A/N: Important: for the individuals who brought to my attention the existence of another story that seems to be taking ideas from this one, I have seen to that issue and hope that it will be dealt with soon.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke.
Pondered upon by all at one time or another if not constantly, personified through art and literature as a grotesquely grinning skeleton or an old man with a scythe, and the one thing that visited every single being without discrimination, Death enjoyed a tradition of fear spanning back to the beginnings of time. They said that what man feared most was the unknown, and what was more uncertain and mysterious than the cessation of life?
There was no dignity or honor in death; no matter by what means the lungs stopped expanding, carbon dioxide waste ceased to be transformed into oxygen, or how arteries and veins dried up- it was always unpleasant, ugly even. Without fail, whether a man met his demise through execution, self-slaughter, assassination or a simple demise, no being escaped the mortal veil of his own end; no one slipped past the overshadowing wings of the Angel of Death.
It wasn't so much how one died, or when; rather, it was how one approached the inevitable approaching of eternal rest. Some men were spineless weaklings and mindless idiots, falling upon their own swords in the midst of the fray; likening themselves to the coward Nero or foolishly pursuing noble missions that resulted in kamikaze type destruction. Others died for empty-headed notions that wouldn't matter once their bones dried and turned to dust, for honor or pride or for country. For America the Beautiful, for the Motherland, for the Queen or whoever the hell one's allegiance bound him to forever.
Few strode so willingly and knowingly to the guillotine, whistling a merry little tune.
Belial ascended the stairs to the first level of the mansion, his surroundings changing from steel-plated walls of dull metallic grey to the warmth of burgundy painted walls decorated with a Monet here and a Picasso there, Italian loafers clicking sharply against the marble floor. The demon strode forward jauntily with a confident step, smoothing out the waves in the dark chestnut slicked back hair, straightening the sharp, simple double breasted black suit as he moved along.
At last, at last he would finally get a chance to meet the famous Dean Winchester. Nearly every single being above the Earth and in the bowels below it knew of John's eldest son, the hunter of prophecy who broke the first seal and signaled the coming of the Apocalypse. Of course he'd seen the boy holding out for an admirable length of time before finally caving under Alastair's administrations, but Belial never expected him to be different from any of the other screeching, weeping souls- at least, not until Dean took up the knife himself.
Those Winchester boys seem to have their own streak of madness hidden down deep beneath their noble exteriors, don't they? He wanted to see just how strong Dean could be, this man that every single tormented soul in Hell envied for the gracious second chance bestowed upon him, he whom the warriors of God laid siege to the Pit for. He wanted to see how ruthless this righteous man was capable of becoming once he saw the extent of what had been inflicted upon his beloved angel.
Your younger brother has proved himself more than adequate; how will you wield that primal savagery lurking within you, Dean? How far will you go?
Belial crossed from the library into the dining room, past the shelves that extended to the upward arched ceiling, past the glass chandeliers and finery and wealth that could have fed a small third world nation, stepping into the foyer. Hello, and what have we here? The first thing he caught sight of was his loudmouthed personal assistant sprawled out on the floor amidst the strewn papers of that agenda she was always trying to get him to adhere to, and a sly grin pulled a corner of his mouth upward. Ah, about time someone got her to belt up. Commendable, Mr. Winchester. Very-
The demon's steps stuttered to a stop, old-fashioned Michael Toschi Angelos squeaking slightly against marble. A slight frown creased Mason Todd's brow. He knew this presence. Stepping over the woman's form, he moved forward cautiously with chin lifted, nostrils flaring slightly, like a scent hound scouting out and identifying its prey.
The flaming sword swept through the multitude of angels and they fell against the matchless strength of one who used to be their kin but had now allied himself with Lucifer, second only to the Blasphemer himself in might and sinfulness. God's warriors were cut down with ease, surging forward gallantly only to be wiped out in one fell swoop.
