A/N: thanks for your support on my first chapter! i'm really on a roll with this fic omfg i can't remember writing this much in so little time
oh i forgot to mention about last chapter, the character "Peter" was made up. i hope this didn't confuse any of you. i pretty much just pulled a name out of my ass. bUT YEAH hope you enjoy!

DEAN

Dean wasn't sure how he did it. Somehow he knew instinctively where to go, like he could hear where he was being called from—it was similar to how Cas had called him, but… different somehow. When another angel called him, it was in a stronger, more powerful intonation. Otherwise, of course, he would've tried to ignore it; he didn't see how he could leave Cas in this state, especially since the former-angel (this is weird, this is so weird) had no idea what he was doing. Not that he was any better—he didn't even know who'd called him. Maybe Uriel? Who knows?

As soon as he relented to his "summoning," (God no, I can't call it that, I sound like a fucking butler) all he had to do was unfurl his wings and give them a few flaps, apparently. He felt clumsy using these brand new appendages, but they must've worked, because the motel room vanished from around him, replaced by the same clean, white light he'd encountered earlier. Heaven. He was back in Heaven. Some part of him hoped this messed-up body-swap thing wouldn't last long for no other reason than that he was wary of this place. If he was dead, it was one thing—but stepping from Heaven to Earth and back like it was nothing… It didn't feel right. He was treading on thin ice, even as an angel.

"Dean."

He turned sharply towards the sound of his name. Shit. It was Uriel.

"You have a mission from Zachariah."

"Zachariah?" repeated Dean in an unnecessarily hostile tone. Even as he said the name, however, an identity sprung to mind, a vague concept of the angel to whom it belonged—the archangel, he realized. Zachariah was one powerful jackass, and about as loose and carefree as a frozen telephone pole. "Tell him he can kiss my ass. I'm not finished downstairs yet."

"What, babysitting your charge?" said Uriel in a tauntingly soft voice. "I know you like him, Dean, but you have more important things to do."

"Yeah? Like what?" snapped Dean, moodily ignoring the quip about him and Cas. "Playing soldier for this big guy 'Zachariah', like he can't do it himself?"

"Mind your tone. You're expendable," warned Uriel, and a part of Dean was pleased to see that the sneering note had vanished from his voice. The other angel reached out a hand and tapped Dean in the middle of the forehead. In the split-second before the other angel's finger made contact, all Dean could think was, What is it with angels and personal space?

The memories and information that Uriel fed to him didn't so much come in a rush as suddenly appear like an unassuming file on a desktop. The thoughts and feelings transferred to him ran through his head as though they'd always been there, and he was just remembering them now. With that touch, he remembered that Lilith was going to try using some of her pawns to break another seal, this one in Washington. He didn't know the specifics, but he knew that four innocent children had already been killed for it.

Wait a minute. Washington. That was where he'd just come from. What had Sam said? "Apparently there are some weird murders going on at the other side of the state…" "That's where Sam and Cas are headed," he said, piecing it together. They were driving straight to Lilith's pawns.

"Yes, it is," said Uriel coolly, with a quirk of his eyebrows that clearly said, "Do you expect me to care?" "So you'd better take care of it quickly."

Dean's jaw clenched, but didn't answer. Guess he'd better get this shit cleaned up fast, then. Shouldn't be too hard, right? He turned, extending his enormous wings and nearly tripping through space because of how unaccustomed he was to having the extra weight. In a couple flaps, he had crossed over what might've been several dimensional boundaries, landing on the other side of Washington, at the edge of a sprawling town. He could sense them already—the aura of demons hung over the place like a rank smell.

Now that he was standing there, it wasn't too difficult to pinpoint exactly where the demonic cloud was strongest, where they were most concentrated. Surprisingly, they seemed to be converging on a church. That would've been his last guess for a typical demon hangout.

