Some things never seemed to change – demons being profoundly dedicated to Hell's indifference and lack of knowledge as to what was going on being some of them. Hours wasted outside of it being apparent that whatever had happened was not a grand scheme on Hell's part. Crowley's slimy appeasement that he had no hands in this and empty promises to find out who did force his hand into a meeting.

A courtesy meet but he was on edge, not wanting to have to see his brother but needed to all the same. On his terms, of course, away from traps Gabriel might lay to drag him back home with false promises to once again get out of his burdens. Michael leaned against a tree, cloaked from view, waiting when Gabriel touched down, looking shifty and uneasy, some of his natural traits.

"Against my better judgment, I'm here."

"Hello, Gabriel," Michael said, sliding into view, appreciating the way his younger brother took a step back even though more than twenty feet already separated them.

Gabriel raised his hands. "Playing by the rules here – nothing but an information exchange, Mikey, okay? I want him back, too."

"Kind of a terrible job you're doing if a Seraph can just be grabbed any old time."

"Don't you start with me," his brother hissed. "Neither of us knew the extent of what was going on –"

"Some of us just refused to stay home."

"I'm not here to get into a war over who's fault is it more, kay? It's a mess, Raphael had them controlled, and herding the cats isn't as easy as it looks."

"So that's the excuse you're using now to not help?"

Gabriel rolled his shoulders. "No. I need to go shut down a rebellion attempt and then maybe if they can avoid killing each other for five minutes, I can come."

"Tell me what you know."

"I don't know which one of hell's residents it is this week. There have been some whispers that angels have gone missing over the centuries. You know, outside of the normal 'disappeared into heavenly dungeons' or scurried off somewhere that wasn't home sweet home. Raphi wasn't real concerned, thought they just ran off, but I know at least one of them had friends faithful to heaven that insist it wasn't that."

"And you believe them." Michael shifted, wondering when Gabriel had grown so naïve.

"On this one, yes. It was Jegudiel. Responsibility was right in his job title."

"Perhaps he had changed, as we all have."

"Saw him around sometimes on earth, still doing minor miracles on the side when sent, until I just didn't see him. His friends insist he just vanished one day, they're still looking for him, but I'm thinking there's not a whole lot left."

"Raphael may have done something."

"True," Gabriel allowed. "Seems like an angel is up and gone every four-six decades or so."

"That's all you have?"

Gabriel shrugged, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to look unconcerned. "Sam said they had gone out for a bit after getting there and had just come back. Don't know if you looked at that room but something followed, laid a big giant trap complete with frosted windows.

"I saw."

"Know you'll be thrilled, but I do know of a few Pagans over the years using demons as hench monkeys, and some of the elders are still fairly juiced. Catching Cas by surprise, the fight's half won already."

"So, what you have for me is a trail of missing or dead brothers that no one has cared about and no remote idea of what actually might have swiped him."

"Didn't say I had all the answers here."

"Do you have any, at all?" Michael narrowed his eyes, disliking the way Gabriel seemed to back up a little more. "I should have known you would be limited since you stopped talking to me weeks ago."

"Michael, I –"

"Oh, hush, Gabriel," he interrupted, not missing the troubled look on his brother's face. Gabriel always did like to dress in guilt. "You're free, I shouldn't be surprised. But there is one thing I'd like to know, little brother."

"What's that?" Everything went rigid in his brother, watching with keen interest and Michael was not remiss to know Gabriel was calculating where this was going. He would not be surprised if this was an image, one of Gabriel's tricks, in the first place. He had always been good at them, learned them from Lucifer, after all.

"I heard Dad made an appearance."

"Not so much an appearance, just voice." Gabriel was instantly cautious, a sign he may be forced into some honesty with his trickery that amused Michael.

"Why keep it from me?"

"You, uh, haven't been in a good space, lately, in case, you know, you haven't noticed."

"I'll take your disapproval of my activities under advisement. What did He say?"

"Just that you're still leader and the little ones need to stop being morons."

"I assume that's paraphrased."

Gabriel shrugged again, shifting back and forth on his feet now. "Michael, come home."

"So you can wander off again –"

"No, you dumbass, either of your homes! I don't care which at this point, but this, whatever it is you're doing, it's not helping you. You're, you're –"

"What?" Michael finally prompted as his brother seemed unable to complete that thought, the wind picking up around them.