Its wielder laughed callously, calling out taunting words those who remained standing steadfastly against the rebellious. "Hear, you deaf; look, you blind, and see! Who are deaf like God's messengers; blind like the servants of the Lord?" Belial, once one of the highest of Seraphim, turned lustful eyes upon one angel in particular; the young and innocent brother whom he'd always fancied and he hefted his sword high to claim his prize. That soul that bore such exquisite sapphire eyes would be his indeed, Lucifer had promised him the spoils after the victory…
"Who is it you have insulted and blasphemed?"
The words boomed out from above, the majestic voice of the messenger of the Almighty resounding in and across the entire endless expanse of Heaven; there came the beating of wings as Belial raised his head and lifted his gaze up-
The descending archangel slammed into the renegade's chest, driving Belial down onto his back with incredible force, face alight with the holy power of the Lord. "Against whom have you raised your voice and lifted your eyes in pride? Against the Holy One!"
Belial sneered scornfully, eyes melting from their previous flinty grey to a milky white in the presence of the other's light and brought up his sword but the Lord's messenger knocked it away with barely any effort and lifted his own blade, judgment in the action. "Would you kill one of your own, my brother?" Belial laughed. "It's too bad that the Father is merciful, isn't it?"
"But do not kill them, lest they be forgotten," The archangel intoned in a low voice. "Consume them in wrath…" With one swift, downward motion, the blade connected with Belial's left wing, reducing the appendage to ash and the angel's features began to deform, contorting and changing-
No, this was not how it was supposed to be. Lucifer was supposed to be more powerful than that nameless, faceless entity who called himself God! Belial bared his teeth and wrenched away, tearing across the battlefield, hands outstretched like claws for his rightful trophy; if he was to fall, he would drag his Castiel down with him. Behind him, Gabriel's voice exploded louder than ever before and with an unmistakable undertone of rage that was not of the Father, but his own-
"CONSUME THEM TILL THEY ARE NO MORE!"
Belial's other wing was ripped from his back and the floor of Heaven opened as Lucifer and his followers were cast from the Lord's presence, appearing like falling stars streaking against the darkness of the night. The wicked fell, their beings warped and twisted into grotesque images, mockeries of the sons of fire as the Father's words were spoken.
"Then will it be known to the ends of the earth that God is sovereign."
Oh, he knew this presence. He would know the grace of the one who ripped the wings from his back ugly sneer twisted Mason Todd's attractive features and Belial strode forward with confidence once more and twice the spite, calling out to the hidden being. "Come now Gabriel, you are a guest here in my house." He turned warily, eyes rolling back in his head to expose white. "At least have the courtesy to show yourself and greet the host, yes?"
A whisper of movement stirred some of the fallen agenda papers and the demon spun around swiftly to catch glimpse of the named archangel stepping out of the glare of the luminescence of the light against a surface, looking somewhat worse for the wear. Belial smirked. "So, where is the real Dean Winchester?"
Gabriel's face was blank, and frighteningly so as he spoke in an eerily calm voice, not answering the demon's question but instead posing one of his own. "Where is Castiel?"
She wasn't a supermodel, but there was definitely alluring about her and she knew it. She might have looked like your average girl next door after a makeover, but it was something else that made the men absolutely crazy for her, that made her irresistible. It was that same spark that all vixens possessed but she wasn't as nearly scantily clad or blatantly seductive. Maybe it was the way she seemed to sashay as she walked across men's fields of vision, or the way an air of confidence hung about her.
Or maybe it was the way her pupils dilated unnaturally to the point that the black stretched out over the irises and whites of the eyes.
Ruby strode leisurely down the hallway, a beguiling smile touching her lips as she recalled the way the lines of hate had carved themselves in Sam's face, the power that seemed to radiate from his sturdy frame drew her in like no magnet could have ever done to any opposite pole. You've gotten so strong, Sammy. And we did it together; you need me and I can give you all that you need. I said that I'd always be there for you, didn't I? That little fallen angel perched on your shoulder…
An arm hooked around her throat and the demon felt the cold steel that pulsed with a life of its pressed against her throat. But even before she knew the blade to be her own, she knew who it was. He smelled like sandalwood, musk, and gunpowder and Ruby had to admit, Dean Winchester radiated sex appeal in his own right but beneath all the machismo, there was the rank stench of sour guilt and fear. "Dean," she purred in greeting.
