Magma

The Lord reigns, let the peoples tremble! He sites enthroned upon the cherubim; let the earth quake!
- Psalm 99:1

White hot noise rips its way through the church. Its stones crack, spitting plaster and dust. Its roof bulks, timber creaking in agonised fury. The glass shimmers through the air, a thousand coloured raindrops cascading down to earth. The man stands in the doorway and laughs like a gleeful child.

Inservio dominus in vita mea

Unholy brightness bites into their eyes, and in perfect harmony lightning splits the sky apart. Sam and Dean collapse, their shrieks lost in union. Hands are thrown up to shield faces, eyes squeeze shut, mouths contort. Then the air ruptures again. It rips the world apart.

Castiel is perfect stillness within desolation. He hurts not and feels not and Sam and Dean are dying and he can't take his eyes off the man in the suit.

The noise rises beyond hearing. Glass being ground on glass, it builds until its no more than agony reverberating around their skulls. Castiel can't… can't- blood swells from the brothers ears as they crumple. Its blinding, maddening. Its too much. Their very beings begin to split apart, unending, tumultuous agony.

'You'll kill them!' Castiel screams.

Servus… servus invitis.

His muscles contract, his body constricts. Inside his ribs his heart throbs unyielding terror. History upon history breaks like waves against him, flooding through his lungs. Memories of unlit murky waters swarth his brain, turgid waste to swallow him whole. His chest stutters. Dizzying, sickening nausea drowns him.

'Please…'

Silence falls.

Like the slow fade out of thunder rubbing away in the distance, the quiet calmly devours the broken world of before. It whets it pallet and swallows them whole, sinking teeth into their flesh, nipping fire in their skulls. In an unnerving way its almost more painful that the noise.

The man in the suit licks his lips, then surveys the desecrated church with politeness. A flick of his hand and the pile of corpses slide away. Along the rubbled and glass stained ground is left a trail of blood and bone. Then he smiles, wide and genuine.

'-uck,' Dean gasps, still crumpled on the floor.

No. Castiel thinks in madness. Stay down.

He knows what they are thinking, he knows what they will try. He knows them far to well and that has alway been his weakness. Suddenly everything is to real and bright. A mess of broken impulses and fractured selfs, nothing but mutilations, bone and dust now miraculously bathed in light. Like a child he is snatched from those poisonous, waters of turgid memory and hurled painfully into clear azure blue. Everything snaps into place. He remembers all. And he is terrified.

The man begins to walk.

'-uckin ang'l,' Dean words blur into a groan. Sam is uncoiling painfully, forcing his eyes to follow the man. The man they now think is an angel of the lord. And how can Castiel even try- his throat is too tight, wont even let him breathe. Because demons do not taint the air with the taste of metal and electricity, but its impossible to miss the stench of sulphur sickly sweet amongst the ozone.

When the man pulls himself to a stop the world does not end, the sky does not fall and the ground does not heave. His light little footsteps shuffle into stillness one toe of each shiny shoe pointing at either brother. But his face, with its fixated eyes, are looking straight ahead, straight at the broken being who stands paralysed before him.

'Castiel,' he says, and his voice is honey.

Inservio dominus in vita mea. Inservio dominus in vita mea. No, please, no, let me be stronger than that. Servus invitis. I am the unwilling. Servus invitis. Don't make me hurt them.

'-the hell are you?' Sam slurs.

The man's uneven eyebrows shoot up, 'well now!' he crows, his voice like sunlight. 'You mean you haven't told them about me, blackbird?'

He flicks his hand and Castiel hears a double grunt from behind him. He doesn't need to turn to know, he can feel the raw power like a vice over his shivering body. Dean and Sam are flattened onto the ground, impossible weight bearing down on them. The easy echoes of the church pick up their meek struggles.

'I'm surprised,' the man continues. 'Then again… theres probably very little you're allowed to say,' he smiles. 'How are the headaches?'

'Fuck,' Dean moans again.

Terror unfurls itself, hard and plastic. It is bright pearlescent pain with jagged edges to fiercely lacerate. It starts everywhere at once, buried deep in all corners like little grains of sand. Is seeps like liquid over everything inside, dripping from the throat, pooling in the stomach, freezing solid sickly-pale over the heart, smothering the frantic beats.

