Word count: 600-ish

Genre: AU

Rating: worksafe

Note: Inspired by an amazing gif-set on tumblr where Cas isn't an angel but a demon. This is my take on that AU, we'll see where this goes, yeah?

Castiel was not like any other demon serving in the Pit. Castiel wasn't even like any of the other fallen angels lost to Perdition. Alastair was always more than a little intrigued by the former angel, and he would certainly love to get his hands on those wings of his; giant, dark wings which were marred with years of hellfire and ashes, but still managed to look powerful and almost holy. The fallen angels kept carefully away from the racks, though, never willing to stain themselves with the suffering of humans souls, even after having filthied themselves beyond recognition, so he would most likely never get to carve in them.

Alastair had spent many millennia trying to figure out what set Castiel aside from the rest of the fallen brethren, and finally he did believe himself to have found the difference. There was no rage emitting from the Fallen One before him. Fallen angels were usually the very essence of rage, so lost in their own misery over their lost connection to Heaven that they became spiteful towards everything and everyone. Even the original residents of the one place which has been willing to take them in after their Grace had been tainted.

Alastair held no love for any of the creatures of Hell, Heaven or Earth, but if there were one species he really couldn't stand, it was angels. And the Fallen Ones fluttering around on broken wings, acting like they were still above those who had also fallen into the Pit? Pathetic.

Castiel, however, was not overcome by rage towards the much envied human race, like most of the other Fallen Ones who had tumbled after their lost brother into the fire and smoke. Instead, the fallen angel was filled to the brim with tightly controlled hatred for its brethren, white-hot and almost pure in its intensity.

Alastair licked his lips. Yes, he could trust Castiel to carry out this mission without getting sidetracked. He knew nothing about the circumstances which had cast the angel down from Heaven, and truth be told, he didn't much care. Though, those wings were tempting. He had to remind himself that today, he had much more urgent and important business than satisfying his own desire to carve through feathers and bone; business came before pleasure after all. At least sometimes.

"So, Castiel. I have a mission for you."

Castiel didn't answer, the fallen angel only looked blankly at the demon. Alastair knew that he out-ranked the Fallen Ones, what with being the second in command after Lilith - at least after Azazel's destruction - so he could demand the creature before him to show proper respect. He didn't much feel like it, however; he'd always found defiance more amusing anyway.

All of Castiel's passive appearance and carefully contained hatred aside, as Alastair uttered his next sentences, he could detect a flicker of interest of the former angel's eyes.

"I hear you have a score to settle with the little bastards upstairs. How would you like a chance to steal a soul from them?"

Castiel stared at him. And then, suddenly, those huge, black wings flared out, rippling with some emotion Alastair couldn't interpret - what? He didn't have wings, and why the hell would he care about a pair of extra limbs beyond the opportunity to try new methods of torture that they presented? - and the angel's face shifted into an expression well suited for a fierce warrior who had been wronged and was out for enemy blood. Or Grace.

"That, I would like very much."