"Where is he?" came the low growl. "Tell me right now or I'll end you right here-"
"You want to see Sam?" Ruby interrupted. "Fine. I'll take you to your brother but he might be a little preoccupied right now. Don't expect him to look so hot, either." She turned her head and cast him a wicked smirk. "Carving up an angel is grueling dirty work, after all."
Through the roaring in his ears, Dean dimly heard a strange sound and it took him a moment to register and identify the sound as his molars grinding together. Carving up an angel… He hadn't even noticed that he'd only demanded to know the whereabouts of one of the two missing individuals and now he had no idea which one he'd been wanting to find more: Sam or Castiel. Swallowing hard, he tightened his grip on the demon he held and pressed the blade tighter against her neck. "What the hell did you do to Castiel, you demon bitch?!"
"Me?" Ruby laughed, a trilling little laugh that made the hunter want to rip her vocal chords out. "I never laid a hand on him."
"That's bullshit."
"But you should've seen Sam, he made your angel dance like a puppet on strings-"
Her back was slamming against the wall and Dean's face was frozen in lividity, hazel eyes having turned emerald green as they always seemed to do under extreme stress or in moments of inconsolable anger and Ruby felt the cold bit of the dagger scraping against her throat and breaking the skin, drawing forth a thin line of blood. Suddenly she knew that she was in danger; that look in the hunter's eyes was one that was both impulsive and dangerous-
"But don't take my word for it," Ruby said hurriedly, the words spilling out of her mouth like water, tumbling over each other. "You don't have to believe me. I know you, Dean; nothing's true unless you have the proof right in front of you." She smiled smugly at the sudden uncertainty in the hunter's face. "You want to see for yourself?"
Dean's grip on the dagger wavered. Did he want to see? She had to be lying because damn it, demons always lied. But do angels always tell the truth? That was doubtful. But if there was even an inkling of truth in what she was saying… did he have what it took to witness the atrocity that his little brother had supposedly become?
He drew back for a moment to catch his breath, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand to wipe away the thin sheen of sweat there. Sam paused suddenly at the feeling of something warm and sticky trailing down his temple; he glanced at his hand as if it was a foreign object instead of a mere extension of his body. That's interesting.
The hunter glanced at the thick liquid congealed in opaque pools on the concrete floor, then turned his attention to the crimson crusting his clothes and covering his palms. It stained his fingers and was etched so deeply under his fingernails that it was doubtful any quantity of water could remove the blemishes.
A tingling sensation crept up his spine as Sam examined the crimson drops sliding out from between layers of shredded skin and torn muscle, strangely akin to the sensation that pumped furiously through his veins whenever he drank from Ruby's wrist. I wonder… A roguish grin crossed his features. If the blood of a demon gave him this much unbelievable strength, then how much more could the blood of an angel empower him?
"You know," he said aloud leisurely, "they say that there's a fine line between a lot of things." Slowly, he began to walk in a circle with the unfortunate captive as the epicenter. "Pleasure and pain…love and hate…genius and insanity…" He halted in front of the other, tilting his head to the side contemplatively. "You and me."
There was no response and the wickedly mischievous grin dropped off Sam's face. He reached out and backhanded Castiel brutally across the face, gaining a sense of satisfaction at the feel of the thin and horribly cracked lips splitting under his knuckles and adding to the copious amount of blood there. "What is it that makes you so much better than me?" he spat, fingers curling around the angel's throat. "We've both got demon blood inside of us now. You and I…" he leaned in close to hiss the words, venom dripping from his voice, "We are no different."
Castiel did not respond. At this time it seemed highly unlikely that the angel was capable of registering anything but Sam knew that his taunts were not going unheard; if the only evidence was the barely noticeable hitch in the already shallow breathing, in the tremble the passed through the broken frame. That's right. You're no fucking better than the boy with the demon blood. How's that feel?
