A/N: Sadly, I wanted to post this on Christmas Eve, a full year after I posted the sequel's prologue, but at that time it was missing a good quarter of story. However, four weeks later, here it is! Thanks again for being so patient, and a huge, special thank you for putting up with my crap for a whole year and beyond. I truly do enjoy writing this story, and it touches my heart that there are so many who will wait long periods of time just to find out what happens next. You guys are what make this story what it is. Without you, I wouldn't have the motivation to continue. That being said, I would love to hear from you guys, even if it's a PM just to say hello. I hope you guys like the chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!

Warning: This chapter depicts scenes of torture that may unsettle some readers.

Dean sat at the cracked and rotted picnic table at the mouth of Bobby's garage. He stared at the three ancient rings before him, belonging to War, Famine, and the newest acquisition, Death.

He gently turned the thick, silver band to eye the square-cut alabaster gemstone clearly. This was the very item he was most apprehensive about swiping. War and Famine's had been, more or less, a walk in the park, but stealing probably the most powerful item in the world from the literal harbinger of death? He would have been facedown, stone-cold before he even walked into that Chicagoan pizza joint. He should have been dead. And why wasn't he?

Because Death had just given it to him. No kicking or screaming, no ironclad deals.

Well… no deals exactly. Things couldn't be that easy for Dean Winchester. Though, his loosely contractual deal with Death wasn't what was stirring his gut at that very moment. It was what he had revealed about Frankie.

"I am more powerful than you can process," he had said, "and I'm enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum. Made even worse by his inflated ego and delusions of control courtesy of Francine Pearce." Though his voice had been sour and bathed in diluted contempt, his gaunt, skeletal face hadn't so much as twitched from a blank expression, even as he knifed off a chunk of his Chicago-style pizza. "I suppose I should applaud him for taking such a bold move, but I would sooner reap myself than award him any credit."

"Bold?" Dean echoed from across the checkered tablecloth.

"He understands the value of human souls. And in the case of your sister, hers is more valuable than any that has existed before."

"Yeah. We heard she was bordering on the divine."

"Incomprehensively so. She is at the tail end of a very long lineage, one that was carefully chosen and plotted, much like your own. What she carries within her soul is pure, unaltered God. Small, but no less dangerous. And here's the curious thing: she was never meant to have it."

"W-What?"

"God had a plan for Francine, but He thought it too risky. If she were to fall into the wrong hands – like she has now – she could be used to cause vast destruction. He never flipped the final switch. So, you may ask, why does she now carry the piece?"

"S-Someone must have flipped the switch."

"Someone indeed. After God left, I assume."

Dean could admit even now at the safety of Bobby's house that his rendezvous with Death left him shaking from start to finish. Dean was a fierce warrior, of course, but there wasn't a man alive who could look Death in the eye and not risk ruining his jeans. There were fewer men who could do the same while lying to him.

"Now, as for the ring. I'm inclined to give it to you."

"To give it to me?"

"That's what I said." Even in that moment, far away from the Horseman, Dean had chills from remembering his sharp tone. "There are conditions."

"Okay, like?"

"You have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer in his cell."

"Of course."

"Whatever it takes."

"That's the plan."

"No. No plan, not yet. The demon is right. There is no rescuing Francine from Lucifer. She will go down into Hell along with him, and that is the end of it. And Dean… there will be no prodding at the cage. Best to leave locked things alone."

Death had leaned forward, shortening the distance between Dean and his chilling, vacant stare. A grave tone nestled itself naturally in his voice.

"You will watch Lucifer sink into the pit. You will shove him in yourself if you must. And you will walk away. So, I need a promise, Dean. You're going to let your sister fall right into that fiery pit. Well, do I have your word?"

It took Dean too long to answer, but Death persisted his haunting gaze until he was forced to sputter out the least convincing vow ever spoken.

"Okay- yeah, yes."

"That had better be a 'yes,' Dean. You know you can't cheat death." And Death dropped the ring into Dean's hand. In that moment, it was the heaviest weight that he had ever borne. "Now. Would you like the instruction manual?"

Dean called his answer a lie. He would not just sit back and let Frankie fall back into Hell with no fuss. The only problem with that was finding an alternative. With each day drawing closer to the final hour, it seemed like Dean's lie would cease to hold weight.