He was mindless before. He was a mess of cogs and orders, commands to obey from voices with no owners. He was nothing trapped inside an everything he had no control over. He was already dead. He didn't fear then... but now he is returned to himself and standing before him is the one he wants to call oppressor, but his mind still screams Lord.

Dean gasps. 'Wha'd'you want?'

'Stay down, boy. Stop struggling. It would be better if you did not.'

If Dean were fire and Castiel lightning, the man is oozing magma; dark and dangerous. Volatile.

'Now,' he says, 'I'm not one for mystery and such, so I'll cut to the chase,' he opens his arms in welcome. 'I am Solas, one of the first-born of Lucifer, knight of Hell.' He grins a little chirpy smile. 'Nice to meet you, Winchesters.'

'-fuck you,' Dean tries to drag himself forward. Solas chuckles lightly.

'Its so hard to make threats with your face in the dirt,' his eyes flicker to Mitchell, almost hidden behind them all. The small man is sobbing, body flattened against the wall.

'Oh! My poor child,' the demon soothes, 'what did they do to you?'

Mitchell only whimpers, memories of the putrid demon burning out of him still lingering in the air. 'Be… begone foul beast,' he whispers bravely.

Solas huffs through his nose, face soft with amusement. Almost conspiratorially, he rolls his eyes at Castiel. They are jet black now, bottomless and vast as an inky ocean, coals of magma still smouldering far in its depts. And Castiel realises what's coming a second before it happens.

With a flick of his hand he snaps Mitchells neck. The crack echoes loud and sharp. The man doesn't even make a sound.

The body slumps.

'No…' Sam groans.

'Now!' Solas goads, eyes slithering back to human, 'since my little bird can't really sing for you, perhaps I can explain a few things. I do love a good old fashioned evil monologue.'

He waves his hand again and a pew slithers towards him. With much prim fussing he seats himself down and crosses his thin legs in their too short trousers. When he is ready he nods to himself, flicks his eyes to Castiel. Pain bursts through his skull. His body goes numb and shuts down. Boneless he folds quietly in on himself.

'What a pitiful sight,' Solas muses, looking at the four figures before him. One dead against the wall, two forced down on their stomachs, blood still wet from their ears and even now they're struggling. And then theres Castiel, who is blinded by the needles digging furrows behind his eyes. He has managed to stay crouching, one hand pressed to his head, the other weakly supporting him on the floor.

'Lets begin children. Me and heaven had a little, hm, understanding,' Solas picks at his nails. 'I say heaven, it was more like Naomi. You've met her, yes? She's such a pleasant creature to work with, surprisingly easy to sway. Anyway, Castiel was involved. Do you already know this?' Dean and Sam make desperate groans, his power pinning their bodies must be excruciating. 'Do stop me if I'm boring you. But, ah, we had a little falling out and now they're hunting me down,' he almost sounds bored, 'and Castiel got thrown down here to be kept out of the way, or because they can't stand the sight of him, same thing really.'

He leans back against the pew, which creaks in obligation. 'And then theres all this mess,' he gestures around the church. 'You probably think its some big ritual, its really not,' when he leans forward, its with exuberant delight. 'It was an interview!'

'Wh…? Inter-?'

'Yes! Some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed demons asked to follow me to glory,' he rolls his eyes, 'or, you know, whatever these kids are saying these days. So I asked them to impress me. I gather they worked out a very complicated protection spell, tricky to do. Imagine how ecstatic they must have been when some Winchesters foolishly wandered into their audition room.'

He stands.

'I was not impressed.'

The pain has lessened and Castiel fights to look up. The church swims in and out of focus, bile rises from his stomach. But then Solas is right there, towering before him. Inservio dominus in vita mea. A warm hand snakes out and grips his jaw lightly, fingers soft against his skin.

Dean speaks though gritted teeth. '-swear, y'touch him and your dead.'

'Who? Castiel?' enthusiasm vibrates through his body. 'Yes! The fallen angel of the apocalypse. He who turned his back on brethren and foe alike. All for the sake of helping you two.'

Castiel chokes and Solas releases him instantly. Faint tingling energy still lingers, spreading through his flesh like wildfire. A cacophony of sinful evil stained with holy scars.

'The 'apocalypse is history, you dick, y'should quit living in the past,' Dean growls from the floor. He's managed to push himself up to look fury at the demon. But then Solas' face turns murderous.

