Castiel, the angel of the Lord, stood in the midst of hell and stared in disgust at the devastated landscape. Everywhere he turned, there was fire, and anguish, and blood. Tortured screams filled his ears as human souls, those that God had found unrighteous and unworthy, were torn, burned, sawed, pierced, boiled, and shredded as punishment for the crimes they had committed while on earth. The angel, standing high above it all, sadly shook his head. It pained him to see such creations of God being twisted and mangled. If only these humans had simply obeyed God's orders during their time on earth, they would not have ended up in this situation. They could have received their own private paradise in heaven, complete with anything their heart desired.
Speaking of heaven, Castiel missed his home. He would give anything to be sitting in the grass of the late Tom Patterson's personal paradise, watching the bees buzz among the flowers in gentle complacency. It was the heaven he most enjoyed, one that showed the pureness of a good human soul. After all, that was what human souls were meant to be: whole, righteous, pure. Not rotted beyond recognition as anything human, like the demonic souls that filled hell.
As Castiel pondered, one particularly loud human scream flew up from the darkness of hell and ripped through the angel like an arrow, scattering his thoughts and focusing his energy on the task before him. He knew that sound. He had been helplessly listening to it for years. It was the sound of an innocent, a righteous man, the one that he and his garrison had been sent to rescue in the first place: Dean Winchester.
A rustle of wings told Castiel that his garrison-mates had arrived at his side. "They must have put him back on the rack," said Uriel, his tone more stern that usual.
"Damn demons," said Balthazar. "Always ready to slice up a human or two. I can't stand the buggers."
Castiel nodded his agreement with both of his soldiers. Technically, as captain of the garrison, he was their commander, but he still liked hearing their opinions. "Glad to see you could make it, Balthazar," he said with a sideways glance at his friend. The angel was known to be somewhat flighty and unreliable when it came to fights.
"Well, this is the 'big push' in this bloody battle," scoffed Balthazar in reply. "We've been skirmishing in and laying siege to hell for so many years, I couldn't very well miss out on our victory, could I?"
"What he means is, Michael will kick his ass into the next millennium if he skips out on duty again," said Uriel with a chuckle. Neither of the other angels laughed.
"Uriel, are the reinforcements on their way?" asked Castiel, turning to get a better look at the warrior standing beside him. As far as angels went, Uriel was a little on the small side, but his size did not stop him from being known for his ruthless enforcement of God's commands.
"Yes," said Uriel with a grin. "Very shortly, Dean Winchester will be a free man."
"If all goes according to plan," Castiel amended. There were so many parts to their new strategy, and if any one of them went wrong, they could very well be pushed back all the way to their starting point. Then all of the ground they had gained in the siege over the last few years would have all been for naught. Not to mention, they would probably lose more angels in a failed strike than Castiel cared to think about.
"It is very interesting, if you think about it," said Uriel, interrupting the flow of Castiel's thoughts. "All of this effort, all of the brothers and sisters we have lost so far in this conflict – all for one human soul."
"Ah, but it's not just any human soul," Balthazar countered. He stretched his huge wings out to their full span, and then folded them in comfortably against his back. "Ah, much better," he muttered before continuing his statement. "A bit forgetful, aren't we, Uriel? If we rescue this one, we can stop Lilith's plan for the apocalypse. And, according to dear brother Michael, this soul is the one meant to save us all."
There was a moment of silence between the three compatriots. Then, Uriel asked skeptically, "And you know this 'saving us all' business how?" Of course, the angels had been informed about Lilith's plan to unleash the apocalypse upon mankind, starting with the one known as the 'righteous man' breaking in hell. That was why the angels were here now, in order to prevent the start of a conflict that would consume the whole world in flame and ice. If Lucifer were freed and found his way to a vessel, then Michael would need to fight him; and it was doubtful that much of humanity would survive such a cosmic battle. But so far, nobody had informed either Castiel or Uriel that Dean Winchester would save the world. In Castiel's mind, if Dean was rescued and the first seal was prevented from opening, then the world would not need to be saved.
