Prompt #228- You'll have to wait." Dean informed him, nodding to the soul on the rack. "It's his first day." Cas watched the righteous man pick up a blade, a glint in his eye. "We're having a great time, me and... what's your name?"
TW: Gore/torture
As soon as Castiel touched the ground, he was forced into a contained form. He was lucky he had been preparing Jimmy recently, he wasn't sure paid enough attention to recreate his last host. This was at least fresh in his mind.
It was disorienting for a moment, being confined to a vessel again, or at least an approximation of a vessel. He pushed it aside, turning his attention to his surroundings. Sharp jagged stone walls loomed on all sides. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever with nothing that could be used to orient yourself.
The silence was so smothering it was unsettling even to him. The torture floors of hell invited a more personal, intimate setting. No screaming distractions. Isolation with torture… individualized attention.
The only thing that broke the quiet was a soft voice, carried gently across the too still air. He knew what he would find. It had been ten years, two months, four days and sixteen hours since Dean Winchester got off the rack.
It didn't matter. Heaven was clear on this: He was still needed.
Too many angels lost their lives to get him this far and the fighting was still raging on, ages from there. He was confident no one saw him slip away. He had a bit of time.
Castiel rounded the corner, coming to stop just inside the small room.
One eyeball found him, desperately terrified, looking up from the slab he was shackled to. The other eye featured a knife run through it, enough to just barely skewer all the way through, the hilt left to weigh sideways, pulling it just slightly out of its socket with every heaving breath he took.
Dean didn't look up from where he was refastening a leather strap farther up on the bare forearm. "You'll have to wait." Dean informed him casually, nodding to the soul on the rack. "It's his first day." He explained, lips curling up at the corner.
Cas watched the righteous man turn back towards him, reaching towards a neat leather mat of tools, considering his options. "We're having a great time, me and…" Dean scrunched his brow. "What's your name?" He asked over his shoulder.
The room was silent.
Dean moved so fast Cas barely saw him pick up the knife before he had it hovering just over the man's one good eye. "I asked you a fucking question." He hissed, close enough to spit in his face.
Cas looked at the man as he attempted unsuccessfully to writhe away. A strangled gurgle bubbled through severed vocal cords flapping wetly through a neck that was cut almost clean through. The metal grate below him was the only thing keeping his head anywhere near his body. Cas looked closer; Far from careless, there was a surgical precision keeping the spinal cord intact, assuring that he didn't lose anything of the experience.
Dean shook his head, pulling the knife back. "No matter. I'll name you." He walked back to the table in the middle of the room, tossing the knife back on the rest. "You look like a David to me." He decided.
Cas wasn't sure what to say.
Dean selected a saw, turning back to the recently named soul. "So, Dave. Mind if I call you Dave? Of course you don't." Dean got conspiratorially close, taking his hand. "I don't want you to worry. You've been scheduled with me for a week. And if you're very lucky, you'll be interesting enough that we may even extend our little staycation."
He tightened his grip, holding his hand firmly down on the table, lifting the saw and pushing the jagged teeth into the soft flesh on the underside of his arm, broken rusted teeth catching on the skin and ripping it inelegantly in its exaggerated sweep back and forth.
"So." Dean said at last, directing it to the man behind him. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Castiel." He replied simply.
Dean adjusted the angle, navigating through the tendons to avoid the saw getting stuck. "You shouldn't be here. I get assessed by Allistair himself. My work is a bit above your pay-grade, darling." He hit bone, the wet squelching replaced with a sickening scrape.
"I'm not-" Cas tilted his head. "I am here to remove you from hell."
The saw caught, jamming up as Dean turned back to look at Cas incredulously. "Come again?"
Cas frowned. "You are to be returned to life by heaven's order."
"By-" Dean burst into rough, viscous laughter. "Yeah, ok buddy." He yanked the blade with a savage pull, a few splinters dislodging as he pulled away.
Castiel hesitated, not expecting the response at all. "We have to leave."
Dean leaned down to look in his victim's eye. "Sorry Dave, unprofessional I know, but I have to take care of this. I have a few lovely acids I can introduce to make it up to you later, I promise." He turned back, wiping his hands off on his apron. "Do you know who I am?"
"Of course." Cas replied slowly. "You are Dean Winchester."
"I didn't ask my name, do you know who I am?"
Cas wasn't sure what he was asking. "You are the righteous man in hell."
The laughter was back, somehow sharper and more grating than before. "Don't think anyone's ever tried that line with me before."
"Dean-"
"What the fuck would heaven want with Alastair's second."
Cas looked up and behind them slightly, distractedly listening for any sign of approaching trouble for a moment. "I don't know."
"Oh, you don't know." Dean mocked.
"I don't." Cas said firmly. "We have to go."
"Can't. Told you already." Dean replied, picking up his knife again. "I'm booked for at least a week. I can pencil you in if you'd like."
"We may not have a week."
"My cancellation policy is lax." Dean assured him, walking back to Dave and considering his next move. "There are always other souls that might like my attention. Though if Alastair finds you, you may be a touch more horizontal for our appointment." He slipped the knife easily into David's stomach, jerking it quickly upwards to slice neatly to the base of his mangled throat. He reached his hands down, wiggling his fingers underneath the skin, beginning to carefully pry it back to expose the ribs. "Tell me Cas- can I call you Cas?" He swapped the knife for what appeared to be a pair of bolt cutters that had been up against the table. "Have you ever been cut on Cas?"
"A demon could not successfully hold an angel of the lord in hell."
"Mmh." Dean hummed, snapping through the first rib with a jarring crunch. "Well, I'm sure he'll have a ball trying."
"Dean. I am offering to bring you back to Earth. Back to your family."
"It's been four decades Castiel. What family?" Dean hissed, a note of bitterness taking root as he continued down the rib-cage.
"It has not been so long on Earth."
Dean paused, blades hovering around the last rib. "How-"
"Three months, twenty nine days."
Dean didn't move, that information hitting him like a ton of bricks. Four months. Decades of torture passing in not even half a year.
"I can return you."
"Go fuck yourself, Castiel." He finished the last clip, throwing the tool off to the side where it landed on a small empty table with a clatter. He reached back in, opting to wrench the ribs aside with his bare hands.
"Dean-"
"David. I know you're new, so let me explain how this works…"
"Dean-"
"I think you've noticed by now how not dead you are. Well-" Dean snorted. "I suppose you are dead. But you can't die twice, now can ya?" He wrapped his fingers around David's heart. "I keep a very efficient schedule. Complete vivisection, twice a day." He yanked, the heart coming with him, a few springy arteries spraying blood across Dean's face when he severed them. "Quick nap-" He leaned back. "Trust me, you'll need it. Then back at it. You'll get the hang of it."
"Dean!"Cas snapped, more aggressively.
"I'm not going back." He jumped, surprised to find Cas suddenly behind him. When he looked him in the eyes, he shuddered at the growing light.
"I'm afraid you are."
"What are you-" Dean cried out as Cas' hand seared into his shoulder, his grip iron tight and impossible to escape. "Let me go." He growled in warning.
"I will do what I can to temper your memories, but I advise you not to dig too deeply."
Dean tried to break out of his grip with a renewed desperation. "Castiel-"
Cas whipped his other hand out, two fingers touching Dean's head, rendering him unconscious and attempting to dampen the scars of hell. Perhaps it wouldn't work forever, but that wasn't his problem. He had only one mission. "Dean Winchester is saved."