"Why don't you tell me how you think this is going to end, huh? You who always have all the answers, who's always so sure about what to do per God's command. So how 'bout it, Cas?" The hunter mocked, sliding the grip of his fingers upward and deliberately cutting off the air supply to the trachea. "You think Heaven wants you back like this? You're worthless, you piece of trash."
The was no way for him to consciously differentiate between the twist of a blade in his vessel's flesh or the painful threading of demon blood through this body; all he knew was the pain that came from the irregular edges of jagged bone, from the poison of Sam Winchester's words-
"Not going to answer?" Sam asked in mock surprise. He released Castiel's throat and walked around to the angel's back again. "Alright, let me-" His hand disappeared from view and closed around something hard and lightweight but brittle "-break it down for you." Sam's bicep stood out clearly against the cloth of his shirt and the veins in his arms stood out from the strain.
"I guess I have to take back half of what I said," he grunted with effort. "See, no matter what I do, Dean will always come around for me. You know why? 'Cause I'm Sammy, that's why." The younger Winchester laughed callously. "I'm all he's got left. Who've you got, Cas? Dear old Daddy? Haven't seen any of your brothers around either, except for the one who pumped you full of what's now made you a monstrosity." A snap rang out in the cell like a splintering tree in a lightening storm and Castiel drew in a ragged breath, too weak to scream, too weak to do anything but hang there limply, taking it.
Angels were able to withstand more than any living man. But even the warriors of Heaven had points of no return and Sam was pushing his victim closer and closer to the threshold that, once crossed, provided that nothing could be made right again.
"My, my. Would you look at that?" Belial whistled in admiration at the gaping wounds marring Gabriel's torso. "Now I wonder what could have done that," the demon mused in faux wonder, grinning at the wan pallor of the archangel's face resulting from blood loss. "Seems like you were the one on the wrong end of a blade this time, brother."
"You are no brother of mine." It was a low growl, voice rough not with pain, but with the physical limitations of having a hole in one's chest.
"That hurts, Gabriel." Belial smirked, shaking his head in scornful disappointment and sadness. "Oh, and look here, you're getting blood all over my carpet. I do hope you're going to clean that up." He strode over to the full bar in the adjacent dining room. "But you are my guest and I have manners. Might I offer you a mojito, on the rocks?" The demon turned back toward the archangel, tumbler in hand, a lascivious smirk spreading across the lower portion of his face. "Or how about something more extreme, say… a screaming orgasm?"
A crack appeared in the archangel's impassive mask with a crease in the smooth brow; his lips were stretched into a thin, tight line. There was a definite underlying threat that promised fatal consequences if the demand was not answered with the repetition of the previously spoken words. "Where-is-Castiel?"
The demon ignored question, dropping four ice cubes into the drinking glass and reaching for the white rum. No, I'm in the mood for something that… burns. The demon retracted his hand and took up the bottle of Stoli Vodka instead, taking his sweet time. "Are you sure I can't make you a drink?" he threw over his shoulder.
A grandfather clock that stood in the foyer ticked loudly, obnoxiously; a moment passed. Then-
Having been an angel himself, Belial knew what the sudden fluctuation in air movement meant; he heard the whisper of beating wings clearly. I'm surprised good sir, you disappoint me. Turning around swiftly he thrust one hand outward toward the archangel, directing the entirety of Hell's strength that he possessed directly at the other's open wounds and propelling the already injured frame back against the standing clock, toppling the large timepiece and shattering its glass case. Not so powerful inside that meat puppet of yours, are you now? "Dear me, your skills are getting a bit shabby, no?" the demon said pleasantly, though that simple shove required more effort than he would have ever admitted aloud.