"You're different," Gabriel answered, finally, his voice almost lost in the coming of a storm that may not be all-natural. "I don't know how else to say it."

"More reason not to. Strange to be so judged by a brother who refuses to let me see him."

Michael pushed off before Gabriel could respond with whatever lie he wanted to tell today over that. At some point, Gabriel had carved himself into a different creature and Michael was certain his brother would always blame him for the havoc it wreaked.

Gabriel was silent since his departure and he hardened himself. Only a fool would think something like his brother could actually feel remorse and it made no difference. There was no love, only duty, and he cast out his gaze in search of signs of activities kept hidden from the eyes of heaven.

~x~

The chains that attach him in the middle of the intricate spell work refused to respond to any of his efforts to lift them. They only rattled, digging into this vessel in a way he was not typically aware of and Castiel forced himself to stop struggling. His eyes ran over the warding on the walls, blood and paint and etchings, and he felt the pull of his lips against the thread that was keeping him silenced.

Something had disliked his voice that made the lower reaches tremble, taken it away by sewing his mouth shut.

The guard watching him by the only door in this room that he could see was smug but Castiel could sense the fear in it. This demon was not high ranking. By the smell, he would assume only more recently turned and out to prove itself. If he had his voice, this twisted being would be on his knees and he understood that this creature was gloating but far too stupid to realize that he had signed his death warrant.

Footsteps behind him and Castiel tried to turn, the bindings running far into his being, containing him more eloquently than something like Zachariah ever dared hope. He still had a few of his senses even if his hearing was diminished and he could taste what was in the air, what was behind him even if he had no name yet.

"Leave us."

The voice by him was accented and the guard was gone without so much of an argument as the footsteps continued. He was aware of being studied and he forced himself to not react, to not give this creature more pleasure.

"All the rest stood like you, too."

The voice was lilting, Castiel recognizing it now as one of the accents of the American south but he doubted that was how this tormented being had talked long ago. It smelled old, the magic here used to bind him was old or older than most humans.

"Gotta say, it's thrilling having you here. You are, so far, the biggest I have hooked. Oh, the potential in you, what you'll bring to save you, is titillating. But we have time for all of that. We should get acquainted first."

A figure moved into his view now and he knew he did a poor job of hiding his surprise at the being held within that flesh. Long ago, it had been declared the princes were dead but he had found that it had been a lie before. Azazel had tortured his humans, cursed Sam, helped to destroy families, and bring about Lucifer. Either Raphael had been naïve or had simply not cared to know if the destruction of the princes was true. Michael was not there to lead them.

Asmodeus was in front of him now, studying him. Castiel felt it was to find the best places to start on first. Despite what Dean did think of him at times, he understood many things, and he was brought here to be subjugated by a demon who knew how to bring pain to a creature like him. The host he had was older, graying hair at his shoulders in a style that he knew Dean would call a coiffed poser, a well-trimmed beard too low to hide the strange scars on his face that ran like jagged cracks on the left-hand side. The demon wore a white suit, immaculately clean, not a spot of color.

Dean would scoff at this thing and Sam would handle it with kid gloves, feed into its delusions of power but he was mute for now, unable to truly show his disdain.

"Ah, Castiel. You were a trick to get but worth it. So big, full of power," the demon smiled, his eyes flashing. "Must admit I was tempted when taking you. The human you were with was tasty, but we need a little time before Michael comes for you. Sorry to say, you're just a trial run, but you won't go to waste."

He was curious enough about this nonsense that he would have asked what that meant as Asmodeus produced a vial. Grace, angelic grace, and a demon was holding it as though it was a glass of water. His nostrils flared as he fought against the binds again, disliking how he was laughed at.

"Learned how to not just withstand it but use it. You like my scars?" the demon asked, showing him the left side of his face, pointing at the marks. "Long ago, when I thought I knew better, I wanted to raise the Shedim for Lucifer as a gift but the fool was actually afraid of them, put them back, cast me down, left these as a parting gift." Asmodeus tapped his face, something tight in him. "They follow me to whatever vessel I inhabit, makes me always identifiable. My want to be rid of them led me to research. You can say I learned from my past mistakes. Start small, things that wouldn't be noticed before going for the closing round. The last was Jegudiel."