In an instant, he was there, standing in between the rows of pews. For a small, local, unassuming church, it seemed pretty magnificent. The wooden beams that ribbed the tall ceiling seemed even higher and grander than usual; the sun slanting through the single stained glass window seemed brighter and more vibrant; the whole place in general just had a good feeling. Must be an angel thing, he supposed. This was, after all, holy—"Shit," he muttered, once his eyes reached the altar.

A vicar was standing at the foot of the altar, in full priest get-up complete with gleaming black eyes. He was holding a little girl by her hair and she was letting out soft panicked sobs. She had a knife against her throat.

There was a high-pitched whistle ringing in Dean's ears. His vision was turning white at the edges. He could feel his wings unfurling and something building in his chest as he started forward, not even sure what he was going to do—just that he was going to make sure that that girl got home to her parents. She let out a pleading cry when she saw him, a cry which he would never forget because it was suddenly cut short with a gurgle and the thump of a body hitting the floor.

Before he could even get to the priest, two other demons appeared out of nowhere. One nailed him in the face so viciously that, the day before, he might've been knocked unconscious. In his current state, though, he just snarled and swung back around to face the thing.

He could see it now, its real face, like he did the day before he was dragged off to Hell. It was black and skeletal and glistening and looked like something rotting on the side of the road. On impulse, he reached for his gun before remembering that he neither had nor needed one. His moment's hesitation, however, earned him another blow to the face, and this time he staggered back, thrown off-balance. The second demon made to mirror its partner's move, but Dean grabbed its fist and felt bones snapping a split-second before unexpected instinct brought his free hand up to press his palm against the demon's forehead, like he'd seen Cas do so many times.

The levee broke. Power surged through him. There was a sound like thunder, and he was sure the ground must've been shaking. Bright light issued from the demon's eyes and mouth. Then it was gone, and he was left with a residual hum of angel juice still pumping through his veins, making his fingers tingle. He turned to face the other demon, but before he could so much as lift a finger, the demon's smoky black form streamed from its meat suit's mouth before vanishing through a broken window.

Amidst the chaos, it seemed, the demon-possessed priest had disappeared, leaving behind the still-bleeding body of the little girl. The white-hot power he'd felt moments ago seemed to drain away with each step he took towards her. She was dead—he knew that even before he crouched down beside her. His lips tightened into a thin line, his brows knitting together in an effort to hide the extra weight of guilt that was now added to his already heavy load.

A second later, he'd stood up and was gone, chasing after the demons' trails.

-x-

SAM

Sam volunteered to drive the two hours it would take to reach their destination, a decision which seemed to greatly relieve Cas. His brother didn't always show a lot of emotion, but Sam had learned to pick up on the subtle things, and it was the slight ease of tension from the set of Cas's shoulders that told him more than words could.

Assuming it was because Cas was tired and wanted the extra time to sleep, he was therefore surprised when his brother climbed into the passenger seat and simply sat, still and straight, staring ahead at the road. His eyes were slightly narrowed and his brows lowered in what Sam could only guess was the mild confusion of someone experiencing something harmlessly strange for the first time. He often spent long road trips sitting silently in the passenger seat without sleeping—Cas was someone who liked to spend a long time simply thinking—but this just seemed different. The expression didn't quite fit.

"Cas?" said Sam experimentally.

After a split-second's pause, Cas turned to look at Sam, his blue eyes unblinking. "Yes?" he asked vaguely.

Sam thought about asking him what was up, but he doubted he'd get a straight answer, especially after the obvious deception concerning Cas and Dean's identity crisis that morning. "Nothing," he said dismissively, dropping his concerns. "Just making sure you're still with me."

There was a moment's silence. "We are still in the same car together," stated Cas, sounding as if he couldn't imagine how this couldn't be.

Sam wasn't surprised by this reaction—Cas often took things too literally. He just smiled to himself and suggested, "Why don't you try to find some tunes?"

Cas reached hesitantly for the stereo. Sam didn't really pay attention to what his brother was doing until he realized that whatever Cas had just pressed had turned on the air conditioning—which, in Washington in the fall, wasn't a very pleasant sensation. Cold air blasted onto his toes and he looked sharply over at the man in the passenger seat. Cas's brow was furrowed, still in that curiously puzzled expression.