Gabriel was not a poor soldier. Far from simply acting as the Lord's mouthpiece, he was a fierce warrior who fought with all of Heaven's authority, honoring and upholding the Father's commands without question or deviation. Never one to be taken down easy, the archangel was on his feet in an instant, ready for the impending battle though severely inhibited by his vessel's grave injuries-
Reaction was always swifter than the initial action though; Belial moved his fingers as if playing a piano and a thousand shards of glass stabbed themselves into Gabriel's vessel, peppering the white landscape of the angel's back with blossoms of red. "Lucifer's sword does hurt like a bitch, doesn't it?" Belial chuckled in amusement. "Castiel knows that now too." His hand twitched, reaching out with intangible far-stretching fingers digging into the slash received by the aforementioned blade and dragging the torn skin even further apart-
An iron band wrapped around the demon's wrist and clenched tight, snapping the bone in one clean break. Belial hissed, then found himself airborne, flying across the room even though his wings had long ago been separated from his essence, invisible white hot fire licking across his chest, slamming him back into the solid teak dining table and a disk in Mason Todd's vertebrae slid out of place, jutting into adjacent muscles. Yes, that's it… The demon lay on his back, unable to turn his head, curvature of his vessel's spine now twisted out of place but with a grin of masochistic glee on his face. "Are you wondering why you can't detect Castiel's grace?" he sneered at the approaching archangel. "Have you considered that it's because there's nothing left to recover?"
Gabriel's back stiffened and his jaw clenched tight. Silver-green eyes glared out from under straight, furrowed eyebrows, daring the demon to continue the taunt; a vein in his vessel's temple pulsed, elegant fingers were curling into shaking fists-
"Your little brother has a lovely voice, Gabriel," Belial said casually, each syllable oozing from his mouth like a serpent's hiss, beguiling and tempting. "Especially when he screams."
Each window, every glass surface in the marvelous multi-story mansion shattered into pieces, light bulbs melted in place and the walls rocked upon their foundations, sending down showers of sawdust and mortar. The bottles lined up along the bar exploded, sending streams of tequila, Bailey's Irish Cream, and cranberry juice to mingle with the blood streaking the floor; yet all the liquid was instantly evaporated as the overwhelming holy light of Heaven filled the entire structure, emanating outwards from the angel's vessel. Mason Todd's eyes were incinerated within their sockets and there came the sound of sizzling, burning flesh as an archangel's hand descended upon human flesh, slamming the man's face down against the floor littered with broken glass.
Alexander Marlow crumpled to the ground as the archangel left him, having lost too much blood to survive. He would never get to see the results of the LSAT he'd worked all his short life for, he would never get to arrive at his sister's rehearsal dinner for which he'd donned his best white suit (the bride was of the opinion that black looked terrible on her twin brother); he would never hold the child that was growing inside his wife's belly, the baby girl they tried so hard to have for nearly four years. He was simply yet another victim, just another necessary sacrifice in the everlasting struggle between Heaven and Hell.
The lights flickered briefly, stroboscopically, throwing weird shadows on the dull metal-plated walls and across Dean's wide-eyed, horrified gaze and gaping mouth. Bits of plaster rained down from the ceiling and settled on his shoulders like dusty grey snow but the hunter paid no heed to any of his surroundings save for the sight directly in front of him, the ghastly view on the other side of the glass wall. This is- I don't… that's not… His mind was unable to compose a single, comprehensible thought as he stared, stomach starting to perform death-defying acrobatic flips.
"Sammy?"
It was a choked whisper, filled with disbelief and Ruby couldn't help it- she laughed at the expression on his face; who would've ever thought that the great Dean Winchester would be caught dead with that deer in the headlights look, with a countenance that likened him more to a little lost child instead of a hunter who'd faced down seven foot live teddy bears and demons alike. He released her, movements robotic as he lifted a hand and placed it on the cracked glass panel, reaching out for the brother that he now had no way of getting through to ever again.
This is not happening. The Trickster's got you trapped in some kind of imaginary world, an angel's messing with your head again or something- But he knew that all of this was very real; the cool, fractured surface of the glass underneath his hands, the glare of the spotlight off pools of wet blood, the feel of his teeth nearly chewing a hole through his lip to keep from screaming out but it came anyway. His voice was colored with anger so deep and virulent that it would poison him if he didn't let it out someway- "SAM!!"