"Oh, you can hear a lot when you're never where you're supposed to be," said Balthazar, with the mischievous tone to his voice that made him such an oddity among the straight-laced garrisons of heaven. Sometimes, to Castiel, Balthazar seemed like a less powerful version of their long-lost brother, the archangel Gabriel.
"Brother," the garrison captain said with a slight smile, "you understand that you are going to get caught one of these days, and it is not going to be pretty. Or are you not aware of how unforgiving Michael is?"
"Yes, Castiel, I am aware," said Balthazar with a sigh. "But, if worse comes to worse, I can always just get away from all of this nonsense and go into hiding."
"Like Gabriel? Among the humans?" Castiel asked with legitimate interest.
Uriel gave a snort of contempt. "Why on heaven or earth would you choose to live with those mud monkeys? They're despicable creatures – ungrateful, pompous, dirty, rotten to the core…"
"And our responsibility," interrupted Castiel sharply. Uriel flinched at the anger in his voice. "Despite their failings, they are still God's creations – still works of art. And it is still our job to look out for them."
Uriel looked like he was going to say something else when a small messenger angel came rushing up to them from further behind the angelic battle lines. "Sir, Castiel, I was sent to tell you that all of our forces are in place. It is time to begin the invasion."
"Very well, thank you," said Castiel. He unsheathed his sword and nodded to Balthazar.
Grimly, the second angel put a gleaming golden trumpet to his lips and sounded three long blasts. Castiel watched as a wave of angels burst seemingly from out of nowhere and soared towards the fields of blood, a shimmering army of light and splendor. A host of lesser demons, guards and torturers, burst from the fields and confronted the angelic army, but were quickly mowed down by the powerful blades that the heavenly warriors carried. While the bulk of the forces were drawn to the middle of the field, a group of elite, chosen warriors skirted around the edges and met with the more powerful demons who resided closer to the torture chamber of Alastair. Castiel seriously doubted that the demons cared enough about hell to give their lives for it, but they feared Alastair enough that they didn't want to face his wrath if they disobeyed. The torturer was a master of his craft, a soul so twisted that he enjoyed and even craved breaking flesh, cutting through bone, and burning souls beyond recognition.
Castiel saw that there was a clear pathway through to the torture room now. As planned, the angels had routed the demons away from the middle of the field. "Now," Castiel said, and again Balthazar raised the trumpet to his lips and played one long note. A flurry of wings and a rush of wind blew by Castiel, Uriel, and Balthazar as two guards, chosen for this mission by Michael himself, swooped towards the empty space. Immediately, Castiel and his compatriots took off after them, swords at the ready. Castiel felt the thrill of battle enter his essence. As a warrior, it was in his nature to fight against the forces of corruption and darkness. It gave him no joy, per se, to drive his blade into demons, but he found a sense of purpose in fighting against those who opposed God and sought to corrupt humanity.
The small cluster of angels dodged meat hooks and chains as they neared the torture room, slicing through any demons who managed to get in their way. The distorted, blackened souls dissipated at the touch of the angelic blades. A few of the demon's dark blades managed to slice Castiel, but to him they were only small pinpricks of pain, easily ignored. Unfortunately, he saw one of the angel guards get lost amidst a flurry of raging dark souls. Shortly afterwards, Uriel plummeted down towards the fields of tortured souls with a demon dagger in his chest. Thankfully the angel managed to pull up and face the gang of shadowy shapes that swarmed him. Weakened though he was, Castiel knew that only the strongest of demons would be a match for one of his garrison, especially one as strong as Uriel.
The group of angels finally reached the torture room, where Alastair brought those upon whom he chose to work specially. Castiel flinched at the sight that opened up before him. Racks upon racks of human souls filled the chamber. The angel warrior could not imagine a sight more horrendous than the fields of blood that they had just crossed, but the torture chamber was something else entirely. Moans and cries emanated from entities that were cut open with organs spilling out, or burned down to the muscle. Strange devices skewered victims, or slowly tore them apart. Some of the souls cried out for family, while others simply screamed for mercy and a quick death. But even death would not free them from this house of horrors, Castiel knew. They would simply be brought back and tortured again.