The rough grumble of Bobby's truck thrummed over crunching gravel as it turned into the salvage yard. Dean gingerly set the ring next to its brothers and set his hands on his knees. Once the old truck parked, the first one out was Bobby himself, spearing the ground with his cane and dropping his bum leg after. Closely following was Sam and Ellen, still looking uneasy of the older man's driving.

They were returning from a crucial mission to stop Niveus Pharmaceuticals from mass distributing a vaccine containing the Croatoan virus. Their latest update was a positive one for once. They succeeded in destroying the known products and saved a few innocents in the process.

All wasn't piñatas and ice cream cakes, though – why would it be? They had a unit of five, not counting Bobby. A few old hunters that were regulars at the Roadhouse. With only Sam and Ellen returning, it was safe to assume what happened to the others.

The weary group approached Dean with determined expressions. Even after finishing an emotionally and physically exhausting mission, they were still ready for the next one.

"So, that's it, huh?" Ellen asked, pointing at the new ring out of the bunch.

Dean nodded solemnly. "Death's ring."

"How'd you do it?" Sam asked in a near whisper, brows furrowed as his eyes locked onto the white gemstone.

"I didn't kill him if that's what you mean."

Bobby joined Dean at the table with a quiet grunt. "Then how the hell are you still breathin'?"

The ring returned to Dean's fingers, slowly rotating as he idly examined it. "He gave it to me. He's on our side. Well- no, he's on his own side. Couldn't care less about us really. But Lucifer's got him leashed. He wants the chains off."

That got Ellen chuckling. "Well, it's nice to know at least Death thinks we stand a chance here." She could always be counted on to find humor in the most screwed up things.

"All that's left is Pestilence," Bobby furthered. "Better call up one of our angel pals and get the deets on him."

The group went quiet. It only took a few seconds for Dean to realize that they were all looking at him expectantly. He huffed irritably and dropped the ring onto the table. "Other people can pray to him, you know." Their looks persisted. Sam quirked a brow, giving Dean that final push into complete exasperation. He rolled not only his eyes, but his whole head. "Cas, get your ass over here. We need your help," he droned into the air.

"Save your breath."

A weaker woman would have jumped in her skin at the phantom voice drawling right behind her, but Ellen merely turned and eyed Crowley with annoyance. He flashed a dry smirk before flattening it and facing Dean.

"He's not coming."

"Why are you so sure?" Sam asked, irritation instantly darkening his voice. Crowley said nothing as he leaned forward to drop something small onto the table. Another ring – a silver band with eagle etchings and a jade gemstone – joined the others at the center. The anger vanished from Sam's voice, leaving behind astonishment. "Is that-?"

"Pestilence's ring." Crowley leisurely rounded the table and stood across from Dean.

"Wait, wait, wait," the older Winchester exclaimed with raised hands. "You took down Pestilence?"

Crowley pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm flattered you'd grant me such credit." He was met with more than one pair of rolling eyes. "Gabriel and Cas, our divine dysfunctional duo, ended him days ago."

Oh, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

"You wanna run that by me again?" Bobby grumbled, brows raised to his receding hairline.

Dean launched to his feet and paced the mouth of the garage. "I'm gonna kill him," he growled.

Crowley plastered a mock grimace on his face and hissed with a sharp inhale. "Yeesh. That's a bit redundant, I'm afraid." Dean's feet slowed, and he angled his glower toward the demon. Crowley pointed a finger at Pestilence's ring. "I found this at a gruesome scene, conveniently tucked between the floorboards of some cubical farm in downtown Houston a mere ten feet away from winged scorch marks and bloodstains."

You couldn't see it in his face – not even in his posture – but Dean's chest tightened so severely that he could feel something snap. Oddly enough, between the two, one would think him to be the one to show his remorse, but it was Sam that displayed a slackened jaw and wide eyes.

"You're sayin' Cas is dead?" Ellen asked, shock and ire coating her voice.

Crowley half-shrugged. "Either him or Gabriel. Though with how rumoured of a coward he is, I doubt he'd be anywhere near an archangel blade. He must have either fled or given up on you lot. It's just us now." He spread his arms, gesturing to the group before him. "Take a grand look at the last cadre against the Apocalypse."

