As his eyes adjusted to the changed light in the room, Dean took in the awe-inspiring size and shape of Cas's wings. They were enormous, each wing stretching out to either side so that they nearly touched the walls. They hardly fit in the room at all, really, the arched joint of each one touching the ceiling, unable to extend to their full length in the small basement room.

But an instant after they appeared, there was a rustling of feathers as the wings drew sharply in and down, close to Cas's back. Dean blinked in surprise; he wouldn't have thought it was possible for something so massive to be compressed into such a small space, but they were – folded in so that they did not extend on either side of Cas's body, and only rose to about the level of Cas's head behind him, the tips trailing on the blood-soaked stone floor.

With his wings so withdrawn, Dean finally noticed Cas himself.

Dean frowned, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he took in the anguished look on the kneeling angel's face. His head was bowed low, his trembling hands turned palms up and raised toward his face, as high as he could lift them – which wasn't far with the chains at his wrists. Still, Dean recognized the gesture Cas was attempting, hindered as it was. He was familiar with the emotion that prompted it, the emotion that was clear on Cas's face.

Shame.

He was trying to hide his face, trying to hide his wings – though for his life, Dean couldn't imagine why.

Cas's wings were magnificent.

Dean found himself drawn toward them, crossing the room without realizing it, until he was standing behind Cas, the folded wings in full view. From this side of the room, the sun streamed through the tiny basement windows and made the blue-black feathers gleam, a faint shimmer detectable as they shifted with the tremors that passed through Cas's body.

Instinctively, Dean reached out a hand to touch, wondering if they were as soft as they looked. Cas flinched, though Dean hadn't yet touched him, as if he'd somehow sensed what Dean intended to do, and let out a soft, hitched breath.

"Don't…"

Dean didn't know why Cas didn't want his wings to be touched… if they were really that sensitive, that easily hurt, or if there was something more at work here, something he'd only be able to comprehend if he was an angel himself. He did know that Cas's aversion to having them touched was something that could only work in his favor. And besides – the urge to touch, to feel the soft slide of the dark, iridescent plumes between his fingers was almost irresistible.

As Dean's hand neared the wings, he stopped, just barely not touching, struck by the sense of awe he felt at the unbelievable strength and unearthly beauty, just under his hand. There was a strange pit in his stomach with the thought that he was possibly the only human who had ever seen Cas's wings – ever had the opportunity to touch them. And suddenly, Dean hesitated to do so. There was a sudden, overwhelming sense that here was something precious, almost sacred…

Beautiful…

The word filled Dean's mind, accompanied by a pang of something like regret. But just as quickly, Alastair's voice followed it, reminding, almost reassuring.

This isn't the first time you've destroyed something beautiful, is it, Dean? Dean swallowed hard, closing his eyes, wrestling with his doubts. He's completely in your power, and he's so close… can't you feel him trembling, breaking, right under your hands? You know how to do this, Dean…take him apart… take him apart, and find what you need among the broken pieces…

What I need…

Dean opened his eyes, squaring his shoulders and forcing himself to focus. Only hours left. Hours, and all would be lost if he couldn't sack up and do what he needed to do.

"Please," Cas whispered again – or maybe he'd never stopped, maybe Dean had just stopped hearing him – but at any rate, Dean ignored Cas's protest, reaching out a hand to touch the spot between Cas's shoulder blades, where the wings were rooted. He deliberately waited a moment, feeling Cas's shaking intensify at the contact, allowing the anticipation to build, before sliding his hand slowly down the upper ridge of Cas's right wing. The slightly ruffled feathers smoothed under his hand, and Dean found himself marveling at the sheer power he could feel, thrumming just under the surface, muscles coiled and poised for flight that, for now, they were denied.

"Please… please, don't…" Cas whimpered, but his voice was a little stronger now, a little more urgent.

"Why not?" Dean asked, frowning, genuinely curious. After ten years wielding Alastair's blade, he knew everything there was to know about human physiology, where each nerve was located and how to play it to maximum effect. But these wings were new – foreign and fascinating, and Dean had no idea at all how they worked. Yet. "Does it hurt?"

Cas didn't answer, but he did jerk forward against the chains, trying to pull his wing out of Dean's grasp. Dean's jaw set in anger – more at himself than at Cas, for allowing himself to be distracted by the wings themselves and momentarily losing control of the situation. He didn't have time for this; he had to break Cas, had to get him to confess before the whole fucking world was damned – and if the bound and battered angel was still capable of this much resistance, it meant that he was still much farther from that point than Dean had hoped.

