against his hand, nudging him, almost as if asking for forgiveness. Castiel ignored the soul, ignored the enemy, and just flew.
As he soared towards Earth above, the human's soul finally pushed through the fragile skin of the shoulder and made contact with the angel's hand. A searing pain shot through him, and the angel could suddenly feel…everything. He could feel the intense sorrow, the pain of years, the loss, the death of hope. Gasping, Castiel pushed these thoughts, these feelings, from his mind. But he couldn't ignore the low hiss that was now emanating from where his hand touched the man's shoulder
Before Castiel could realize what has happening, a small wave of energy burst around them. Castiel was now muttering to himself, his mind unsteadying, the cosmic vibrations shooting through his body and charging the air. But his hand still gripped the shoulder tightly.
His wings were now tearing as they pushed the pair upwards, the hot wind grabbing at their feathers as the demons neared. He was faltering now. But no, no, he couldn't stop, he was almost there…
He could just make out the light of Earth.
But how could he ever make it. A single soldier, who didn't know anything but how to fight and how to obey orders.
His chin quivered.
His hand loosened.
And then they came. His brothers and sisters. Like a billion suns, their light gathered around him, pushing him up, cradling his tired, damaged wings as they flew with him.
He smiled.
And as they neared the Earth's surface, they pushed him up one final time. And just before it looked like they would push through to Earth, Castiel let out on final wave of energy, the last that he had, and let the healing light trickle through his hand and over the man's broken soul.
As it started to mend, Castiel and his brothers an sisters pushed the Righteous Man through to Earth.
Castiel floated, surrounded by his family, and watched as the man faded away, returning to his earthly body. He had done it.
He wasn't alone.