Well, there went the final drop of hope Dean had of coming out of this. Would they win against Lucifer? Honestly, at this point he barely cared. Everyone that meant something to him was being ripped away from him one after another. Jo, Frankie, Cas… Sam, Bobby, and Ellen were all that he had left, and there was still so much shit to do.

Dean just… didn't know how much more of this he could take.

"It's a damn tragedy," Bobby's voice carried, dragging him from the ever-deepening abyss of his mind, "but we still got a job to do. We got the rings. Now, it's time to stock up."

Dean's head snapped up. His glare locked onto the older man.

Crowley's face morphed a wicked half-smile. "Bobby, you are quickly becoming my favourite."

Bobby scowled and stamped his cane into the gravel, lifting from the table. "I'll put that on my resume. Now, shut up and help me track this sonnuva bitch."

A crash of metal cans caused the group to flinch, minus Crowley of course. They all watched as Dean marched off into the scrapyard of old Junker cars, dented paint cans rolling from where they were once sturdily positioned on a shelf.

Suspended, slowly rotating like a planet caught in a star's gravitational pull. An indescribable darkness. Absence of light- of anything. Indefinable fear.

The world that wasn't, the metaphorical existence. A worse Hell than Hell itself. She needed out. No walls to push, no ground to stomp, no mouth to scream. She needed to scream.

Needed to scream.

Needed to scream.

Needed to scream!

Light, blinding and piercing. Cognition returning. The world- the real one! Dark and dreary, but there! She didn't even mind the riptide of sorrow jostling her like a buoy in a storm.

Lucifer's head had been lowered. His eyes had been blurry, but they cleared as he looked up, brows furrowing. Frankie was suddenly there behind his eyes, and he had done nothing to allow it. She was drenched in fear. She would be panting if she possessed any control of herself.

"How did you-… Now's not the time, Frankie. Go back to sle-"

'No!'

Lucifer was too tired to be angry at her defiance. He heftily sighed.

'Please. Don't put me back in there. The dark, it's… I can't. Not for that long. Kill anyone you like, just… don't put me back in the dark.'

Lucifer leaned against the brick wall of his decrepit basement and crossed his arms. "I'm about to go into a really important meeting, and you really don't wanna be here for that."

'Lucifer, right now torture sounds better than isolation. Just… please. I can handle it.'

"See, you say that, then you'll be all like, 'Oh, Lucifer, take me back! Make it stop!'"

'Fucking hell- I won't! I've been ripped apart, burned to the bone, seen way worse done to others- I'll be fine! Not a peep. I swear.'

A brief whisper of a smile twitched Lucifer's lip. "You wanna bet on that?"

He could feel the metaphysical equivalent of her rolling her eyes. 'Sure, Lucifer.'

"Alright." He pushed off the wall and leisurely strutted toward a rusted door with a padlock. "One word during this meeting and it's a whole week in the void. Seven days to the second."

'Deal.'

That ghost of a smile grew into a mischievous smirk. "Okay then."

Lucifer lifted his hand in front of the padlock. Frankie felt the light pulse of power travel through his fingers and heard the click of the lock opening. The door opened with a keen screech from its ancient hinges. The room inside was completely dark. Frankie would call it creepy if she had not been trapped inside true darkness.

Lucifer entered the room and the door shut behind him with a deafening clang. With a click and quiet crackle, a failing fluorescent light buzzed to life directly above a figure suspended against a post by shackles. A low grunt droned before the prisoner lifted their head.

Lucifer's grin swelled as his head flooded with Frankie's terror.

'Cas?!'

"Oh! And that's a week in the void for Frankie," Lucifer exclaimed jovially, talking over Frankie's panicked stutters. "That's gotta be a record, not even five seconds. But you know what? I'm feeling generous. We'll start the clock after the meeting."

The expression of pure hatred on Cas' face melted. His eyes locked into Lucifer's, fogging over with hope. "Frankie?"

Lucifer dragged a chair in front of the hanging angel and sat on it backwards. "That's right. She'll be sitting in this time."