His brother- or the stranger he thought was his brother- turned and Dean was hit with a wave of nausea at the amount of blood covering Sam's face, but even more so at the gleam of insanity he saw lurking in the lines carved into Sam's face, highlighted by the blood drying on his skin. What the hell are you doing?!
Castiel might've been standing at one point but the angel now sagged lifelessly against chains crusted with blood, both dried and fresh, looking like someone had reached inside him and ripped out his essence, leaving behind an empty shell. Two flaps of skin and muscle were hanging off on either side of the angel's back and protruding from behind these were what looked like lengths of white sticks, the ends ragged and cracked. Cold sweat broke out on Dean's forehead and the horror seeped out from his pores along with it, because while he'd never been to college, never taken an anatomy class, he knew damn well what his eyes were taking in.
Someone had taken a blade of some sort and cut the angel's back open from beneath the shoulder blades to the hip, and then that same someone had peeled apart the two halves before forcibly ripping the ribs from the spine and splaying the bone outwards to resemble the skeletal frame of wings- a grotesque mockery of the warrior of the Lord. And the most likely candidate for that someone was standing right next to Castiel, hands stained with blood.
"Dean," Sam nodded in greeting, giving his brother a maniacal grin that resembled an animal baring its teeth more than anything else. "Hey Cas, we've got company," he said in a smug tone, fingers grabbing either side of the angel's jaw and jerking the heavy head up and toward the audience they'd garnered. "My brother's here to kill you," the younger Winchester drawled in a singsong tone, clenching his fingers inward and grinding them against the edges of broken bone.
Castiel's eyes fluttered, once, twice. They opened then and Dean found himself caught in a wounded and barely lucid faded gaze that made the dark guilt bottled up in his core magnify to extraordinary proportions more than any direct accusation from Gabriel, from some questionable presence who called himself God ever could have. Angry tears of confusion and self-loathing welled up within his eyes and, unable to take it all in, he projected the rage and frustration upon the nearest available object.
"WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BROTHER, YOU DEMON BITCH?!!" Grabbing Ruby by the arms he shook her like a rag doll, as hard as he could until her teeth rattled in her skull, until she confessed what he so desperately wanted to be true; that she was the one who'd done this to the angel, not Sam. Not Sam, there's no way he could've done all this…
"Let her go, Dean." He glanced up and the shred of hope he had left evanescence into thin air. There stood Sam, pressing a carving knife against Castiel's abdomen, his eyes set into hard glints of heartless ice. It was Sam, and it was only his little brother willingly daring to press cold steel against the angel's vessel. The threat was uttered in a voice that sounded nothing like Sam; it was one of pure hate. "Or I'll gut your precious angel."
"Sam, you're out of your damn mind-"
"Think I won't, that your dear Sammy is too weak, that I haven't got the nerve?" The other motioned at Castiel's back with one stained hand. "You should have been here when I tore him open."
There it was- a declaration of guilt, but it was far from a confession. Rather, it was more of a prideful claiming of the responsibility and it was then that Dean knew he'd truly lost his brother; he flung the demon aside without caring what happened to her anymore.
Sam smirked. "Good choice," he commented, pulling the blade away. "Now that you're here, why don't you enjoy the show?"
Enjoy the- "SAM!" The holler of desperation was torn from his throat as he registered the words and threw himself against the glass wall, banging his fists against the cracked but thick transparent barrier. "NO!!" His gut twisted, his eyes burned with tears and his heart absolutely fell to pieces as he stared back into the pain-filled blue bottomless gaze holding his; he couldn't look away. Not when Sam's hand dipped into Castiel's open back, not when the younger Winchester closed his fingers around another posterior rib and started to pull, not even when a tremendous crack rang out as another bone was wrenched free from the spine; they were trying to tell him something, something he couldn't comprehend.
This, this was utter helplessness.
A/N: Oh, wow. What have I done to poor Castiel? :-o
Yet another cliffhanger ending. You guys must absolutely despise me. There's a lot going on in this chapter though, a lot to digest! Please review and tell me what you thought of it!