So, Castiel is living with a couple of Demon Lord brothers. Putting it together yet?
One Wing in the Fire (3)
When Castiel opened his eyes, he saw only a wash of soft blue lined in gold. He blinked several times, trying to understand what it was. Then, slowly, he realized it was the canopy of a bed. He pushed himself upright, feeling silken sheets beneath his fingers, and looked around. Translucent curtains hung against the posts of the four poster he lay in, open to the rest of the room.
It was pleasant enough, if a bit gaudy by Castiel's standards. The walls were the pale gray of the stone, the carpet a deep gray, there was a table by the window, a couple of deep blue chairs laced in gold thread, a dresser with a stereo system sitting on it, the doors of what was possibly a closet, and a large, flat television hanging across the room from him. Castiel blinked at it in wonder. It looked completely out of place.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a moment to assess his injuries. They were mostly healed, wrapped in careful bandages and tenderly stitched together again. His wings were a different matter. New feathers had already begun to grow back but without his Grace, the process was slow. The healer who had patched him up had bound his left wing, setting the bones back in their original position with delicate precision. Castiel swallowed, unsure about how to feel about this supposed kindness.
The door to his room opened and he spun about in a panic, blue eyes wide as he stared at the demon who had entered. She froze, still holding the bowl of warm water in her hands. The angel and the demon stared at one another for a moment and then the demon blinked and said,
"Lord Amon and Lord Astaroth are in the dining hall. They will be pleased to see you are awake."
Castiel did not trust himself to say anything so he nodded once, slowly.
"You should probably get dressed."
It was then that the angel realized he was completely naked and hurriedly hid himself behind his right wing.
Demon clothing, Castiel decided, was not to his liking.
For some reason, Astaroth and Amon seemed to have a great affinity for numerous amounts of useless belts and straps on their clothing. The majority of their servants were the same way and Castiel could only imagine the horrors that went on in Amon's harem.
As it was, he was forced into the same garb and instantly wished for his robes back. A pale blue, button down shirt covered the bandages still wrapped across his chest (demons were not apt at healing, especially angels) and a pair of black pants sagged around his ankles, even with the five belts looping across his waist. But the worst part, he decided, was the stupid coat. It was too big for him, with belts lashed across the upper arms and across the chest, and it reached down his knees. The demons called it a trench coat. Castiel called it ridiculous.
After he had dressed, his wings passing easily though the fabric of the clothes as if it wasn't even there, the demon girl led him from the room. He followed her silently, observing in greater detail what he hadn't earlier. There were other demons milling about in the halls, some bearing armor and weapons, others carrying trays or scrolls or stacks of books. Some had collars of red or black around their necks; Castiel supposed that the red ones were the property of Amon while the black likely belonged to Astaroth. He briefly wondered what color his own collar was.
The dining hall, when he arrived, was a ridiculously large room with an arched ceiling stretching overhead and dotted with three different chandeliers, all lit with electricity. A fire was roaring needlessly against one wall in a massive fireplace but most of the room was dominated by a long, polished wooden table. At one end sat Amon, digging eagerly into a plate of bloody meat. At his right sat Astaroth, delicately slicing his own meat into small chunks though he had not eaten anything yet. Slightly put off by the sight, Castiel slid into a seat at the opposite end of the table, farthest from the Demon Lords, tense, feathers ruffled.
"Cas!" Amon sounded pleased as punch as he looked up at the angel, "Join us!"
Castiel looked down at the plate of meat that had been placed in front of him and then turned back to look at the Demon Lords,
"I…thought that demons did not need to eat." Just like angels.
"We don't" Astaroth said in his mild tones, popping open one of the valves on the side of his gasmask, "We simply enjoy the sensation." With that, he raised a fork to the hold in his mask and dropped a piece of meat in. Castiel did not enjoy the sounds that came from the other side of that mask.
"Eat!" Amon gestured wildly, teeth showing in a bloody grin, the belts across his face stained with the meat he'd been feasting on, "Eat, Castiel, eat!"
The angel once again looked down at the food before him. He felt no desire to consume it so he gently pushed it away, "No thank you. I do not need to eat."
Amon froze and his green eyes blazed, "It will help you heal." The Demon Lord growled.
Castiel, known for being one of the most stubborn of his regiment's soldiers, crossed his arms over his chest and did not move. Amon let out a low, rumbling growl that rattled the dishware on the table. Astaroth calmly picked up a crystal decanter and filled his gold and glass goblet with dark wine before drinking deeply, ignoring his brother's temper.
"Eat." Amon commanded, the word hot lava and burning coals between his teeth.
"I will not indulge in your demonic rituals." Castiel replied flatly.
A popping crackle filled the air, like breaking bones, and, in a rush of air, Amon's wings sprang from his back. They were massive things, metallic black and blood red veined in a deep crimson and violet, tipped in meat hooks that raised sparks against the stone as they spread. They were a huge, intimidating force and Castiel's own wings wanted to flare in return but he kept them pulled in, refusing to answer the challenge. He had no power in Hell.