All of this, Castiel took in in the blink of an eye. He had successfully arrived at Alastair's chamber, but still he did not see what he had come for. Then he looked upwards, towards the cavernous ceiling, and picked out the speared, dangling form of Dean Winchester being held aloft above the torture room. Even from so far away, he could read what was in that soul – loyalty and love, mangled and twisted and torn beyond repair, and covered by an unbelievable sense of anguish and guilt. Castiel triumphantly swooped up towards the limp soul, and reached out a hand to snatch it from the hooks. But before he could reach Dean, something crashed into him and knocked him back down amongst the racks. He could feel a wound open on his chest, where a blade had apparently sliced him.
"Welcome, heavenly host, to my paradise," crooned a voice that Castiel knew could only belong to the feared demonic torturer himself, Alastair. The angel stared up at the powerful, dark, mangled form above him. The demon's unnervingly milk-white eyes spoke a challenge, which his piercing voice reiterated. "I presume, angel, that you have come to free poor Dean Winchester here from his cruel fate?"
"Release him to us, Alastair, and nobody else need be harmed," warned Castiel, rising from his place. The moans of the tortured souls were louder here on the ground. Hurriedly, the angel flapped his wings and hovered above them. He could feel the presences of Balthazar and the remaining guard behind him, swords drawn and at the ready.
Alastair snickered. "We'll see about that… But first, ask yourself something. Do you really, truly want this piece of garbage back?"
Castiel barely pondered the question. Of course they wanted Dean Winchester. They needed to stop Lilith's plan before it was put into action. They needed to stop the apocalypse, to save all of the human souls that would be condemned to death if Lucifer was freed. "I will not be distracted, Alastair. Move, or die."
Alastair froze for a single second, and then began laughing a grating, guttural laugh. "You mean you have not heard?" he asked in what seemed to be mirth and surprise.
Castiel chanced a glance back at Balthazar, who looked just as confused as Castiel felt. "What have we not heard, Alastair?"
"Well, while you boys were laying siege to hell for all of these years, I managed to gain a new pupil. And I bet you'll never guess who!" And the laughing began again.
Dismay began to take hold of Castiel. No… It couldn't be… If Dean Winchester had begun torturing souls, then that meant they had broken him… And with Dean's breaking, the first seal had broken. The downward spiral to the apocalypse had begun. Their mission had failed and been for nothing. "I – impossible," was the one word that managed to escape the stunned angel's lips.
"That right, boys!" shouted Alastair gleefully. "The first seal is broken, and the apocalypse is drawing nigh!"
All of it for nothing. Dean Winchester had broken, the guilt and anguish coming off his soul not from his time being tortured, but from his time spent torturing. In despair, Castiel briefly wondered if this soul was even worth liberating. But then again… this hunter, this man who still felt righteous despite the darkness that was in him, was destined to save them all, as Balthazar had said. An ancient prophecy sprang unbidden into Castiel's mind: "The righteous man who beings it, shall be the man destined to end it." In the end, Dean Winchester was somebody whom God had ordered to be rescued. And so, Castiel would rescue him.
"Balthazar!" Castiel shouted, rocketing upwards towards an unsuspecting Alastair. The demon lurched and clumsily swung his blade towards the angel, but Castiel easily dodged and continued upwards towards Dean Winchester.
"No!" screamed Alastair. He began speeding after the angel, but was cut off by Balthazar and the angel guard.
"Godspeed, Castiel!" shouted Balthazar as his sword clashed with Alastair's. It would be the last words Castiel would hear his brother speak for a long time.
Castiel sped towards Dean, his mind working at the speed of light, taking in the sight of the broken soul. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Humans had always fascinated him, with their strength of character and will, the way they dreamed and strove and reached for the stars, even when life and everything around them was beating them down. But in all his time as an angel, he had never been this close to a human soul. Never close enough to touch one.
As Castiel laid a burning hand on Dean's arm, he almost jerked back. The turmoil he felt was almost too much for the angel to bear. He could feel the guilt and despair, but he could also feel something deeper and stronger, a longing and love for something – no, somebody – emanating from the very foundation of Dean's soul. How fascinating, thought Castiel, as he shouted the words as loudly as he could: "Dean Winchester is saved!"