Hola Mishamigos. Sorry for the cliffhanger there! I should probably stop doing that, but for some reason it's quite fun for me. Well, in any case, enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen

"You got anything to say, or are you just gonna sit with your thumbs up your ass?" Dean asked Cas, who had been silent for over a minute now.

"I do not have any of my fingers—" Castiel started to correct Dean, as if it was a reflex. When he saw the wrathful look on Dean's face he stopped short, though. If he didn't get to the point quick, Dean might get too angry to be reconciled.

"You remember your time in Hell, correct? The endless ways that Alastair found to torture, and even manipulate you?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and glowered at Cas. If looks could kill then Cas, along with anything living in a ten-mile radius, would be stone dead. Cringing a little at Dean's hostility, Castiel took that as a yes and a signal to continue before Dean lost his temper.

"Well, Alastair is just a demon," Dean scoffed at that. In his mind Alastiar was much more than 'just a demon.' Had Lucifer's existence not already been confirmed, Dean might have been convinced that Alastair was the Devil himself.

"And Uriel is an angel. A very wrathful and, regrettably, creative angel. So when they took me that day, it was not just for a rap on the knuckles."

Castiel felt a hand on his shoulder and sensed an angry Grace behind him. Suddenly he was somewhere else, though he couldn't say that this turn of events surprised him.

"I thought I warned you, Castiel," boomed a low but furious voice.

Castiel knew that excuses were useless and that he just had to face what was coming to him. A dark thought formed in his head. One full of remorse. He wished that he had continued to stay away from Dean. He had tried so hard in the beginning, but even after a week he could barely keep himself from answering the Winchester's calls.

Now Dean could be forced to pay the price of Castiel's selfishness.

His head was bowed down and he spun around, ripping Uriel's hand off his shoulder in the process. As it turned out, this action looked much more threatening than he had intended and pretty soon hands were around his throat in a vice-like grip.

"You know what's going to happen, don't you Castiel?" Uriel asked, in an almost mocking tone. Castiel had the strong urge to spit into this terrible angels face, but resisted. He couldn't risk making Uriel any angrier than he already was. He had to think about Dean now, and making Uriel mad would only increase his chances of smiting Dean. Castiel had to attempt to save Dean from that fate. Even if it was, as he recalled Dean saying once before, too little too late.

Nodding solemnly, Cas waited for the inevitable. He was not disappointed. What had been an empty warehouse with peeling paint and danky windows was suddenly a torture chamber. Scanning the room, Castiel recognized all the usual machines. He had seen, been victim of, and unfortunately used on others, many of them.

His eyes quickly found a contraption that was unfamiliar, and he studied it. He looked at it with the fascination of a child looking at an insect, not one assessing the ways in which he would soon be tortured.

It was obviously new, from the silvery gleam that it reflected. In the center was a seat, well cushioned, which made even Castiel raise his eyebrows. It was very unlike Uriel to provide comfort to his victims. Surrounding the chair was many levers, gears, and pulleys. He could see a knob that controlled the levels of whatever it is this machine was meant to do. It only went up to ten, which was a disturbing thought. If it only went to ten, and Uriel was using it, it meant that level one was going to be bad enough.

"That's my latest invention," Uriel commented with a hint of pride in his voice. Castiel couldn't help but think to himself how sick someone had to be to invent something that looked so menacing and evil. Then he reminded himself that Castiel had been ordered to design some of the machinery that was in the room, and he silenced his own hypocritical thoughts.

"Are you ready, brother?" There was not a hint of compassion in Uriel's deep voice. If anything it was excitement. Castiel inwardly apologized to his vessel for all that he was about to go through, and nodded somberly. It was better this way than Dean being hurt.

He wouldn't have thought that if he had known what exactly it was that Uriel's new creation did.

"Wait—he tortured you? Is there not a divine rule against that?" Dean wondered incredulously, not even attempting to cover his shock. Heaven sure was fucked up. Poor Sammy, it must be such a letdown for him.

Castiel was staring at the ground, hands resting on top of each other in his lap. His reply was sad and Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for the poor guy. "Uriel doesn't 'play by the book,' as you might say."

"Jeez, Cas. I'm sorry."

Castiel looked up. It had been so long since Dean had shown him any compassion whatsoever. Even if it was pity, Cas would take what he could get. He was going to reply, to say something reassuring back, but the moment was over as quickly as it had come. Dean went back to his normal self, all bark and bite.

"So what the hell did you do to you, anyway?" Dean asked gruffly, perhaps trying to make up for his unanticipated display of emotions moments before.

"Everything, I suppose. It was days until he was done—with the routine torture, that is. When he moved onto his own innovation he…savored it."

Castiel had just gotten through being carved into such small pieces he was surprised Uriel was able to put them all back together. But he had great power, and he did. Just so they could start again.

He had already been doused with gasoline and set aflame, roasting alive. And he handled it without even so much as a peep. This had angered Uriel, who wanted the satisfaction of seeing the only angel who dared disobey him scream. Castiel knew this, though, and refused to give into what Uriel desired.