Forced to take in his appearance, Frankie's nonexistent heart broke at Cas' bruised and bleeding skin. His coat, jacket, shirt, and shoes were gone, leaving him mostly bare. Wherever skin could be found was dirty, miscolored, or glistening with sweat.

Frankie abused the walls of her prison with all the strength she had. 'You lying bastard! You said you wouldn't hurt him! You promised!'

"See, right now she's throwing a tantrum because she thinks I broke a promise. We had this agreement-"

'I never agreed to this!'

"-where I wouldn't touch a hair on the head of you or the Winchesters – the other ones – as long as you all stayed in your lane and didn't come after me. And, well, you and I know how that turned out."

The drivel spilling out of Lucifer's mouth fell on deaf ears. Cas looked beyond the honey irises that the archangel now claimed. He searched for any glimpse he could of the girl behind those eyes.

"Frankie… I am so sorry. I did this."

'Cas…'

"I should've been a better protector. I should have been there when he…" The tether between their eyes failed, and his gaze landed somewhere far away. His voice, more gravelly than normal, lowered to a grief-stricken cadence. "I can't stop failing you."

Frankie could feel the distant sensation of heartbreak, muddled but surely there. The pain of seeing him like this, so mournful over what he defined as failure, was strong enough to summon her own riptides of sorrow. She had no idea how much her protection really meant to him, and now what she wanted more than anything was to hold him, to tell him she forgave him- to tell him forgiveness was never needed.

"Geez, Louise!" Lucifer exclaimed, tossing her vision into a dramatic eye roll. "You two are the biggest saps I've ever seen. I see why you're so close. The pathetic find solace in each other." Frankie flared into a sizzling form, burning behind Lucifer's eyes. "What? Now you're silent? If that's all it took, I would've swiped ol' Cassie long ago."

"Yet here we are." Cas rolled his wrists in his shackles, and only now did Frankie notice how purple the skin there was. He craned his head, resting it against the post as he finally looked at Lucifer. "That begs the question of why. What use am I to you?"

Lucifer crossed his arms over the back of the chair. "When you came to me, Castiel, you were right about several things. Crowley did have heavy influence over Frankie's decision to say 'yes,' which leads me to accept your claims of the mark as truth. That being said, you will tell me where it is so I can destroy it."

Cas held an indolent glare within Lucifer's eyes, resolute and silent. Lucifer cocked his head and arched a brow.

"I did not stutter, Castiel. My words were loud and clear."

"I heard you."

"Good."

Lucifer stood from the chair and kicked it to the side. He shrugged the denim jacket from his shoulders, and it fell behind his feet. His hand gripped the collar of the yellow flannel and yanked. The buttons popped off, flying across the room with dainty clacks, and the shirt joined the jacket on the floor. Cas' eyes widened. He turned his head to the side just as Lucifer tugged Frankie's bra over his head and tossed it onto a small table holding several concerning instruments.

"Now, point out the mark."

Frankie's shock at Lucifer stripping her nude from the waist up could not begin to compare to the horror on Cas' face. If he wasn't sickly pale from dimming energy and previous torture, his cheeks would have been a bright, burning pink.

"Eyes forward, Castiel."

The angel directly defied him and shut his eyes. Frankie's form vibrated with fear. If Cas kept refusing to negotiate with Lucifer, she would surely witness every moment of her best friend's torture. However, the archangel did not feel angry at Cas' blatant disobeying. In fact, it was close to the opposite.

A dark chuckle shuffled from his throat. "Oh. Well, well, well. An angel respecting a human's privacy. You really aren't like any angel I've ever seen." He leaned forward, his face mere inches from the angel's. "But my patience is wearing thin. The mark. Where is it?"

Cas wore a face of pure struggle. His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. His voice came out strained and reluctant. "I don't know."

Any humor that manifested inside Lucifer was snuffed before it really began to flourish. Frankie felt that storm thundering beneath her, and her fear swelled twofold. Lucifer straightened and slowly stepped back, keeping Cas within his gaze. His face was stoic, but his eyes harbored all the rage that was looming inside.

"You said you could show me. You lied." His voice was soft and empty. He spoke as if he were making idle small talk, but Frankie and Cas knew better, proven when his archangel blade fell into his hand.