"Cas, what're you doing?"

"Attempting to operate the stereo system."

Sam wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. "Dude, that's the air conditioning."

Cas peered closer at the panel. "Oh." A moment later, the flow of frigid air ceased. Cas seemed to be figuring out how to use the radio on the fly—strange, Sam thought, considering that they'd both grown up in this car. Very strange, actually. A minute later, however, he'd managed to find a 70's station, and they listened to Boston's "More Than a Feeling" playing softly through the speakers.

Sam waited until the song was over before venturing to ask for what felt like the fifth time that day, "Are you okay?" He was genuinely concerned for his older brother. Something wasn't right about him—it was like something had been erased. And what was the deal with him freaking out that morning? "I am human, and I do not know why." That was what he had said, wasn't it? He kept going on about "rebelling" and how he had "followed orders." Then there was that bit about the Trickster…

"Yes," replied Cas, but the moment's hesitation before saying so and the deep sigh he heaved afterwards said otherwise.

Sam paused. Maybe what Dean and Cas had tried to tell him had some merit after all. "Did the Trickster do something to you two?"

Cas's answer was so quiet that Sam almost didn't hear it over the radio: "Yes."

He didn't understand why the two of them were trying to keep it a secret. Whatever it was, it seemed to be something big, and it was eating at Cas like little else could. Had they expected it not to have any effect on Sam? "Okay," he said, shrugging, "so what'd he do?"

The other man seemed reluctant to answer, but he explained, "I am not your brother, Sam. I have never been your brother. Your real brother is Dean Winchester. I am—was—the angel who saved him from Hell." He stopped for a moment, as if expecting Sam to cut in and try to deny it. Sam, however, continued to listen patiently—though, he didn't think he could ever accept the fact that Dean was his actual brother. They couldn't possibly be related, could they? "However, last night this… creature called 'the Trickster' appeared. I am not sure what he did or how he did it, but when Dean and I awoke, we found that our roles had interchanged. He became the angel, and I became your brother. I can only assume that the Trickster also altered your memories, so that you now believe this has always been."

Sam thought about this for a minute. It made sense, and it would certainly explain the pair's behavior. On the other hand… From his viewpoint, Cas was and always had been his brother. How could it be any other way? To think that Dean was… No. It was too strange. But then, maybe the current situation seemed too strange to Cas, too… Just thinking about it ran his head in circles. "How do you know your memories haven't been altered?" he asked.

"Because, I—" started Cas, but he broke off abruptly. "I… had not considered that." Sam could sense counter-arguments boiling under his skin, but both of them knew they wouldn't be conclusive. There was no proof one way or another.

"Listen, I'm not saying what you said isn't possible, but isn't it more likely that he just changed your memories instead of changing everyone else's? I mean, even the Trickster can't just strip away an angel's power, can he?" Then again, the Trickster had created a repeating loop concentrating around Sam in which Cas died an infinite amount of times…

"Perhaps." In the silence that followed, Sam could almost hear all the things Cas wanted to add—theories, arguments, evidence… But while Sam gave him about a minute's opportunity, he didn't voice a single one of his concerns.

"After this hunt, we'll look for the Trickster and make him set things straight. In the meantime, though…" He trailed off, only just realizing the complexities of Cas's mental state. If he didn't know how to use the radio in the car that he'd grown up in, then what else didn't he know how to do? "Cas, what do you… Do you remember anything about hunting?" asked Sam cautiously.

"From my perspective, I've never known anything about hunting except what I've seen from you and Dean," replied Cas calmly.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and stared resolutely down the road. This wasn't good. It meant that when they reached their destination, he'd have to give Cas an overview of everything they'd ever learned about hunting in their lives and hope that it would be enough… His grip tightened on the steering wheel. What if Cas no longer had the skills to survive in the same dangerous settings he'd been facing all his life? What if he could no longer repel ghosts or exorcise demons? Sam suddenly felt as though he was driving Cas to his death.

