AN: I'm sorry on many accounts today! (1) I do try to update in good time. Like I said before the first part, I hope to update at least once a week. Right now, I'm in the middle of my summer break, so I have some time on my hands. (I should actually be doing my summer assignments, but that's another story.) I fear how long the time will be between my updates once school starts, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. (2) This is the last chapter I have prepared in advance. It'll definitely be a while before the next one. (3) The journey this story makes is from a note on my phone to a Word document to here, and it still isn't beta'd so all mistakes are completely mine - please point them out to me if you find any!
What did you do? Dean cried.
"I bound him," Beelzebub said simply.
Bound him? With what? Dean persisted. He knew his questions were ridiculous, but he was trying to buy time, to stall the demon, and to allow Castiel to free himself.
"What do you think, ape?" Beelzebub snapped. "If you're going to be this slow, I might as well shut you out."
No! Dean said quickly, afraid of what that might mean. Like a coward, he crumbled at the thought of what else Beelzebub could do to him. He'd been to Hell once already; he couldn't bare that torture again topside.
"You'll be good?" Dean felt his face twist into a smile.
Excuse me? Dean snapped. No way!
"Really now?" Beelzebub asked inciting more pain. "Well, then, I'll just have to shut you out."
What do you want? Dean barked.
"Why, I only want you to behave," the demon answered sweetly. His voice deepened dangerously: "So, will you?"
But what's your grand plan, you sick puppeteer? Dean spat, desperately searching through the pain for better, witty insults knowing he didn't sound a millimeter near frightening. Why now? What are you here for? Why me?
"Why you? Why, Dean!" Beelzebub sputtered flabbergasted. "You really should put more faith in yourself. Don't you know how special you are? How strong and respected you are? I can easily do whatever I want in you, and no one, not a single hunter, would bother me because who is better than the great Dean Winchester? You're the best hunter around; nothing can possess you – you'd kill it first!"
Flattery's gonna get you nowhere, Dean paused for a moment, assbutt! he finally finished.
"Assbutt?" the demon repeated. Across the room, Castiel winced at the horrible insult. "Now, Dean, what does that even mean? Please, just stop wasting your breath and obey!" With the last word, a new pain cut through Dean. Instead of a hot poker, the demon seemed to employ a pair of shears to slice his host into small, agonizing pieces. Dean bit back a scream as memories of his time with Alistair resurfaced.
"So what'll it be? Will you be good?"
Grudgingly, he panted, Yes.
"Yes, what?" Beelzebub teased.
Yes, what, what? Dean snapped.
"Yes, what?" Beelzebub repeated calmly, sated by Dean's submission. "Will you be good?"
Seething but without options, Dean muttered, Yes, I... I'll be good. He felt another strong urge to punch something. His self-loathe doubled in that instant.
"And you'll do as I say?" Beelzebub asked sweetly. Dean growled in response. Beelzebub tightened the shears and twisted the hot poker again. Pain erupted in Dean and he could barely breathe, let alone speak for a minute. "Dean..." the demon chided.
Fine! he groaned, desperate to curl into the fetal position. It felt like he was strung up against a wall, just hanging there for the enemy to poke and prod and torture, with no way to defend himself. He could only talk and shove at it, but how he was shoving he didn't even know. Fine, yes.
"Yes, what?" Beelzebub eased the pain just slightly.
Yes, I'll, he grunted in discomfort, feeling his pride slip away, I'll do as you say.
"Ooh, good." Beelzebub grinned, giving Dean one last jab of pain, sharper than all the others that would have left him in tears if his eyes would listen to him. "I knew you'd come around."
Not like I have a choice, Dean scoffed, trying to maintain whatever control he could and really just reasoning with his lost pride.
"Now," Beelzebub returned his attention to the angel standing in front of him. Castiel still stood in that defiant position with narrowed eyes and fists at his sides. His mouth was a thin, pale line, and his hair was mussed as it was when Dean first met him. The memory instilled the slightest amount of hope in Dean as he remembered how strong that original, good soldier Castiel had been. At the same time, however, Dean thought about how much Castiel had changed, how much he personally had changed Castiel. He sighed, losing that feeble hope. Castiel's changes weren't exactly horrible – over the years, the brothers had humanized him, given him emotions and personality, altogether making him a better person – but in this case, when the emotionless soldier was needed and the nervous, distracted angel answered, Dean was worried.
As he listened to Dean's thoughts, the demon laughed. "Are you going to be good, Castiel?" Beelzebub asked flirtatiously.
The angel shuddered ever so slightly at his tone. "What do you want?" he spat.
"I want you to answer the question," Beelzebub said, his smile daring the angel to disobey.
He did: "No."
Not caring whether or not Beelzebub sensed it, Castiel reached out again to Gabriel. He didn't want his brother to know where he was or even to know where his brother was, he only wanted to know that he was with Sam and that they were safe. Beelzebub's smile widened at his answer, and Castiel only stared daringly and determinedly forced to or not. After a tense moment, in which Dean was more than confused but was too afraid ask anything, Castiel bit down on his lip in pain. His fists tightened, and he took a sharp, deep breath through his nose. Dean swore he saw tears in his best friend's eyes. "Feeling it yet?" Beelzebub inquired.
"What is that?" Castiel growled. He remained completely still. Only his countenance expressed how much pain he was in and even that was measured. Castiel refused to look weak in front of this enemy; he refused to submit to the fire burning in all of his extremities, most severely in his chest where he supposed his grace was centered. His lower back felt like it was curling in on itself, and his stomach felt like it was melting from the inside out; but, worst of all, his heart felt like it was sitting in an inferno. He could feel real flames liking at and inside his chest. He could feel his spine tingling and breaking. He felt his lower back and abs boiling.