Dean responded to Cas's defiance immediately, retaliating by digging his fingers beneath the soft outer feathers, feeling the thin, fragile bones bend in his clenched fist as he yanked Cas forcefully backward again, back to the place where he'd been before.

Cas let out a choked cry of pain as Dean's other hand reached around to grasp his chin, tilting his head back and remarking in a low, warning voice, "I wouldn't do that again."

Cas was shaking violently, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, his eyes closed as if he could somehow shut out what was happening to him. And all at once Dean felt strangely sick, a damp chill of apprehension passing through him – because what was happening to him, anyway? Dean had barely touched him yet. He'd done a lot worse in the past few hours to the rest of Cas's body than he'd even thought of doing to his wings.

And yet, Cas seemed on the verge of panic, devastated by the simple touch of Dean's hands in a way that even burning holy oil on his flesh hadn't accomplished.

Dean wondered why that realization made him feel more anxious and uneasy than satisfied.

Focus, Dean… he told himself, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders, shutting out his doubts and trying to think only of what he had to do. You don't have time to hesitate. Just get this done… before anyone else dies…

Dean let go of Cas's face and returned his attention fully to Cas's wings, both hands now slowly running down their length, carefully feeling the framework of bone and tendon that ran beneath their surface. Cas twitched and jerked slightly against Dean's hands, as if warring with his own instincts to fight, or escape.

The thought had just crossed Dean's mind that perhaps he should find a way to restrain the wings; the muscle definition under his hands was impressive, and Cas's reactions were becoming erratic and panicky, and if Cas actually figured out that his wings weren't tied down like the rest of him…

It was at that moment that Cas's left wing jerked free of Dean's grasp, with so much force that Dean actually stumbled toward it, pulled off-balance. And then, Dean's eyes went wide when he saw the wing drawn up and back, high and poised like a serpent ready to strike. His mind went back in an instant to an abandoned barn painted with every mystical symbol known to man, and the bone-deep certainty he'd felt when he'd first seen Castiel – the knowledge, even before every single one of his weapons had failed, that this was something far more powerful than he, and he was completely out of his league.

This moment felt very much like that one.

Dean barely had time to think that this was it; he had made a critical mistake that would cost him the game – and maybe more. As the blow fell, swift and sharp and with bone-crushing strength, Dean realized that he should have thought that the wings might be dangerous, might be used as a weapon. It was too late now; he wouldn't get a chance to remedy his mistake.

But the wing never made contact; it stopped just short of slamming into Dean and no doubt sending him flying. Dean heard a cracking sound, as if it had hit a physical wall, before the wing fell, limp and heavy, to the floor, and Cas let out a shocked, breathless cry of pain, his back arching, his face contorted in agony. All at once Dean remembered: Jacob's Call prevented Cas from hurting him; any pain Cas tried to cause Dean would only come back on him. Relief overwhelmed Dean for a moment… and was then quickly replaced with indignant rage.

This is what happens when you falter, Dean… Alastair's voice taunted him. You lose control of your subject, and you lose everything… he can't forget you hold his very life in your hands… his suffering, or the end of it, are yours to decide…

As Cas began to regain his breath from the shocking blow, he let out a weak sob of pain, pitifully attempting to lift the damaged limb, which now lay sprawled out awkwardly and dragging in the dust and blood that coated the floor. As Dean moved around to face Cas again, he deliberately drove the heel of his boot down into the center of the shattered bone that ran along the wing's upper ridge. The pitiful little cry Cas let out as a result choked off abruptly when Dean grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Dean forced a cold smile as he knelt down in front of Cas and leaned in very close to his face.

His words were clipped and vicious as he snarled, "That was very… very stupid, Cas. You forget…" Dean reached out his free hand over Cas's shoulder, his fingers slowly stroking through the feathers at the root of Cas's damaged wing; his smile widened a little when Cas shivered, shaking his head rapidly, pleadingly. "… you are not in control of what happens here. You can't hurt me." Dean's smile faded, and he stared into Cas's wide, dread-filled eyes. "I, on the other hand… I can do anything I want to you…"

"Please," Cas gasped, eyes downcast in submission, trembling words tumbling from his lips in a desperate rush. "Dean… I-I'm sorry, please don't, please…"

"I don't give a damn about your sorry," Dean spat out, and Cas shuddered and flinched as Dean tightened his grip on Cas's wing, twisting sharply, before letting go of him with a shove and standing up again. "All I want to hear from you… is the truth."