He gave his head a little shake. If Cas didn't remember anymore, then Sam would just have to re-teach him. In the meantime, however, his curiosity got to him and he asked, "Me and Dean… What was that like?"

He glanced over at his brother (if he was, after all, his brother) to see a slight upturning to his lips and a softness to his eyes that just barely spoke of fondness. It could've been Sam's imagination, but he could've sworn his voice carried a note of affection as he said, "Well, you are certainly a pair. You've defied everyone's expectations from the start, especially in terms of lifespan… Time after time, every effort on either of your lives has been foiled or flouted in some way. You die for each other, again and again. I don't know much about the specifics of your relationship, but I can tell you that the Winchesters have set a new standard for humanity." He paused. "Most of the angels don't like you. I have recently…" he started to sound reluctant here, "…developed a soft spot." Sam had forgotten—Cas thought he was an angel, too.

For a moment, Sam said nothing. It was weird to hear Cas describe their relationship as though it existed with someone else. "But what was Dean like? Even just superficially. All I've ever known of him is… well, he seems like a jerk."

He heard a rare chuckle from his right. "Oh, he is," said Cas, "usually." There was a long pause; he seemed to be gathering his thoughts on the subject. He began to list things off, hesitating slightly between each one as if struggling to come up with more than one or two: "He enjoys classic rock. He refers to this car as his 'baby'. He calls almost everyone 'dude' and is constantly referencing things I do not understand." He paused again. "Oh, and he is fond of the delicacy you call 'pie'."

"Pie?" repeated Sam with a chuckle.

"Pie," affirmed Cas.

Sam had never really thought of Dean in such a way before. The way Cas described him, he almost sounded… normal. All those little quirks certainly seemed to fit, too—even in Sam's memories, as an angel, Dean had seemed oddly protective of the Impala, like he thought it deserved better care than Sam or Cas could offer. And he had, from the beginning, looked down on Sam's slightly mellower music tastes, calling it "disgraceful" and "undignified." The dude's and the references, too, hadn't gone unnoticed—even his expressions and euphemisms were characteristically unique, and he scarcely had a conversation without slipping in at least five. The pie thing, though… Well, he couldn't say he was expecting that. He tucked it away for later—maybe it'd come in handy for bribery or something.

The rest of the drive passed without a word. Sam had about a hundred more questions that Cas probably didn't know the answer to, and the other man seemed perfectly content to ride in silence while Sam wondered at them. What was life like with Dean as his brother? Did they fight a lot, or was it mostly just bickering? What was their arrangement for driving? What was Dean's attitude on hunting? Did he do it voluntarily? Was he as difficult to read as Cas was sometimes? Cas had said he liked listening to classic rock. Did he sing to it in the car, regardless of whether or not Sam was with him?

Sam found it hard to imagine Dean watching over him in the same big-brotherly-way that Cas had, but he entertained himself for the remaining hour and a half of the drive by envisioning certain situations and how Dean handled them. Would Dean have felt guilty after being saved by the faith-healer? Would Dean have been unable to kill Sam when he'd been possessed by a demon? Would Dean have held Sam in his arms when he was dying from getting knifed in the back? How had Dean felt when he heard the hellhounds howling for him? What would it have been like to find Dean on the floor, dead and bloodied from the hellhounds' claws, instead of Cas?

What was even stranger to Sam was trying to picture Castiel as an angel. He had a good enough heart, certainly, and every once in a while—even before this whole fiasco—he'd say something that would just strike Sam as, well, other-worldly. But an angel? Somehow he couldn't see Cas as such a powerful being. He was too… well, not humble, but he didn't quite carry himself like that. There had always been a certain rigidity to his posture ever since they were kids, but there was still a fluidity to it that said human. And from Sam's point of view, he didn't seem to fit into the whole all-angels-are-assholes mold that Dean and Uriel had already cast.