Castiel shook his head, taking a step back though his chains allowed for little movement. His friend, one he had thought loyal to the choir vanished without a trace and this was his fate. Dragged here, drained, and then death as he was under no allusions now that this thing in front of him hadn't formed a way to dispose of them once they were finished being of use.

"Now, now, don't look so angry. I would worry about you more. The things I've heard, about Michael, heaven, well, you're going to fill me in on all of those."

The enchanted threads were ripped out of his mouth, his vessel copiously bleeding along with a small amount of grace, blood spattering on the floor, and his clothes. He spat, unused to the strange taste of it in his mouth as the demon chuckled.

"Why would I give you anything?"

"You will scream, dear boy. You will wail here, but nothing can hear you in these walls and you can hear nothing."

The warding under his feet, on his chains, etched into the stone of the walls told him enough that this was true even as he tried to inwardly contact Michael, to tell him not to come, if his brother was even considering it in his current state but he might, just for the injuries to Sam that had been inflicted that he had been able to hear.

"He will end you. You invite your doom."

"He is weak. He's even part human now."

The demon was laughing as he went to put down the little vial of grace, the last remaining part of his once friend and brother, and Castiel felt rage growing within. No matter what happened to him, Michael would exterminate this filth from the universe and he took comfort in that.

"Let's begin."

~x~

It was not where Michael would have expected to find something like this, a quiet farm in Missouri far from people and hell, his presence hidden to most. Before now, he had simply not bothered to come here as Cain was indestructible, a courtesy that Lucifer had extended him as one more assault on creation. But now, Castiel was missing and Sam was distraught. He could hear it in the child's prayers, as faint as they were, Sam not sleeping, blaming himself forever.

"Hello, Michael," Cain greeted him without turning around. The Knight was standing amidst a line of hives checking on the wellbeing of these tiny creatures that worked tirelessly and died to protect each other.

It was strange to see a demon devoted to something so life-giving.

"Cain. Do you know why I have come?"

"I'm guessing it's a missing angel problem," the knight said as he re-secured one of his hives. "As you can see, I'm not in hell's inner circle, anymore."

"And why is that?"

Cain finally turned, his face calm, hair graying as it fell to his shoulders and there was amusement that Michael could pick up on, but at what, he didn't know. The demon dusted his hands, a silver band catching the light on his finger, the power of the lock on his arm a dull pull as the bees around them filled the air with a steady hum.

"Drink? I'm always thirsty."

Michael didn't object, just followed the demon through the hives, the long but still maintained grass, and into the farmhouse that was well over a century old. It was dark but not gloomy inside, sunlight shifting in through the open windows and the stained glass one of a beehive as Cain moved into what he assumed was the kitchen. In the front room, past the living hive set up carefully under glass, he saw a picture that he knew was carefully maintained and he left it where it was. A woman, alive once years ago in human terms and he studied her, seeing a ring on her finger with carvings.

Otherwise, the home felt like any other he had been in. No secret arcane purpose, no hidden rooms or portals or magic outside that of warding to hide it from prying eyes. Just a room set with old furniture, not unlike all the other farmhouses scattered across the land in this area. It made little sense to him why a being like Cain would essentially nest here outside of that picture, her eyes watching him even though he knew her to be long dead.

"Here we go, have a seat, Michael," Cain said as he entered carrying a tray with a pitcher and glasses with ice. "You strike me as being more of an ice tea person rather than hot."

Not answering, Michael obliged him, sitting on the couch opposite of Cain as the tray was placed on the coffee table. As the demon filled the glasses, he took note of the ring, a wedding band, before accepting his glass without a word.

"Guessing you got here because you're tired of wasting your time dissecting the rank and file of hell and would rather someone just told you an honest answer."

"They are decidedly unhelpful," Michael allowed, watching Cain take a drink with a smile.

"That they are. You should know that even despite your time off." A pause, Cain watching him and Michael corrected his posture, to not look so stiff and despising being in this presence. "And I know you have questions."

He did, but this was not the time despite knowing the demon was going to address them. He needed what he came for and it was best to get it the easy way, as even with too much talking it was still the fastest and most accurate.

Cain leaned forward, watching him, elbows on his knees as his hands clasped his glass. "Do you remember what it was like to be human? And I don't mean as an intellectual exercise."

Michael stared, undecided on the answer desired. "Why?"

"I think you're sharp enough to have put the pieces together as to how I got to where I am."

"You expect me to believe that out of the multitudes you slaughtered that one human woman was enough –"

"She loved me."