"I believe you're familiar with the binding I used?" Castiel nodded tightly. "Well, that's the punishment I chose."
"But what is the punishment?" Castiel gasped.
"Your grace is on fire, Castiel," Beelzebub explained innocently as the angel ground his teeth and visibly held back a groan. Dean didn't understand how he was still so erect if he was in so much pain. His mind went into overdrive trying to make sense of the situation.
His grace is like his soul, right? he asked himself. Damn, that's gotta hurt! Stupid son of a bitch! Dean thought back to Castiel's report on Sam's soul those months ago: a raw nerve flayed alive. If one devil could do that to Sammy, what could this devil do to Cas?
"You're giving me such wonderful ideas, Dean." Beelzebub's voice was awed and grateful as he sifted through the memories Dean was bringing front and center – the actions of his soulless brother. "I'm so glad you decided to cooperate." Dean mentally slapped himself and resolved to just stop thinking. With some effort, he managed to rid his mind of any memories and instead painted it with some of his favorite Busty Asian Beauties.
Yet Beelzebub continued as if didn't notice. "We need to give Castiel more incentive, don't we?"
Castiel's eyes were watering, and his lips were deathly pale. His entire face was already twisted with such pain, that he actually moaned when Beelzebub suggested more. His eyes grew wide with fear, their expression almost pleading. He knew it was not Dean's fault that he was accidentally aiding the demon, but he wished Dean would stop.
Still, when Beelzebub asked again if he was ready to behave, Castiel whispered, "No." Dean thought he would burst with pride - his best friend was able to resist where he had failed.
"You insolent child!" Beelzebub screamed. Dean felt his fist collide with Castiel's jaw and marveled at how hard and fast the hit was. Immediately he was overcome with guilt that he had done that to his angel. The guilt doubled when he realized he enjoyed the power he had used on his angel. He tried to fight against Beelzebub again but was still so fatigued from holding control for so short a time earlier. Thoughts of deterioration wormed into his mind, bringing doubt and fear, and fought against thoughts of matching Castiel's strength and bravery. For a time, he put absolutely all of his efforts into stopping his arms because nothing was more important to Dean than saving Castiel, but his efforts barely hindered the demon and only resulted in Dean's rapid depletion of strength. It was obvious that he was being absolutely useless, but Dean had to try. He tried and tried until he could barely breathe and his vision was blurring. He knew his fight was hopelessly futile, especially while the demon was empowered by such rage, so, Dean finally went limp in his own body. He cursed himself continuously, but he gave Beelzebub full control. While his spotted vision slowly recovered, he attempted to convince himself that he was only doing just that; he just needed to recuperate, save his strength. He told himself that he wasn't giving up, he wasn't complying, he wasn't too weak, he wasn't aiding a demon, he wasn't abandoning his friend. Regardless, the guilt tripled three times.
With every swing of his arm, the demon taunted Dean's faint. Suddenly, his silky voice was harsh but inviting, asking, "It feels good, doesn't it? To let out your anger and frustration, to feel real power against the one who caused such strife! Think about it: before Castiel came, you and Sammy were fine, weren't you? You were in Hell, where you belonged, and Sammy was being the freak he truly is. Castiel brought all of the recent trials and tribulations. Without him, Ellen and Jo would be alive, wouldn't they?" Dean tried not to listen, but the truth in the words was astounding, if exaggerated. At the same time, Dean received a sudden burst of energy. The names of his loved ones rolling off Beelzebub's tongue in such a flippant way enraged Dean. He threw all of his remaining strength into one last bid for control before the lights went out completely.
On the other receiving end of this conflict, Castiel barely swayed where he stood. He was truly frozen, no matter how hard he tried to move, no matter how hard each blow came. Castiel watched Dean's arm reel back, and the next hit came harder than the last. Castiel lost count of how many times Beelzebub punched him; most connected with his face, others landed on his stomach, some were aimed lower. The pain of each one was intensified by a flare of pain in his stomach. He steeled himself before each blow, but they hurt all the same. Seeing Dean as his assailant seemed to make them hurt more and the filth pouring out of Dean's mouth did not help. The demon was obviously toying with Dean's mind, but it was hitting Castiel hard, too. This was not the first time such accusations had crossed his mind. He knew that Dean could not control himself and was not the one attacking him, but everything hurt all the same. He knew Dean was not to blame, but he could not fight the feeling that Dean could try harder.
Where did that come from? Castiel reprimanded himself. How dare you think that of your Righteous Man?
It came from me, darling, a slimy voice whispered in his ear. Do you think I only know physical pain?
He held out for a long time after, but it felt all too soon when it finally ended; Castiel knew that it would only end for one thing. With a loud cry, Castiel felt the tears finally stream down his face. His legs finally collapsed beneath him. His arms finally rose to shield his face. He was finally on the floor where he could finally fold his knees protectively in front of his chest. Castiel cried out the same thing, but softer, much softer, this time. As he repeated it again in a whisper, both fires in his heart slowly went out: the source of his pain depleted slowly with every repetition of his cry, but the fire that propelled him through life, his passion and his conscience, went out as soon as the first cry was voiced
He failed. He had failed not only himself, but his Dean, and he would certainly never forgive himself for it.
Above him, Beelzebub-as-Dean-Winchester smirked at him with his happiest and most twisted of smiles.
"Yes," Castiel cried again, barely audible though his mouth did move. "I'll do as you say.
"Just make it stop."