There was one thing Sam had never understood, though, and that was their names. "Dean" had never struck him as an angelic name, and no matter how hard he searched he couldn't find any records of any sort of angelic being with the name. Castiel, on the other hand—that was a different story. Sam never asked why his parents had given that name to his older brother, and thinking about it now, he could come up with no suitable explanation. There was an angel named "Castiel", which was the angel of Thursdays, but that made no sense. There was even one named "Cassiel", which was the angel of temperance, but that made even less sense, considering… well.

So he supposed, in that regard, they could work if their places were switched. But even so, they just… didn't seem to fit right. Cas might've worked with the whole angel deal, but Dean as a "righteous man"? How did that one work?

Before he knew it, the sky was beginning to darken and they were pulling off the exit that led to the little town Bobby had mentioned. "Bobby said three kids have been found dead in various churches, each with slit throats, all in the past few hours. The police are in a rush to find whoever did it, but no luck so far." He paused, but when Cas said nothing, he continued, "I think we should start with the most recent case, talk to whoever's investigating it and find out what they know."

At this, Cas nodded wordlessly, but otherwise showed no indication that he had heard, causing Sam to wonder how much he remembered about investigating cases. Angels wouldn't know much about that stuff, would they? Guess I'll find out, he thought as he pulled into the police station.

-x-

DEAN

Dean quickly found that there was way more demons than just the three he'd met before. As soon as he'd smote his other attacker, he sensed three others pass by not far away and had to chase after them, as well. At first, they were taunting, leading him all over town; he was pretty sure at least three bystanders caught a glimpse of his wings, though that wasn't his biggest concern. After a while, though, the demons got frustrated when he persevered, never tiring. They weren't alone, of course—Dean himself was half-tempted to just release his grace in one massive outward explosion of power as it was obviously trying to do, but he was terrified of what would happen if he did. He'd probably end up leveling the entire town, like Uriel had threatened to do not so long ago.

It went on like this for about two hours with no headway in either direction. The demons were unable to congregate long enough to pull anything, but Dean couldn't pin more than one or two down at a time—and often, when he did, he was either pulled away or distracted by others. They were like a pack of wolves, functioning as one entity.

Finally, after cornering three demons in an old, abandoned barn, Dean grabbed two of them by their foreheads at the same time, and after a flash of light, they both slumped to the enjoyed a brief moment of satisfaction at his smiting abilities before turning to the last one. It tried to flee its possessee, but Dean grabbed the thick black cloud with both hands and shoved it back down its own throat. He was still amazed at all the fucking awesome stuff he could do. Was this really what it felt like to be an angel?

"Not so fast, Smokey," snarled Dean, closing a firm hand around the demon's throat. His entire body was burning with power, red-hot wrath that seared against the demon's flesh. Its mouth opened to shriek in pain, but no breath, in or out, could get through its airway. "You're gonna tell me what's going on here. Now."

He loosened his grip just enough for the demon to draw in a long, rasping breath and hiss, in a voice so feeble that it was barely audible, "Fuck you."

In a sudden burst of anger, Dean pulled the demon closer before slamming it viciously back against the wall, his hand still at its throat. "What are you planning?!" he shouted, the white blur appearing around the edges of his vision again. He didn't know how Cas managed to keep his shit together so easily—Dean seemed to be losing control every time he ran into a demon. Only recently he'd realized that whenever this happened, he usually left behind a scene of destruction—shattered glass, scattered paper and debris, splintered wood, freak lightning storms… Even as he thought it, he could feel a heavy wind whipping at his jacket and heard ominous creaking coming from the ceiling.

As soon as he saw the slight widening of the demon's eyes, Dean knew he'd got it right where he wanted it. The thing was scared. Maybe even terrified. "Breaking a seal," it choked, clawing desperately at his hand. "Got to use… a priest… kill six kids… in churches."

Six kids. A priest had to kill six kids in six churches—God, that was sick. Were all the seals this twisted?