He lasted through the water boarding, which he thought was fairly human for Uriel's style. Perhaps he was running out of good ideas by that point. It had been two days since they had started, and there was only so many ways you could torture.

They had already gone through the usual human things, such as the being hanged, the electric chair, and the slow suffering of various earthly diseases. Now Uriel was getting his evil-groove back.

As the pure acid washed over him, he could feel the skin and flesh of his vessel disintegrating. This made him little more than angry, for the vessel he was contained inside of had done nothing to deserve this. He would get justice for this wrong when it was over, he decided.

Uriel got more creative and fetched Castiel his own personal brazen bull. After his was forced into the brass animal, a fire was lit beneath him. Cas was condemned to sit in it as it heated up, burning through him and killing him slowly.

Cas said nothing as Uriel broke every bone in his body one by one, starting from the feet until he smashed in his skull. Castiel could feel the wet stickiness of blood dripping down his face, but he knew that he would heal in mere seconds, if that. Maybe if he got through this, Uriel would be able to understand just how far his feelings for Dean extended.

It was a dim hope, but it kept him going through the seemingly never-ending agony.

And he almost did make it through the entire thing. He had gotten so close. But eventually Uriel was so fed up with Castiel's inability to react that he called it quits. He told Cas that it was the end, he gave him that hope that maybe things would be okay again. And as Castiel let out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding, Uriel threw him with all his might into the cushioned chair of the shiny new machine.

His head snapped to his wrists and ankles, only to find them bound to the chair with angel-binding sigils. In that moment he could practically feel his hopes flying out the window and his heart splintering. But it didn't break. He wouldn't let it. Not when there was still a chance of getting back to the Winchesters.

Uriel sensed Castiel's crestfallen emotions, and laughed.

"You don't know what you're in for, little brother. This is one of my best."

Castiel went wide-eyed, for the first time in all those days of relentless pain he felt terror fill his heart. Uriel had designed a lot of weapons and devices. If this was his worst, or as he said, he best, than he was really in for it.

Looking back, Castiel knew that was the biggest understatement that his mind had ever made.

Uriel slammed the level up to ten. "Why start easy when you could just get to the good stuff so quickly!" he called, maniacally laughing. Suddenly something smashed into his chest. He felt something like a giant metal claw entering his being. Not his vessel's being, his being. This was not normal for the Uriel's torture.

And if the pain of being wounded himself wasn't bad enough, he knew the claw wasn't just going in for kicks. He could feel it digging around, searching for something. But what?

It clicked in Castiel, and he couldn't help but let out a scream. It was a window-shattering-eardrum-popping-full-fledged angel scream, and even Uriel looked surprised.

Castiel knew that the machine was searching for his Grace. He wondered vaguely through the stabbing pain what it was going to do if it found it and why God hadn't given them the ability to pass out.

For the former, though, he didn't have to wait to long to find out. His Grace was located quickly, and metal fingers clamped down. It was a squeezing that, in a more abstract, angelic way, knocked the wind out of Cas.

He couldn't react at all, but he didn't know what he would do if he had been able to anyway. His hands were bound down both physically and in a more supernatural view. He was stuck there as some machine manhandled his Grace.

As if the pain and aching of another touching his Grace—something that wasn't even alive—wasn't enough, he started to feel something deep within himself. It was very vague, but it was there. It got stronger, and Castiel could swear he could hear something despite his own screaming.

It was almost as if something was whispering to him inside Castiel's own head.

He tried, but was unable to shake the unsettling thought. Especially when the whispering got louder and he started to make out words. Granted, they were in Enochian, but they were words all the same.

In a rough translation, the whispers chanted, "Dean Winchester must die, it is God's will," again and again. The words started melting into Castiel's brain, causing him to feel sick.

The pain was lessening, though the metal hand was still clamped tight on his hot, glowing Grace. He stopped screaming, dumbfounded that something, most likely this machine, seemed to be communicating with him in Enochian.

But when he processed what it was that the contraption had said, his screams were back, louder than ever.

"No…NO!"

Castiel understood what was happening now, though he wished that he didn't. That human was right, ignorance is bliss.

Uriel had built a device that weaved its way into an angel's Grace and bent the truth inside of it on a whim. He was at the full mercy of Uriel now, who had very little, if any, compassion at all.

This machine had found his weakness, and it was tightening around even Castiel's current thoughts like a vice. He couldn't control it, as hard as he resisted. He fought against it, a harder battle than he had ever partaken in with the angels or the Winchesters. Deep down, he knew that he would never be able to win, but Dean always told Cas that they'd 'go down fighting' in situations like this, and the angel had agreed. Castiel was determined to stay true to his word, for it might be the last thing he ever consciously chose to do.

It was six hours before Castiel made any noise. He had lost, but his thoughts had no recollection of any battle every taking place. He opened his mouth and spoke words that weren't his own.

"Dean Winchester must die, it is God's will."

Uriel smiled. He had won. No angel would dare betray him now. No angel was strong enough.