Cas fell forward onto his face when Dean let him go, sobbing, but before his face left Dean's view, Dean thought he caught a trace of a bitter, anguished laugh behind the tears – and something in Dean's stomach clenched, something worrying at the back of his mind – but he couldn't think about it, not now, couldn't let himself lose focus again. Instead, he walked around behind Cas, deliberately placing his foot down on the end of Cas's good wing and pinning it down, as he drove his fist into the upper half of the wing, clutching a handful of feathers and twisting, hard.

"Please stop," Cas sobbed, choked and desperate. "Please, Dean… please stop…"

"You know how to make me stop," Dean reminded Cas, his voice soft and almost gentle again, and he eased his grip, withdrawing his hand to run it soothingly down the middle of Cas's back. He knew very well how effective, how unsteadying a gentle touch could be in the wake of violence and pain. Cas shivered, and Dean leaned in close, wrapping his other arm around Cas's shoulder in what might have been called an embrace under different circumstances.

He brought his mouth close to Cas's ear, raising his hand to run it gently through Cas's sweat-soaked, blood-matted hair as he said, "You're making me do this, Cas. You think I wanted to hurt you?" There was an ache in Dean's throat as he spoke, but he swallowed it down, keeping his words steady and smooth, falsely sympathetic. "You brought this on yourself. It doesn't have to be like this, and you know it. Any time you want me to stop… you know what to do."

But Cas didn't confess… and Dean didn't stop.

Dean never knew afterwards just how much time passed, as he threw himself into his gruesome task, all too conscious of the fact that it would soon be too late. He spent all his efforts on Cas's wings, twisting and breaking, ripping out handfuls of the beautiful, shimmering feathers until they were dull and blood-soaked on the floor. Where the wings dragged the floor, now too large for Cas to hold up in his weakened, injured state, Dean crushed them under his feet, breaking fragile bones and rendering the powerful wings useless.

Finally, Dean took out the oil again.

He hesitated to use it, not sure how quickly the wings would burn. He didn't want to take the whole cabin down in the process. He kept the rag he'd used before close at hand, barely lighting a patch of dark, matted feathers before putting out the flame again, over and over, while Cas cried and tore at his chains and begged him to stop.

Until he didn't, anymore.

Until he lay shivering on the floor, too weak and exhausted even to cry, his throat stripped raw from screaming. Dean didn't let himself look too closely, didn't let himself think about how the sick, uneasy feeling he'd felt before had gone from a background hum in his brain to something closer to a warning shout, insistently repeating that something wasn't right here. But he couldn't let himself stop, not before it was finished.

To have come this far, to have done so many unspeakable things, to Cas, and have it all be for nothing – that was more unthinkable than any of the vile, cruel acts Dean had committed in the past few hours.

He picked up a knife from the table, crouching down in front of Cas and dragging him up by his hair, back onto his knees. Cas was exhausted, barely able to focus his gaze at all. Several times during the past few hours, he'd nearly slipped into unconsciousness. But Dean had ways of bringing him back around, and he'd refused to allow him even that brief respite.

Now, Dean patiently waited until Cas managed to drag his eyes up to Dean's hand in front of his face, making sure Cas definitely saw the blade he held, before tracing the tip of it over Cas's shoulder and bringing it to rest lightly at the base of one of his wings.

"Wonder what happens to an angel if you cut its wings off?" he mused, making his tone almost bored. "Does it die? Like a butterfly? Slowly waste away to nothing?"

Cas was shaking uncontrollably, looking up at Dean through glassy, distant eyes. Dean knew he was in shock at this point, overwhelmed with the pain and horror of what he'd been experiencing – and Dean was just beginning to wonder if perhaps he'd lost his window entirely, if Cas was ever going to say anything again… when it happened.

Cas's lips parted, and he started to speak, then faltered, eyes dropping to the floor.

Dean stopped, bringing the knife back around and placing a hand at the back of Cas's head, leaning in close. He could see hesitation in Cas's face, taking the place of his earlier determination, and his heart raced as he realized that he was closer than he'd been yet to the result he needed.

"What?" he urged Cas gently, a coaxing, intimate tone to his voice. "What is it, Cas? Tell me."

Cas looked up at him, fearful and uncertain, as he swallowed with difficulty, then replied in a halting, hesitant whisper.