According to what Uriel had told him, four kids had already been killed before he arrived. The fifth had joined them two hours ago, at the first church. That left one. Dean didn't hesitate. A second later, the dead human shell collapsed to the ground.

The three demons, it seemed, had been a decoy. While he was preoccupied with them, he could sense eight more gathering in a run-down synagogue at the edge of town. He didn't even bother wondering how he knew what kind of church it was—at this point, he didn't question whatever weird angel-quirks popped up.

And then he was there, closing the three-step gap between himself and the demon-possessed priest now holding a little boy by the hair. The priest had been thrown against a wall six feet away in less than a second, the boy alive and apparently unhurt but panicked and trembling on the floor. Dean had no time to make sure the kid was okay before five more demons were on him.

-x-

CASTIEL

Castiel did not understand the purpose of going to the police station. The people there, aside from being in a frenzy of work and general running-around, seemed to have very little to offer, even from a human's standpoint. They had no idea who had killed the four children (a fourth had been found during their drive there) or why, just that their throats had been slit and they had all been found in various churches in the past day. There was no noticeable pattern, they said, in who had been killed or where. Castiel suggested Sam try telling them the truth, but the Winchester blatantly refused. Apparently every human who wasn't a hunter suffered from the delusion that angels, demons, spirits, and other such beings did not exist. Because of this, Castiel didn't see what any of the police officers could do for them.

It was painfully slow, interviewing person after person, trying to ask them indirect questions such as "Did you notice anything strange?" and "Did you happen to smell any sulfur?" (The detectives had, as a matter of fact, found sulfur—and quite a lot of it, too.) Castiel didn't know how the Winchesters got by on such roundabout methods.

They were about to leave when one of the investigators got a call and brought them back to hear about it. Noticing a trend in the locations of the murders, they'd sent out some officers to go search the other places of worship that had not been "hit" yet.

"There's been a fifth one found," reported the man who had received the call, "in a Baptist church at the edge of the town. But this one's different. Rick said he'd found the place in shambles. The windows were broken, some of the wooden beams were cracked, a few of the pews had been knocked off-kilter, the door was hanging off its hinges… Says the place looks like it'd been hit by an earthquake."

"I don't know if it's related," said another agent, speaking up from her desk, "but I've gotten a few reports of people seeing the same thing in other places around town. Convenience stores, sheds, empty houses… It seems to be random, but they all say the same thing: that the place has been wrecked."

Castiel turned to Sam. The answer was obvious to him. "Dean is here," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Whatever the demons are up to, Heaven is involved."

"Cas, not now," hissed Sam under his breath, but there was an undertone of alarm in his expression. The officer, meanwhile, looked from one to the other, a quizzical but wary expression on his face.

A little while later, they were climbing back into the Impala. "Dean's here?" asked Sam. Castiel nodded. "How do you know?"

"What the officer described, that's what happens when an angel lets some of its grace loose. It's like…" He struggled for a moment to think of a metaphor that the Winchester could understand. "It's like a 'blown circuit,' I believe. He doesn't know how to control his grace yet and I expect the dead child made him very angry."

Sam thought about this. "What do you mean, 'he doesn't know how to control his grace'?" he asked warily.

Castiel paused as the Impala's engine roared to life. "A little over two hours ago, Dean was as human as you. From his perspective, at least," he added, remembering Sam's theory. "Now he's suddenly found himself with the powers of an angel. I expect when he killed his first demon, he unlocked something… dangerous. He realized his power. And now he can't quite stop it."

Sam was silent for a moment as he thought about this. "What'll happen if he keeps going?" he asked.

"I don't know. As I said before, no other angel has ever had this problem. But it can't be anything good."