'The past, boy?' the lights flicker again. 'I am a knight of hell, what do you think my whole purpose was?' he takes a step. Blearily, Castiel shifts his body to try and shield them, 'I was born for one reason and one reason alone, and then you…' he bares his teeth, 'not only did you two de-rail the train but you also went and blew it up.'

Dean coughs a laugh. 'So what, you're here for revenge? Pretty petty.'

Solas' face abruptly snaps back into pleasantries.

'Nope!' he says lightly, 'not revenge, surprisingly enough. I'm not really the vengeful type, more the… well, what you see is what you get, I guess.' He laughs a little unsteadily as he gestures to his mismatched suit, pudgy belly and spindly legs. 'So, fear not! I just can't find it in me to feel anger at you two snivelling wretches.'

Sam struggles and collapses. '-hen what d'you want?'

'Nothing.' He shrugs lightly, carefree and happy. 'Honest.'

Then his hand snaps out and slams into Castiel. Fingers dig into his filthy shirt and wrench him up from the floor. Castiel swallows a whimper as his limp body is jerked upwards. With a twist of his arm and a piston of his body, Solas brutally flings him away to the left.

'Cas!'

Theres a dull thud when he hits the wall, the echo of which sounds slightly wet as his blood-soaked back slams against the stones. Its funny how he only registers the sound. Like its the only important thing. Theres no pain, no fear. Its swallowed away in feverish adrenaline.

'Or rather…' Solas amends, 'I just wanted to see what had become of him.'

His strange glinting eyes sweep over Castiel, over his shuddering frame in a torn shirt and sweat pants. Still no shoes, Cas thinks deliriously. He fights unsteadily against his bodies demand to collapse. But he can't- No. He forces himself to stay pressed against the wall, using the cold stones as desperate support.

Solas frowns at him and almost looks sad.

'You got yourself damaged,' he takes a few small steps towards him, 'went and landed with a bit of a bump from what I heard tell.' More steps. 'And then some of my dear followers knocked you about, I disprove of that.' Closer still.

Ah, theres the fear. Castiel fumbles, shrinks away.

Solas smiles. 'I didn't ask them to find you, incase you were wondering. But they were so taken with all my stories of you. What you did. I'm truly sorry they mocked you, but then… you did kill all of them so I'm taking that as a balancing of injustice.' He nods in amused sympathy. 'Did it make you feel better?'

He lunges forward, so suddenly it seems he might engulf everything in his way. Castiel flinches wildly, his whole body contorted in mindless panic. From somewhere far away he can hear Dean and Sam shout his name. But then he's pressed tightly against the wall and Solas' hand is around his throat.

'Cas!'

'You hurt him I swear-'

'Silence boy!' Solas howls. His black eyes flash at them over his shoulder. 'What do you know about it? I never hurt him. I looked after him.' Castiel can't think anymore, blood pounds deafening in his ears. Solas is still talking, words growing faster and more frantic. 'I was kind to him. We made a team. He was good but they kept ruining it. They didn't look after him properly. I said they shouldn't do that. But they did. I helped him. I was good to him. You shouldn't speak of things you don't know, you shouldn't speak to me, I saved your pathetic life!'

'Solas,' Castiel gags.

The demon turns sharply back to him, face softening as his eyes grow colder. Castiel opens his mouth to speak again but no words will come. His brain throbs blinding pain, his arms and legs are lead. Desperation causes his body to tighten, ragged gasps savage his lungs.

Then strange sensations begin to smooth themselves upon him. It starts at his throat, where the demons hand resolutely clenches. A dim, unhealthy glow begins to seep from his veins, a stink of ozone fills the air. Faint tendrils of smokey light, like steam, rise from his fingers. Castiel struggles weakly, chokes as the hand round his neck begins to pump heat.

'Hush, I'll make you all better,' Solas quietly croons.

With his other hand he reaches up and slowly strokes Castiels jaw, soft and gentle fingers also radiating strange warmth. Castiel shudders as the bruises of his skin begins to seep away. His damaged flesh knits itself whole, threading together, smoothing away cuts and wounds.

A strangled noise escapes him.

