Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural. I still don't own it's ridiculously attractive affiliates. I know, I cried too. So, another Castiel centric one-shot. Enjoy!
Castiel felt sick inside. He felt sick for many things. One, he didn't have his angelic powers in this town. The Mother had rendered him powerless. He could not fly, he could not use his abilities to smite, and he could use none of his angelic gifts. It irritated him to no end. He was an angel, the leader of an army of Heaven, and yet The Mother could turn him into nothing in an instant. But that was only one of the many factors that made him want to… what did Dean call it? Puke? Yes, puke. He was going to torture the hybrid. It was now a monster, but it had once been a man. With a family, perhaps, people who loved and cared for him. Perhaps this man had been a devout believer. Castiel knew, somewhere deep down, that this man turned monster had been let down by Heaven. Castiel felt the burden on his shoulders, the burden of having let thousands of prayers go unanswered, of having let many devout men, women, and children become nothing, or die in some horrible way because he couldn't stop it. He was fighting a war, and the war had to end soon, or more angels and humans would die. Castiel shook his head to clear himself of the onslaught of thoughts, and rolled up his sleeves. The sheriff smirked at him.
"I'd rather have the hunter," he sneered. "He was more competent than an angel with no juice."
"Oh, I can get this out of you," Castiel said darkly. "But I'll give you a chance. Where is Eve?"
"Not telling." Castiel felt around to see if his wings were still behind him. They were, somehow. He closed his eyes briefly, and allowed the hold that kept them away from human eyes to slip away, until long, midnight black and indigo wings were protruding from his back. Castiel felt distinctly uncomfortable. He rarely showed his wings, and it wasn't something he was necessarily fond of doing. He reached behind him and plucked two feathers from his back, wincing at the sharp lancing of pain.
"One more chance," Castiel warned. "Where. Is. Eve." The sheriff laughed at the feathers in Castiel's hands
"Like that's gonna make me say," he snorted. Castiel simply stared at him coldly, and pressed the feathers to the sheriff's neck. They stuck, and the monster started screaming. Castiel knew that these abominations could not bear to be touched by something as holy and pure as the feather's from an angel's wings, and that a mere graze would scar them. The monster writhed, screeching uncontrollably.
"Eve," Castiel demanded. "Where is she?" The monster shook with pain, lips pressed tightly, and wouldn't answer the question. Castiel sighed, held out his hands, and murmured a blessing.
"I… wouldn't do that," the monster panted, still fighting back another scream of pain. "You don't have any power."
"A heavenly blessing requires no power," Castiel stated. He then grabbed the flesh on the sheriff's arm and tore. At the touch, the monster screeched again as Castiel slashed and hacked at him with his bare hands, while the holy feathers burned into his skin. After about four minutes, the sheriff finally broke, screaming out Eve's location. Castiel then took his sword and calmly hacked off the monster's head. He slowly walked out of the room; his hands caked in blood, and put away his wings. He definitely felt sick now. He had used his wings for evil, for something disgusting and cruel. To Castiel, whose wings were his greatest possessions, his mark of power, to use them in such a black and terrible way was the greatest sin he had ever committed, in his mind. He hadn't used his wings for good, he had used them for torture.