Castiel remembered when he had first met Dean, how he had allowed the presence of his power show by letting it loose, just a little. The lights had sparked and gone out. Wind had rattled the walls of the shed. He was dealt killing blows by various weapons, yet he did not die. Fear had entered the eyes of both men inside. That had been on purpose, though—to show Dean what he was dealing with. Now, it was like placing a tornado inside a human body and letting it walk around. If he lost complete control, even for a second… It wasn't a problem for other angels, angels who'd been around for millennia and had been born with their grace, but Dean had so far only had two hours to master his newfound abilities. Father, help him…

Neither of them spoke another word as they returned to the cheap motel room they'd chosen to throw their things. Sam changed back out of his suit and into his hunting clothes (a plaid button-up and green jacket with ragged jeans and working boots, same as before) while Castiel sat quietly on the bed, waiting. What was Dean doing now? How many demons were here? It was killing Castiel that he didn't know himself. One step into this place and he would've at least had an estimate of what they were dealing with, had he still been an angel. They needed to find Dean and figure out what was happening before something disastrous happened.

Once Sam was ready, they headed back out to the car. "Where are we going next?" asked Castiel, closing the passenger door once he was inside.

"I suppose we'll stop where they found the fifth kid," said Sam. "We'll take a look around, see what we can find. Maybe we'll find a clue there."

As it happened, however, they never made it to the Baptist church on the edge of town. Halfway there, they passed a synagogue and Castiel tensed when he saw a flash of light like lightning through the windows. "Sam, pull over!" he said urgently, hand already flying for the door handle.

Tires screeched. His forehead was nearly snapped against the dashboard. "Cas, what the hell—?" Sam started, but the other man was out the door before the car had fully stopped, staggering slightly in his haste to get out. "Cas—Cas!" he heard Sam shout. A few seconds later, Sam's longer strides caught up to him, and he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, yanking him back like a dog on a short leash. Sam had, apparently, grabbed what appeared to be a bottle of holy water out of the trunk, and was now pressing something else into Castiel's hands. He recognized the cruel-looking, symbol-engraved dagger that once belonged to the demon called Ruby. It took him a moment to remember why he needed it. I am human. The three words rang through him, as though he was, for that moment, devoid of any other thought.

Then he and Sam were bursting through the door. Castiel barely had time to register the dark interior before two men had appeared with malicious looks on their faces. The only way he could tell they were demons was because their eyes were pure black. He could not see their true faces, as he normally could. He could sense nothing about them. He couldn't help wondering how Sam and Dean had survived for so long without being able to tell who was demon and who was human.

He had little time to consider it, however. Next thing he knew, one of the men moved his arms as though waving something away; and then Cas was being thrown across the room and had been slammed into the wall so viciously that stars burst across his vision. A split-second later, the pain hit. It lanced through his back, spreading across his entire body in a shockwave of hurt. This wasn't the first time he'd been slammed against a wall with enough force to break bones; it was, however, the first time it had happened to him as a human. The sudden explosion of feeling was more than he'd ever experienced before, and not in a pleasant way.

He sat there for a moment, stunned and gasping for breath, before rough hands grasped him by the front of his coat and hoisted him up, slamming him against the wall a second time. Sneering black eyes glared into his. One of the hands moved from his coat to his neck, closing until he couldn't get air through his nostrils.

One of Castiel's hands scrabbled at the fingers constricting his throat while the other, on instinct, flew up to the demon's face, the palm pressing against its forehead.

Nothing happened. There was no flow of grace, no surge of power, no flash of light, nothing. The demon remained exactly where he was, exactly as he was. Just more pain and now, on top of that, dizziness. Breathe. Humans need to breathe, he remembered, as his fingers began to tingle and go numb. His mouth was agape, hungry for oxygen, but none could reach his lungs. Then again came the thought, I am human. That was the moment when he surrendered—when he realized, completely and truly, what he was and what he had lost. What the Trickster had taken from him. He was human, and he was dying in the most pathetic way possible, and he lacked the ability to stop it.

"Use the knife!" he heard Sam shout in a strained voice, muffled as if from a great distance.

The demon just laughed as he lost feeling in his hands completely and they both dropped to his sides. The knife clattered to the floor.