The gentle strokes of the demon traverse his skin, travel around his lips, his nose, his cheek. Wherever the warmth touches the injuries tingle and fade. The touch is torturous, it makes his mind howl a primordial scream. His weak grace tries to flare in defence, no, and on instant he smothers it.

Solas' wandering hand slides closer to his eye, his eye, and his whole body contorts. Terror explodes outwards. Castiels hand snaps forward. With iron grip he clenches at the demons wrist, wrenching the hand away. Solas smiles and wrenches back, twists his arm, effortlessly pins Castiels hand to the wall above his head with agonising force.

'Still touchy I see,' his voice blurs into murmurs, 'its okay, its okay,' and Castiel feels the sickening heat travel round his wrist and fingers. The torn skin of his hand mends itself together but this is wrong. Its not healing, its mutating. It's a violation and Castiel can't stop another whimper leave his constricted throat.

'See, I take care of you.'

When the demon finally lets his hand go, it limply falls to his side. When he grasps the other arm, Castiel can do nothing to fight it. His whole body is coursing with strange pulsations he wants to battle. But he is hanging limp and pliant, barely able to breathe. He needs to fight this. His cuts and bruises crackle and knit together, his fractured ribs smooth where Solas' firm touch caress him. The skin on damaged skin is agonising defilement. No, he needs to fight this before-

Solas' hand reaches his chest.

It stops and his face widens with calm surprise.

'Well now…' he whispers softly.

Somewhere far in the distance Sam and Dean are still shouting. The bone-crushing weight pressing them down has weakened with the demons new distraction. Sam is up to kneeling, Dean is still on hands and knees, but both their faces are turned towards Castiel. Their eyes are wide and desperate. Even in the dim, bloodstained murk of the church, he can see their mottled green shining with fervent life.

He is so aware of watching them, he almost misses what Solas says.

'The world is ever engulfing,' he foretells, 'life will always feed to death, day will feed itself to night, minutes will feed onto hours,' hungry eyes drag over Castiel, 'and man will feed themselves on man.'

Then Dean chokes, 'tell you what, you're so far up the crazy tree you're shitting leaves.'

And something snaps inside Castiel.

He was angry before, he was hurting and in pain. But now… Maybe its fate, or divinity, or chance, or even just luck, but there it is; something new. Something tiny and weak and terrifying and brave…

Here stands Solas, a yawning chasm with firelight eyes, and he can't beat him. He is weak and pathetic and lost but- But Dean is right; they have punished him; burned, broken, mutilated, violated, they have shattered him to glass and melted the pieces into a statue of their own design. A mirror to reflect their own unholy desires. They did this to him. And they still don't forgive him and he doesn't forgive himself and he never will for as long as a spark of him still burns and they've made him like that.

You can't breath life into the moon then curse it for not having the fire of a sun. You can't force the weight of the world onto my shoulders and then tell me I'm to weak to carry it. You can't force me to believe in ideas you do not keep. I did not break, you broke me. I did not fail, you let me. I did not desolate, you destroyed me. What did you do to me? Why did you do this? How could you do this to me?

Everything he's done matters. Everything he's done. Good and bad and right and wrong, mistakes and intensions, they are giant and important and matter. They shape him and change him, they are him. All the weight of his misgivings, all the strength of his mistakes. They shouldn't pull him down but push him up. Fire not to consume but to give rise to the fight. They are his, not someone else's to pitilessly torture him with.

For the first time he's not just angry for the world. He's angry for himself. He's furious for himself. And there, underneath it all? All the pain and fear and anger and grief theres something unmistakable, irreversible, unescapable…

I mean Sam's forgiven you, I forgive you.

Its belief.

And as much as he might lose faith in himself or in God or in angels or life itself. As long as two boys believe in him… how can he stand to let them down?

Solas frowns, just as electricity sears down Castiels arm. A jolt, a clench, and his fingers close over the cool weight of his blade. Castiel gasps. It sings with pulsating life and he drives it forward. No time to complete an arc, Solas is already jerking back, face contorted in fury. The blade sinks through his thigh like butter.

Sorry to any Mitchell fans... Solas is batshit crazy. He's a total creep as well, I bet he had no friends in high school.

Inservio dominus in vita mea - serve master in my life
Servus invitis - unwilling slave

Apologies for any mistakes, this is unbeta'd and slightly rushed! Up next: fighting! And as always, reviews give me happy tingles and make me wanna write more :P