The words sank in as Michael considered the implications. "She truly knew?"

"Yes. And I made a vow to her when she died violently that I would not lift my blade again. It has been over a century now since I threw that damned thing into the deepest pit the earth had on offer at the time."

This was not what he was here for and Michael put his glass back on the tray, pushing down the whispers in him that spoke of something other than duty. Cain's eyes never left him, bright in the light of the afternoon.

"If you are retired, you have no use to me."

"I'm retired, not dead," Cain said, a small laugh. "You are looking for where the powerful of hell have slithered off too. It's not something that snake calling its self a king down in the pit can tell you."

"And you can?"

"Locations no. Potential names, perhaps. I assume your thoughts have fallen to the princes."

Michael tilted his head in answer, waiting.

"Ramiel was the one I still had some contact with since we want the same thing for different reasons. Though given the current situation and your new hobby, he has been disturbed enough to dig a hole and bury himself till all this blows over."

"So, you're claiming that your demonic friend can't be responsible?"

"No, just that it's unlikely. Dagon and Asmodeus are still around."

Michael contemplated his options, disbelieving the audacity of this abomination to speak to him as though they were equals. They were incapable of killing each other, but that alone did not put them on even footing. It was distasteful, even more so with the mask of civility.

He wondered if Cain would remain so calm in his presence if he threw him down, buried him in the pit as he'd had to Lilith all that time ago.

"Either of those two more prone to trying to kidnap angels?"

Cain let out a small sigh. "Both are stupid enough to believe they're immune to heaven to be that reckless. Sorry, can't help you there, although Dagon is more powerful."

"You remind me of this why?"

"When one has less power but wants more…" Cain's voice trailed off but Michael understood the point.

Standing, he looked down at Cain who seemed lost in thought for a moment, the demon having set down his glass and was turning his ring on his finger. Michael did not know how honest his telling of this woman was. Part of him thought of returning her to him but perhaps it was better that Cain lives with the illusion of what she was instead of the real human who could very well one day leave him when it all became too much.

Cain was beside him, hand on his wrist, and Michael hissed, disliking being touched, at being so close to the lock that bled its corruption over everything.

"You may save him by killing him but you will lose yourself."

Michael freed himself, moving across the room, wanting to demand an explanation for that abuse when something stirred in him. Nothing in Cain's face showed anger or a deeper purpose, just regret and he felt a little more rage towards Lucifer for what he had done. Carved the perfect follower out of despair and sin.

"You dare lecture me?"

"Why else come to me of all people, now?"

"For information, that I –"

"Information you would have found by yourself anyways, well, once you stopped taking so much pleasure in those kills."

"Silence!"

"Hit home," Cain said, voice soft, accusing, and Michael pushed away memories of demons begging for eternal death under his hands.

A frantic impulse to deny even if his actions seemed seeped in the memories of his time in hell. Cain would know. It was why he had cast Lucifer back down instead of killing him, he would take pleasure from the death but little good had come from that measure of sacrifice.

The thought of Sam witnessing him as he was now made him feel impure, more so than when he'd been more himself. Sam, one of the only voices he could still yet hear.

"And you're offering a charity counseling service now?" Dean asked, disliking how his voice sounded slow to his ears. "Free advice on how not to fuck up the universe?"

"No. Only if you fall, if you dive head deep then there's no point to any of this," Cain said, waving a hand at their surroundings. "Here we are, the destroyer trying to protect and the protector trying not to destroy. If you give in, I'll cry havoc with you, but there won't be a return from that point. I'm not the one here lying to myself that there's a way back once the gates are fully opened."

Dean pushed off, freeing himself from the inside of that house that sat on acres of farmland that were not farmed, just housed the bees and a demon that stood immortal in the face of an ever-changing world. He caught his breath up in the mountains, more than a thousand miles away, taking in the quiet of nature.

It was coming, that wave in him, the echoes of what he had been made to do, his original purpose before things were reshaped and other words were created and formed to mold all of this. Things humans had and experienced that something like him had found foreign.

He had thought his family knew love once but it was duty and Dean swallowed, the clean air barely affecting him as though he would never be pure, had never been because he was designed that way.

A longing opened wide in him to go see Sam but he knew he couldn't, knew he would slip and he closed his eyes, focusing himself on finding the princes, to at least bring his brother some peace even if he would never know it.