"I… I did it."

Dean stared at him for a long moment, almost not believing it after so long without success. He blinked, dragging his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, a wary frown on his face as he said finally, "Come again?"

"I did it," Cas said again, a little stronger, though his voice broke over the words, and he lowered his gaze again. "I – tried to end the world. I'm sorry."

Dean felt his hands begin to tremble, felt tears prickling at the backs of his eyes, and he wasn't sure whether it was sorrow that what they'd suspected, what everyone had told them, had proven to be right – or relief, that it was about to be over. Dean leaned forward, resting his head against Cas's, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth against the back of Cas's neck as he let out a heavy, shaky sigh.

"I know," he replied, his voice low and reassuring. "I know you are, Cas. It's gonna be all right, you just – you have to tell me how to stop it, okay? Tell me what to do to stop it, now."

Cas looked up at him, blue eyes brimming with fresh tears, and Dean wasn't sure whether it was the confession or the affection, after so much brutality, that brought them on. Cas's lips trembled as he met Dean's eyes and whispered words that abruptly made Dean's stomach drop, his heart clenching in his chest.

"Kill me."

Dean swallowed hard, staring at Cas in disbelief. "What?" he managed at last, his voice hoarse and a little shaky.

"You… you have to kill me," Cas repeated, his voice weak and pleading and desperate, and the distinct underlying feeling that this wasn't right filled Dean's mind again. "To – to end the spell you – you have to – kill me, Dean…" Cas lowered his head, and just under the rushing in his own ears, Dean thought he caught the sound of a soft, broken, "Please…"

It was the "please" that did it. Dean's unease, the sense of wrongness, the weird suspicion that he hadn't been able to put into words, hadn't wanted to put into words once he'd already gone so far… all of it finally clicked into place in his mind. Cas's almost manic, broken laugh when Dean had demanded the truth, the way he'd clung to his story even when he'd been beside himself with agony, even when he'd barely been able to speak at all… the way he'd almost seemed to believe it…

Cas has never been a good liar…

Dean suddenly felt like he was going to be sick. He let go of Cas abruptly, rising to his feet and backing away, staring down at the bloodied, broken form of his friend – his friend…

He kept saying he didn't… what if he… what if… damn it, what did we do?

Cas collapsed forward onto the floor, now that Dean was no longer holding him up, his bound hands jerking against the chains as if reaching out to try to pull Dean back to him.

"Did you hear me, I said I did it!" Cas cried out, his voice hoarse and thin and mindlessly desperate, his shoulders quaking with soundless sobs. "Just kill me!" he cried with frustration. "Just do it!"

Alastair's voice was a sly, malicious whisper in Dean's mind, the words bringing everything spinning to a dizzying stop, as Dean's mind filled with sudden, brutal clarity.

With the right tools and enough time… you can make anyone confess to anything, Dean…

"Please," Cas sobbed, his face to the dirty stone, his voice heavy with exhaustion and despair. "I can't – just – please, just kill me…"

"Well, that would sort of ruin the punch line, wouldn't it?"

Dean jumped, spinning toward the sound of the familiar voice. Crowley stood there smiling at him with his hands folded behind his back. Dean's jaw set with anger and he glared at Crowley through his tears, snarling, "Get out."

"Gladly. This just isn't any fun anymore," Crowley sighed, a smirk on his lips, a single eyebrow raised as he took in Cas's damaged form.

The angel had gone silent and still… Dean hoped mercifully unconscious, as Dean hadn't allowed him to be for the past several hours. Cas had been fading in and out for the past few hours, but every time his pain and exhaustion had nearly dragged him under, Dean had found some new agony to inflict to bring him back, screaming and pleading. Dean shuddered when his eyes fell on the wreckage he'd made of Cas's wings, not even a hint of their former glory visible now amidst the blood and ash.

Broken. Desecrated. All for… for what? If he really didn't do it… didn't do anything… then…

Dean pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, trying to shut out his own anguished thoughts. When he looked up again, Crowley was watching him closely, a secretive, satisfied smile on his lips. His tone was almost reproachful as he concluded.

"Now you've gone and figured out the joke."

Dean stared at Crowley for a long moment, then looked away, staring past the demon king as his mind whirled with the implications of his words, as the pieces slowly began to fall into place… and the picture they formed was a horrifying nightmare of blood and betrayal. Dean slowly looked back at Crowley, voice hushed with dawning horror.

"You… you did this."