Amon glared at Castiel for a long moment, those wings poised wide open and motionless. Then, with a snarl, he spun away and stomped from the hall, wings collapsing against his back so he could fit through the door and slam it shut behind him. Silence for a moment and then a furious roar that made Castiel flinch rang through the stone walls.
"Great, you've made him lose his temper." Astaroth said coldly and Castiel turned to him, "There's no telling how long he'll be pitching a fit now."
"I will not apologize." Castiel's response was clipped but his bravado abruptly dropped to the pit of his stomach when Astaroth turned those black eyes on him.
"We are trying to be nice." Astaroth hissed, "You're not a slave here, angel, you're a guest. Amon is going out of his way to be hospitable and you are stomping on that. If you do not wish to have your wings torn from your back and hung like trophies on my brother's wall then I suggest a slight change in attitude."
And then, as if nothing had changed, the Demon Lord turned back to his meal and calmly continued eating. Castiel remained frozen in his seat, lodged there by terror and astonishment.
How far above "slave" was a "guest"?
By the time Amon had calmed down enough to put his wings away and reenter the dining hall, Castiel had made an attempt to eat some of the meat. It was uncomfortably juicy but the taste was better then he expected. He had eaten half before deciding that was all he could handle and pushing his plate away.
But the Demon Lord's eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw that Castiel had at least tried so that was something.
After the plates had been cleared and Amon had finished consuming an entire, flat dished treat he reverently called a "pie", he and Astaroth pushed back their chairs and got to their feet. Castiel followed suit, winching a bit as he shuffled his feathered wings.
"What activities did you plan for today?" The angel asked. Heaven was run on a strict set of schedules and rules, everyone kept busy, there was always something going on, something to be done.
But Amon simply stared at him like he'd suddenly grown another head, "Activities? Plan? Dude, lighten up. We're Lords of Hell, we do whatever we want, whenever we want."
"We have to deal with some souls today, Amon." Astaroth cut in smoothly and his brother scowled at him, "Castiel can join us in that, it will be good experience."
There was an unfinished end to that sentence. Something that went along the lines of, "for when he becomes a demon".
Castiel shuddered at the thought but there was little he could do. Imagine if his brothers ever found him (though doubted they were even trying to look for him by now) and he was a demon. They would simply smite him on the spot. The thought filled Castiel with cold dread and he wished that he had died on Alastor's rack because that probably would have been better than what was going to happen to him, no matter how nice it seemed now.
"Cas, you all right?" The angel blinked and looked around to see Amon's emerald eyes staring into his own blue ones.
"Y-yes." The angel dropped his gaze, fearing the Demon Lord's rage, "I just…this is Hell and I…"
"I get it, you're scared out of your mind." Amon reached up a clawed hand to clap Castiel on the shoulder, remembered the angel's injuries, and instead opted for patting him on the head, "'S okay, we have that effect on people." And he sauntered off, tail swinging, pausing at the door to see if the other two were following him.
Astaroth brushed past Castiel, the hem of his wing-like cloak brushing the angel's legs, "Come on, no one's going to hurt you. I promise."
Castiel swallowed and hurried to keep up, walking just behind the two Demon Lords as they turned down the stairs, "Do you treat all your "guests" to this much attention?" He asked uncertainly.
"Only the ones we really like." Amon answered, "We like to try new things, experiment, play around, see how fast we can turn a human soul." He grinned, showing off his mouthful of sharp teeth again, "Sometimes me and Ashy compete to see who does it faster. I usually win."
Castiel had a moment of confusion before he realized that "Ashy" was Astaroth. Apparently giving people nicknames was just something Amon did and had nothing to do with taking away one's given name.
"Like I said," Astaroth said, a smile in his voice as he looked over his shoulder at Castiel, "We prefer pleasure over war."
"And turning souls into creatures of evil is fun?" There was a condemning note in Castiel's voice that he didn't bother to hide. He was an Angel of the Lord. These were demons. They were evil, no questions asked.
Amon stopped and whirled on him, shoving right into the angel's personal space until Castiel could feel the heat of hellfire flaring off the demon's soul. Hellfire and…something else. But before he could put his finger on it, the Demon Lord was growling in his face.
"It's better than war." Amon ground out, "It's better than fighting for no reason at all. And, what, you think these souls are innocent? You think they don't deserve the hellfire and the brimstone and the taste of ash and the burn of hot cinders? They're the worst of humanity; murders, adulators, thieves, the lowest scum of the human race. And compared to what Alastor and Asmodeus do to them, they get off lightly by coming to us. You should see what happens to the ones who make deals with Crowley if you think simply turning them into demons is horrible."
With an angry snort, the Demon Lord turned away and stalked down the rest of the steps towards a door opening to the outside. Castiel swallowed and looked to Astaroth who looked blankly back before turning away to follow his brother. Castiel trailed after him, not sure what he should be feeling. Amon had claimed that he and Astaroth were being merciful with the souls they got from Earth and, based on the time he had spent with Alastor, Castiel was having a hard time doubting them.