Frankie's scream was half a second behind the blade slicing across Cas' chest. His voice carried through the room in a gruff wail through clenched teeth. His back arched, forcing his wrists to pull against the shackles. His fingers turned white at the blocked circulation.

'No! Stop!' Frankie screamed. Lucifer forced her eyes to trace the blood streams cascading down his chest and belly.

"I don't like being deceived, Castiel. If you can't tell me, you'll find it yourself." Cas' head dropped, chin hitting his chest as he heaved for breath. Lucifer's fingers tightened around his blade. He reared back and speared the tip into Cas' right shoulder just below his collar bone. "Look at me," he commanded over the angel's grunts. His eyes were squeezed shut, head angled to the side. Lucifer hummed a short growl before practically punching the blade all the way through his body, pinning him to the wooden post. "Look at me, Castiel."

His eyes didn't so much as crack.

Cas' cheeks were crushed in Lucifer's blood-speckled hand. He forced the angel's face forward. "Look at me!"

Frankie couldn't bear a single second more of her friend's misery. If Cas would just grant Lucifer a glance. Why couldn't he just cooperate?

And then it dawned on her, the reason why he wouldn't look. It wasn't pride.

'Tell him it's okay!'

Lucifer's fingers slightly twitched against Cas' jaw. "What?" he confusedly breathed with a tilted head.

Frankie's nonexistent heart lurched at the agony cinching Cas' brows. 'T-Tell him I said he can look.'

Lucifer huffed and rolled his eyes. "Frankie is giving you permission to find the mark."

Cas' yanked his head from Lucifer's grip only for it to drop back down to his chest. "Cut me all you desire, but do not put words in her mouth."

"Don't believe me?" Lucifer casually asked. He grabbed his blade and yanked it from Cas' shoulder, splattering blood across them both. Cas strained to mute his pained groan behind his firmly pressed lips. "Fine. Hear it from her."

His legs failed at the crushing weight. His knee hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, shooting electric pain through the nerves. His hand lay flat beside his blade, discarded by the tumble.

A sharp gasp hissed against the brick walls. The floor was cold, the room much clearer than seconds before. Eyes flicked across the concrete, catching each crack and speckle. The stinging ache of the left leg felt so familiar, almost forgotten.

These were not his sensations. They were hers.

Frankie pushed against the floor, quick at first but then slowing to steady the slight daze in her head. Frankie stood. She was moving her legs, her arms, her eyes. It was almost like she was normal again.

If it wasn't for that dense pressure at the base of her skull.

A breath filled her lungs, ready to blow out a manic laugh of disbelief, but it caught in her throat when her gaze set forward. Her friend's blue fingers twitched, and the muscles of his shoulder spasmed where a fresh hole oozed shimmering blood.

The last time she saw him, they were cozied up in bed in her apartment. She was cocooned in blankets, and he was lying beside her just as he always had. She drifted to sleep with a weary, "Merry Christmas," and he returned the gesture with a kind tone despite his apathy for the holiday. She fell asleep at peace, not because of the warm sheets or soft wind whistling outside the window, but because of his presence. He was her peace.

And now he was Lucifer's prisoner, caught because she was foolish enough to give into the Devil's pressure and he decided to rescue her for it. He didn't do this. She did.

"Cas?" her weak voice peeped.

"Go to Hell."

Frankie's mouth formed a smile, but her eyes squinted and blurred. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed. "Been there. Done that."

A few seconds of silence passed, and she thought he had fainted from blood loss or shock, but he slowly lifted his head, his eyes finally open but pointing at the wall. "Frankie?"

"Yeah," she exhaled, her voice a relieved laugh. "It's me, Cas." She lifted her hand toward his face. The sight of her bare forearm caught her off guard, and that led her to remember the rest of her bare form. "Ugh, satanic fucker," she mumbled, expertly sliding her bra back on and snatching her flannel from the floor.

"Not quite the words I was hoping for."

With her shirt now around her body – open from the lack of buttons, but covering enough – she finally placed her hand gently on his cheek and delicately lifted it to meet her eyes.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I am here because of his lust for control and my own fear. Nothing more. You did everything you could." She blinked, the faint light in her eyes dimming. She sighed quietly through her nostrils. "But you should've stayed away. I can't save you. Not while he's inside me."

