NINE

The Prisoner

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"What?" Martin managed. "Demon wh-what?"

Before anyone could move Ramiel was pushing into the room. Dean made a grab for his arm. The angel in the little man simply put out an elbow. His forearm drove into Dean's chest. He flew backward and into the wall so hard paint flaked off from the impact of his head.

Sam shifted in front of Martin. He drew himself up in the small room. Ramiel put his hands out to grab for him.

An almighty whoomf sound drowned out his next thought for defending himself. Heat and light registered and Sam turned. He snatched at Martin and shoved them both away from the flames. Martin bounced into the wall, knocking his glasses free. He didn't even bother trying to retrieve them. He turned and plastered himself against the wall as best he could to be further from the flames apparently burning in a three-foot high wall.

In the middle of the raging circle were two men. Sam took this in even as he scrambled round the fire and found his brother insensate, face-down on the floor. He crouched and put his hand out to the inert lump that was Dean, checking his pulse before straightening slowly.

"I warned you," Ramiel was seething at Castiel, barely a foot from the angel.

"And we," Castiel said with holy wrath, "warned you."

He grasped Ramiel's arm and yanked. The man was jerked toward the flames. His hand dragged through it and he cried out, snatching it free.

"You cannot harm me!" he bellowed, outraged.

Castiel was already catching at his other arm. He rammed it up across his back, his other hand on the back of his collar. He wrenched him forwards, his face close to the flames.

"You know we can," Sam countered, walking around the flames again. He put a hand on Martin's shoulder. The man just nodded desperately. Sam bent to Dean's duffle, still on the floor, before getting to his feet again. He turned and looked at the two angels in the holy fire. "So tell us why you think Martin is a demon."

"D-demon?" Martin spluttered.

"I can see it. I can smell it," the captured angel accused, his eyes glaring at the network man as if he could cause him to combust from there.

"I cannot," Castiel observed, keeping a tight hold on the angel in his grasp.

"Easily checked," Sam said, unscrewing the lid on the hidden flask in his hand. He splashed water over Martin's face.

The man jerked and gasped, freezing to work out what had just happened. As Sam and Castiel exchanged a look that explained all of their observations in a nanosecond, Martin put his hands up to wipe his face dryer than it was.

"Why?" he asked, more resigned than anything else.

"Holy water," Sam said apologetically, stepping round him and crouching next to his fallen brother.

"Why?" Martin repeated, in exactly the same tone of voice as before.

"To show you're not a demon," Sam said, splashing his brother's face with the same blessed liquid.

Dean jerked and blinked, finding his right cheek on the testicle-shrinkingly cold floor of a twenty by twenty foot storeroom. He put his hands under himself quickly. "What happened?" he rattled off as he pushed himself to sit back on his heels. He made a face of which a tortured mime artist would be proud, putting a hand to the back of his head. He hissed suddenly. "Son of a bitch," he cursed, bringing his hand away to find it wet and spotted with dark red.

"Cas has Ramiel trapped," Sam advised. "Martin doesn't respond to holy water."

"Groovy," Dean grunted. Sam put his palm out and Dean took it, hauling himself to his feet. He slapped his free hand into Sam's back in thanks and let his palm go, turning on Martin. "Christo," he said clearly.

"N-no, M-Martin," he managed, his chin still dripping slightly.

Dean looked at his brother. "Ok, Ninja Angel is off his meds and we got him. Cas, dump his sorry ass in the fire," Dean ordered.

"Wait!" Sam barked, his hands up. He approached the flames, looking the man over. "This guy isn't a demon. Why do you think he is?"

"I can see it!" Ramiel raged, struggling against Castiel's hold. The taller angel pushed on the arm and the captured angel paused in pain but refused to cry out. "Castiel - look at his face! Look at his soul! He is a demon!"

Castiel's head turned. His gaze leapt the flaming wall and bored into Martin without mercy. It was silent and very still for nearly a minute. Martin could not bring himself to breathe.

"He is not a demon," Castiel observed.

Martin spat out a breath in relief.

"You can't see it! Because you are cut off, Castiel! You cannot smite me, and we both know it!" Ramiel accused. "If you were pure, if you were still truly one of us, you would be able to see still!"

