"Damn it, Cas!" Dean said as he blinked against his pitch black surroundings.
He didn't need light to see. He knew what Cas had done, and it took him exactly two seconds to logic where Cas had sent him.
And where Cas still was. Alone. Probably about to die.
Dean's chest tightened, his eyes still replaying the earthquake of power that surged into the house.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Dean yelled, feeling his way towards the door when suddenly, it swung open forcefully, Sam's shadowy outline in the hallway, pointing a gun in his face.
Sam hesitated as the light fell on Dean's form.
"Dean?" he questioned, clearly more than a little surprised that the sudden noise of an intruder had, in fact, been his brother. Then, more forcefully, Sam croaked "Where the hell have you been, Dean? I've been looking for you everywhere. And," he paused, a thought hitting him, "how did you get here anyway?"
But Dean was bolting down the hall, barely listening.
"Cas," he said. One word in explanation. And it was fully of fury.
"C'mon Sam," Dean said, his voice more angry than Sam had heard him in a long time. He was practically running down the halls. "I have an angel to kill," then more quietly: "if the demon's haven't already done the job."
Cas tilted his head, trying to quiet his mind as Dean's prayers came pouring into his awareness. The hunter was practically shouting at him now, sentences strung together with barely enough words in between each expletive to make any sense.
The angel felt the sting of Dean's words as the ground continued to shake, the light outlets bursting with sparks not unlike the night that Cas had met Dean and Bobby in the shed so long ago. And the house groaned, breaking in the pressure, a gigantic fracture spreading from the ground to the ceiling groaning as a crack grew upward, splitting the wood.
"If you get hurt tonight, I'll kill you myself," Dean's prayer rang inside the angel's head. And Cas couldn't help but feel a bittersweet sentiment at the hunter's angry promise.
Just say goodbye, Cas thought to himself sadly in response, but he wasn't even sure he meant it. Because it wouldn't be Dean to let it all go that way. To give up the fight. It was one of the main reasons Cas had always admired the hunter so much. The reason Cas needed to do whatever it took to keep the hunter safe. Even at the cost of his own life.
Cas grounded himself with his blade, fingers digging into the divots of the ancient weaponry feeling comforted by its heavy weight. His entire existence had known the glint of light that bounced off the metal's silver shaft, and he used its familiarity to convince himself that this would just be another battle in the midst of countless others he'd fought in.
After all, the angelic blades had been forged inside the same conjuring fires as the angels themselves, and it was part of him.
Cas knew he wasn't the only heavenly being that saw the blade as more than a powerful accessory. Though the discrepancies were invisible to the naked eye, Cas knew, every blade was unique—built around the angel they served. An appendage of both their grace and angelic calling.
He raised his weapon in the air thinking of its symbol. Of what it meant to be an angel. To obey. To fight. Even if he'd left heaven's ideals and causes behind, Cas could still serve one purpose. One person. Dean.
Another light bulb blew, abandoning Cas to the darkness. Then, everything went still.
Then, slowly, Cas could see their shadows as they appeared to him. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five clearly demonic forms walking forward with strict militaristic training in their advance to Cas. They stopped just beside the angel circling him in a ring of darkness.
And this close, Cas could see it—the skeletal, eerie features that claimed every demon with the marks of hell. Of torture. A lack of humanity that even monsters didn't posses. Each of them dark and dripping with power.
But it wasn't the sense of darkness that made Cas suddenly involuntarily shiver, but the reminder of the light. The ashy outline of each demon's scorched and impotent wings. The glint of an angel blade inside every hand, not unlike Cas's own.
And, perhaps the most chilling effect—the way Cas could clearly make out the damage to each human vessel, its soul long lost and dead, leaving only the broken remains of what used to be his angelic brothers. His sisters.
"Castiel," a voice came, waking him from his hypnotic gaze. The demon's voice had changed from when Cas had heard it last, long, long ago, but Cas recognized it anyway. Despite her black eyes. Despite the way her form barely resembled anything of its former self.
"No," Cas whispered and closed his eyes, anger filling his chest. Cas knew heaven's crimes better than almost anyone. Knew it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for ancient angelic rumors to hold some truth. But, even if a part of him had come here tonight knowing it was possible, another part of Cas was revolted by the idea to the point of denial.
But, to his dismay, he'd been right. And, standing in front of him was the proof:
Heaven had created their own demonic army.