"I don't need saving."

Frankie half-smirked as she brushed the damp strands of hair from his forehead. "Cas, you're shackled to the wall and bleeding on the floor."

Their eyes locked. In his pale blue irises, there was a light, one that was not present anywhere else in his face. One that flared the moment he was sure that it was truly his friend before him. One she had seen too many times to ignore. "I am exactly where I am meant to be. At your side."

Frankie's face fell. If she thought her heart had broken before, now without the buffer of possession she could really feel its presence. In the face of torture – of Satan himself – he was still tethered to his duty as her protector. Even if in his own eyes he had failed, he would still try. And she hated it.

Since the moment they met, it has been all about her and her heavenly appointed purpose. It had never been about him or his safety. He would throw himself into Hell itself if he could just to have a chance to save her life. Frankie Pearce-Winchester was the most undeserving human on the planet for this level of devotion. At this point, she felt like thanking him would be an insult.

Who was she to have someone so loyal and selfless at her side? Who was she to lower him to her level? That, she believed, was her greatest sin.

She softly shook her head, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "Cas… I-"

'Am growing bored of this soap opera. Ask him about the mark.'

"Oh, fuck off, Lucifer!" she yelled inches from Cas' face. She leaned back, spitting fire from her tongue as she felt the control of it fading. "Figure it out for yourself! You've had total command of my body this whole time! If you haven't noticed some kinda mark, there must not be one!"

Her voice silenced with a whisper of a gasp. Cas witnessed the light in her irises dim. He watched the lax of her shoulders turn rigid. Her head angled toward him, and he could clearly see that Frankie was no longer there.

"Unfortunately for you, Castiel, she's right. I haven't seen so much as a scratch from any demon." Lucifer bent down and clutched his archangel blade. A dagger-esque glare bore into Cas' eyes as he stood. "Which means you have misled me." The blade swiftly pressed against Cas' throat. It shifted as the angel gulped. "And I don't. Like. Being deceived."

Frankie felt the muscles of his arm tense. She hurried to deescalate. 'He-He must have believed it! Crowley is a slippery, manipulative sonnuva bitch. And he's very persuasive. He was probably saying all sorts of bullshit!'

Lucifer pursed his lips and hummed. He thoughtfully tapped the blade against Cas' throat, making the angel flinch. "Once again, Frankie, you speak some sense. So, to weed out falsehood from truth," he leaned back and tossed his blade onto the small table, "you will tell me everything that you were told. By Crowley, by the Winchesters, and by Gabriel."

Frankie latched to his name like two magnets in a bowl. It had been a long time since she heard his name, even longer since she saw his face. She assumed he fell off the face of the planet, or at least vacationed somewhere uncharted by man. Had Cas spoken to him recently?

"Make all the demands you wish. You cannot make me speak against the Winchesters."

Frankie's musings disintegrated as Lucifer closed his hand around Cas' throat. Not once in her life did she ever want to feel the sensation of fingers crushing his windpipe, to hear him gargle for breath. "I can do whatever I want," Lucifer hissed, his mouth nearly grazing Cas' stubble.

Cas' eyes cut as far left as they could, eyeing the Devil with all the hatred within him. "Not for long," he wheezed.

"Do you know something I don't?"

Cas grunted and sputtered, freeing up as much space in his throat as he could. "Gabriel spoke the truth. Demon blood no longer strengthens her body. You are burning up, Lucifer. Soon, you won't have her to protect you anymore. I will mourn her, of course, but it will be alongside the celebration of your defeat."

Lucifer inhaled a deep breath, and his hand languidly loosened around Cas' throat. It slid off as he backed away and turned. If one were watching the exchange, they would think Lucifer was reeling in his anger, but Frankie was inside his skull. She knew the truth. She felt the storm beneath her burn hotter, brighter. The thunder grumbled louder and louder until it filled the crevasses between her and him.

'Lucifer…,' she dared to warn, but it was far too late.

He whipped around and pummeled his fist against Cas' jaw. His arm instantly reared back and sent another stroke onto his cheekbone. Just as he had with Frankie on that fateful Carthage night, his fist rained down in punch after punch.