"Hey," Dean interrupted, sticking his hand in the flames. Sam put a hand up to his arm but Dean shook him off. Sam watched his brother's arm as his hand sailed through the fire and grasped at the trapped angel's hair. He yanked on it, pulling the angel's head round so Dean could meet his eyes from across the flames. "Hey, Stimpy. Just cos you're still in the Cloud City country club don't mean you can take pot shots at the renegades, you get me?" he snapped.

Sam watched, amazed at how Dean's arm was completely failing to burn or even smoulder in the holy flames. Does it only burn angels? Or is he immune cos of what Michael wants him for? He heard Martin gasp and shuffle behind them and cast him a glance.

"Woah - stop. Stay there," Sam commanded, and Martin stopped. He pushed himself back against the wall and gave a barely perceptible nod. Sam looked back round at the angel in both Castiel and Dean's grasp. "What do you mean, Cas isn't pure?" he demanded.

"He left! He has forsaken his own kind and now he is cut off from Heaven! Ask him why he cannot smite demons any more!" Ramiel spluttered.

Dean's angry eyebrows of condemnation lifted slowly. He tilted his head up to the side to flick his eyes at Castiel. "Is this true?"

"I am cut off. I cannot smite demons," he confirmed.

"But you can still see 'em, right?" Dean asked carefully.

"I can. And Martin is not a demon. You know this to be true - you have tested him yourself," Castiel replied, forcing patience where there was frustration.

Dean looked back down at the man in his grip. He thought for a long moment. Then his head dropped in a way Sam knew to be indicative of some nasty realisation sneaking up on his elder brother. Dean's gaze latched back onto the angel caught in his hand.

"Look at me," Dean growled. The angel kept his gaze to one side. "I said look at me!"

The man's eyes rolled up to Dean's face.

"Take a good, long look. Am I a demon?" Dean asked dangerously.

"It does not matter what I say, you will not--"

"Answer the damn question!" Dean roared.

The angel blinked angry eyes at him before shifting his head round. Dean let go of his hair and the man stared at him. Not for the first time, Dean suspected an angel could see into his very soul.

"You too!" the angel whispered in horror. "Castiel - you are siding with demons!"

Dean took a step back, then pocketed his Colt slowly. Sam appeared next to him, his mouth starting to open. Dean put his hand up wearily. "Don't," he said quietly, looking at the empty floor off to his right. "Don't."

Sam looked at his brother and was instantly worried as to why he was keeping his face averted.

Castiel peered through the flames at Dean. Dean's eyes came up and they appeared to share a strange look. Dean turned away, taking Sam's elbow and walking him to the far corner.

"What?" Sam asked quickly, alarmed.

"Sam," Dean breathed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, "this guy's not himself."

"Hyah!" Sam spluttered in confirmation, amazement at his brother's apparently assinine comment making his eyes spin like pinballs.

"No, I mean…" Dean let his head sway to one side in discomfort, Sam noticed.

"What? What do you mean?" he hissed.

"I mean the angel in there. He's totally bent out of shape. He's got like some kind of post traumatic fighting-apocalypse-demon-army syndrome going on," he hissed back.

"How can you tell?" Sam asked, confused. He watched his brother avoid his gaze.

"Maybe… I have an uncomfortable familiarity with the signs," he admitted grumpily.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He took a breath, steeled himself, and then looked back at his brother. "So why's he seeing demons everywhere?"

"I don't know - he's been doing it so long he thinks everyone is a friggin' demon?"

Sam's head snapped up and he looked across the room to the two angels still caged within the ring of fire. "So… there's no demon here?" he hazarded.

"I don't think there ever was," Dean breathed. "This dude rolls up here and thinks he sees demons. He starts killin' them off only to find more."

"Then why is it the important people he sees as demons?" Sam wondered as quietly as possible. "Why not the cleaning staff, the coffee makers?"

"It's a power thing, right? What demon's gonna possess the sandwich guy? Of course he thinks they're going for the heads of department. Think about it," Dean whispered. "We thought the exact same thing when we arrived - we thought demons were targeting Chuck for his gospel. This guy did too - cos he thought he actually saw demons."

"Maybe he only saw them cos he expected to?" Sam nodded.