But he still did not want to become a demon and lose his Grace. He did not want to fall like his brother Lucifer, the brightest star in Heaven who had rebelled and crashed to Earth.
He did not want that.
He was shaken from his thoughts by a warm breeze across his face. Castiel looked up and saw a burning red sky overhead, peppered with heavy black clouds that rained spat ash and lightning. A high wall topped in iron spikes surrounded what looked like the barracks for an army, though it was a small place compared to the soldier barracks on Heaven's front lines. The buildings were squat, stone structures set against the wall, leaving a wide open space like a marching ground in the middle. Huddled in this space was a group of terrified human souls. Castiel estimated their number to be about fifteen. Perhaps another part of Amon's and Astaroth's bargain had been a smaller cut of the souls.
"Line them up." Astaroth commanded and a couple of demon soldiers weeded through the group, lining them up in a ragged line before backing away again. The humans looked at the two Demon Lords with absolute and utter fear. Castiel didn't blame them.
Amon stepped forward and Castiel noticed that he had made his wings appear again, though they were folded loosely at his back. The Demon Lord of Wrath and Revenge liked to intimidate when he could.
"Scrawny batch, aren't they, Astaroth?" Amon muttered, raising his scepter and sticking it under one of the human men's chin to force the man to look him in the eye.
"Looks like it, Amon." Astaroth replied, black eyes sweeping the group. No one would meet his gaze, "We might have to speak with Alastor and Asmodeus about giving us a fair portion. Just because we don't fight in their war doesn't mean they can short change us."
The man Amon was peering at still would not look the Demon Lord in the eye. His fervent gaze darted around, looking for an escape, and eventually lit upon Castiel. The angel blinked his blue eyes and titled his head as he gazed at the soul. Even with his Grace weak, he could still see every misdeed the man had committed; murdered innocents in a grocery store to steal pocket money, another dead for the paper in his wallet, the list went on.
"Help me." The man pleaded, "Please, I beg forgiveness! Please, angel, I pray to Lord our God, Almighty Father in Heaven, please, please, save me!"
Amon looked over his shoulder at Castiel and grinned, "What, the angel? Hey, Castiel, come here."
Trepidation filled Castiel but he moved forward all the same, stepping warily up to the Demon Lord's side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astaroth leaning into another soul's personal space as though attempting to have a close quarters staring match with them.
"Yes, Amon?"
Amon reached out his free hand and hooked his claws into the collar around Castiel's neck, hauling him forward until their shoulders touched. Again, Castiel felt the hellfire in Amon's tainted soul blazing bright and again, he sensed something underneath it but the demon's claws so close to his throat were a bit distracting.
"See this?" Amon jerked at the collar and the man who still had the red stone pressed under his chin nodded, "This means he's ours. We're experimenting, see, to see if we can turn an angel into a demon. He can't save you. You're being punished, asshole, for all those murders you committed, for all those lives you ruined, for all the innocents you sent to Heaven before their time!"
The man looked absolutely terrified and Amon soaked it up. Revenge. This was his treat, Castiel realized. The brothers terrorized the souls, drowned them in their own wrongs until they had taken their fill. What happened then, the angel didn't know.
"I'm sorry…!" The human souls were crying, begging, falling to their knees, "Please, I'm sorry! Forgive me! I didn't mean to! Give me another chance! I won't do it again! I had no choice! Please, please, please!"
Amon stepped away from the soul he'd been tormenting, his fingers still in Castiel's collar, and looked on in satisfaction as the souls before him wept bitterly at their fate. He looked to Astaroth who also appeared to be smiling but it was hard to tell behind that mask. Amon turned to the soldiers waiting on the sidelines.
"Throw them in the Pit." He commanded, "Let 'em stew in there for a couple of days and think about what they've done."
The soldiers obeyed, hauling the screaming souls to their feet and dragging them out a small, wooden side door. As it slammed shut behind them, Amon let out a satisfied snort, smiling to himself.
"Um, Amon…" Castiel said tentatively.
"Hm?" The Demon Lord glanced at him in a disinterested sort of way.
"Uh, could you…possibly let me go now?"
Amon frowned as though trying to understand what Castiel meant until he realized that he'd been hauling the angel around by the neck the entire time. He chuckled and released Castiel, stepping back to dust his hands off and head back into the castle. Astaroth brushed passed the angel to follow his brother and sent a crinkled-eyed look that was supposed to be a smile over his shoulder, beckoning with a long finger to tell Castiel to join them.
The angel trotted after the two Demon Lords, now more scared of them than before. But he was also confused. He had just seen some of the terrifying power of Amon and Astaroth up close but at the same time, the two bothers were showing him an unprecedented amount of kindness. They were treating him more like a pet than a guest; feeding him, patting him on the head, dragging him around everywhere. But despite all that, despite the hellfire he could see burning in their souls, he sensed something else.
There was more to the Demon Lords than they had shown him.
But what it was, he did not know.