The grating of knuckle against skull chilled her, the wetness of saliva and blood in between fingers sickened her, and the groans and grunts of his agony broke her.

'Stop! Lucifer, stop! Please!'

For half a second, Frankie thought the yells were her doing, but no, it was instead Lucifer's fury. With a fierce cry, he revved up a powerful blow. Frankie must have imagined the sound of his fist growling. He launched it, striking Cas' with the hardest punch yet. The angel whipped to the side before going limp against the post. His head hung low against his chest. Sanguineous drool descended to the slice across his ribs.

Frankie and Lucifer both thought him finally comatose, but after a few seconds of Lucifer's enraged panting, Cas shakily lifted his head and spat a gob of blood onto the concrete. He puffed a few belly deep breaths, and then he fully raised his head.

Lucifer's eyes blurred as Frankie's anguish summoned tears. Cas' lips were split and blue. His left eye was already bruising, the right swollen shut. His chin, painted crimson from the bloody streams pouring from his mouth and nostrils, shimmered against the fluorescent light above. But despite the clear pain and misery coursing through him, his lips still quirked in disgust and hate, pointed directly at the Devil.

"You're losing, Lucifer. And you know it, too. It tortures you. You keep destroying those that threaten your success. Michael, Raphael, Gabriel… You've destroyed your family. And for what? Some proven point to those that no longer exist? The only one you're fighting to prove wrong is yourself. Trying to squander your doubt. You know that you're losing the only card left in your hand, your last stronghold against failure. Once she goes, you've lost. And that is the answer to your demand for a plot, for what the Winchesters have planned. They are sitting back and waiting. Waiting for you to tear yourself apart. You are your greatest enemy, Lucifer, and in that regard, you will come out victorious after all."

For the first time since she became possessed by Lucifer, Frankie felt nothing. No waves of despair jostling her to and fro, no burning storms of anger, not even the fuzzy, fleece feeling of peace. There was simply her and the walls, and that was the single most terrified she had ever felt in her life.

The waiting was the worst of it. There was no possible way to predict Lucifer's rebuttal, so Frankie did the only thing she could think to do. She prayed. She prayed to God.

The world blurred as Lucifer lurched forward. The wet squelch and wheezy gasp set her ears ablaze. Lucifer's eyes were trained on his, forcing Frankie to witness every millisecond of emotion in Cas' eyes as the archangel blade speared his heart.

'CAS!'

Tears involuntarily spilled from Lucifer's eyes as Frankie's grief spread like a plague within him.

'NO! NO, NO!'

Frankie screamed. Anguish blinded every other sense. She nearly missed the way Cas' glossy eyes bore into Lucifer's, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her. There was an apology in his eyes, and that utterly destroyed her.

Cas' head craned back with a haunting wail. His eyes, mouth, and nostrils illuminated in a vibrant blue light, shockwaves shaking the instruments on the small table. The glow was so bright; Frankie wanted to look away, but Lucifer forced their eyes open to take in every moment.

The light faded. His scream silenced. Left behind was his limp body, hanging by the shackles, and a pair of massive wings singed in a wilted form on the wall, post, and floor.

Inside Lucifer's skull, Frankie called out his name over and over again, hoping that his head would lift once more, that she'd see the pale blue in his eyes, that she'd hear his gravelly, mechanical voice just one more time, but he never moved. Not even a twitch.

Inside Lucifer's mind, however, was a completely different story. Stricken by raw grief, Frankie didn't notice that the Devil was reeling over Cas' final words. She didn't notice that he was vibrating around her form, indicating that he was nervous, panicked. Cas' words struck him because he knew that every word spoken was true.

Frankie was rotting away. He could feel his own weakness in her skin worsen day by day. Hell, just a while ago Frankie broke free of her prison on her own. She would have never gotten the chance when she was first possessed.

Time was running out. Despite its low possibility, he had prepared for failure. He had a contingency plan, a last resort. And, well, desperate times…

He swiftly turned and stormed out of the room. Frankie's shrieks became manic. She didn't want to leave him. Before she gave him even more of a headache, Lucifer sent her back into the void, this time making sure she stayed there.