"Exactly. Which kind of puts us in an awkward position," Dean allowed. He looked back at the angels for a moment before wiping a weary hand over his forehead.

"We got to let him go," Sam urged. "He needs help."

"We can't! How many more non-demons will he kill? And he'll come after us and Cas!" Dean hissed.

"We can't kill him."

"We're gonna have to."

"No, Dean, I mean we physically can't kill him - and that's a real, innocent person he's possessing."

Dean huffed to himself, his head tilting to the side as his eyes ran up to the ceiling. He looked over at Martin for a moment, then back at the circle of fire. "Hey, Cas," he called.

"He is still secure," the angel confirmed.

"Great. What do you do with shellshocked angels?" he asked.

"I do not understand."

Dean crossed the room again, ignoring the slightly struggling man to meet Castiel's eyes. "If one of your garrison goes Looney Tunes, all buckets of crazy cos they've been out in the war too long - what do you do with them?"

Castiel's head tilted and he appeared to search his memory for a long time. He looked back at Dean slowly. "I do not know. We have never had an angel 'go Looney Tunes'," he replied, confused.

Dean sniffed to himself but Sam approached quickly. "Wait, can't you just send him home to be mind-cleansed?" he asked. "They tried to do it to you, right?"

Castiel looked to one side quickly. "They did." He transferred his gaze to the man in his charge. "It could work."

"It will work," Dean nodded. Castiel looked at him. "Hey, if the mind-wiping takes, he'll be back in the garrison, right? If it don't, he'll still be back up there and not down here ganking innocent people he thinks are demons. It's win-win as far as I see it."

"You are all demon stains!" Ramiel shouted suddenly. "Don't think I can't see you for what you are!"

Dean looked at him - just looked. Then he swung his head back up to Castiel. "Sound like a plan?"

Castiel sighed, and it appeared for all the world as if he were trying not to let his shoulders sag. "It does," he acceded. "There is only one problem."

"What?" Sam asked eagerly.

"Sending him back," he relied. "We would need to hold him while I use an Enochian summoning ritual. He must not escape while the sentries come to escort him home."

"Fine. You tell us what we need to do, and we'll do it. You keep him inside there," Dean nodded.

"Wait," Sam said quickly. "If Cas is with him when they come for him, won't they try to smite him for rebelling?"

Dean put a hand up, rubbing at the wet area still stinging at the back of his head. "Well crap, Sam. I got nothing."

Martin put a hand up slowly. "Uhm, guys?" he dared.

"We could… get Cas out, leave the guy there?" Sam offered.

"How? One of us would have to change places with him - and that means at least a couple of sentry angels could tell Michael where we are," Dean challenged.

"Guys?" Martin asked again.

Sam huffed. "Well we could just leave him in the circle of fire and wait for Cas to get out of here. We summon the dudes and--"

"I need to do the ritual," Castiel interrupted. "It is… complicated."

"You sayin' I can't read now?" Dean demanded with indignation.

"Enochian? Yes," Castiel said deliberately.

"Guys!" Martin cried desperately.

"What!" Dean called back, annoyed.

"Is that real fire? Cos it's kinda right under the fire suppression system."

Sam and Dean looked at the flames, then up at the tiny sprinkler in the ceiling.

"Sprinklers," they said at each other, ideas dawning.

"Uhm… Are you sure you're not Sam and Dean?" Martin dared. "Only, they do that a lot in the early books."

The Winchesters shared a look. They turned and faced Martin. "No," they chorused.

"Damn. I was kind of hoping you were."

"Why?" Castiel asked, apparently more curious than he was interested in the struggling angel in his grip.

"Well… for one, even though the books are crap, I still kinda… Well, I like the The Boys," Martin admitted quietly, missing Castiel's expression of vindication and perhaps amusement. "And two, I can't believe someone like Chuck could make stuff up like that."

"Who, Chuck? He's that much of a piss-poor writer he couldn't even get a letter into Penthouse for--" Dean stopped short. He gasped, snapping his fingers as he turned to look at Sam.

Sam's face brightened all over in abrupt inspiration and he turned on his brother. "Chuck?"

"Chuck," Dean nodded.

"Chuck?" Castiel wondered.

"Chuck!" the boys cried.

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