A/N: Some lines come directly from the episode, "Abandon All Faith." You'll recognize them; they're not mine. ;)

Chapter 2

Castiel's eyelids fluttered groggily as he tried to rise from the inky blackness he'd been swimming in. Why did he feel so heavy? It was almost like the time he'd dove down to the bottom of the Pacific, just to see the hidden wonders of the ocean deep his father had created. He hadn't been in a vessel, of course, but the immense pressure and weight of the sea had still exerted tremendous force on his true form. This time was different though; pushing his way back to the surface was more difficult, more sluggish. Was he drowning? No, he wasn't underwater. There was oxygen in his lungs, that much he could tell. Yet the crippling vice around the rest of his senses momentarily filled him with alarm. Where was he? What was wrong with his vessel?

He felt a gasp escape his lips with a sharp inhale, bringing more air into his mouth and nose, along with the scent of oil, ozone, and something akin to rotting fish. They were rather unpleasant, pungent aromas.

Finally, Castiel was able to pry his eyes open, and he blinked blearily at a smudged gray floor until his vision cleared enough for him to see the minute cracks, chips, and dirty streaks in the concrete. He found himself staring at a pair of black loafers, and realized they were his own feet. Strange, to have been unconscious standing up. Then he noticed the awkward bend in his elbows and the touch of cold steel cuffs around his wrists.

Lifting his head, Castiel shifted his weight, only to feel a heavy resistance. Two chains crisscrossed over his chest, pinning him to a wide concrete column from which another set of fetters were looped through iron rings. These shackles held his arms up and out next to his head, merely suspending them in a slack pose rather than stretching painfully taut.

At first Castiel was confused. Such methods should not be able to restrain him, and yet he could not move; when he tested the manacles, there was no give, for his strength had been reduced to that of a mortal's. Upon closer inspection of the chains, he found a series of swirls and notches engraved in the metal. Castiel closed his eyes in understanding. Enochian sigils. And the irons across his chest bore his name. So not only was the warding inhibiting his powers, but he was bound, his grace snapped into a tiny ball and locked down tight. But how…

"Rise and shine, sleepy head," came a simpering voice.

Castiel jerked his head up, knocking his skull against the pillar as a petite brunette stepped out from the shadows in the corner. The demon called Meg. And then Castiel remembered being caught by Lucifer, trapped in a ring of holy fire and unable to help the Winchesters. He was no longer in the same building as before…where had he been moved?

Oh no, Sam! He had been there too; Lucifer had captured him. Castiel suddenly yanked and pulled against the shackles, rattling the chains and rapping his knuckles against the concrete at his back, but to no avail. Where was Sam now? And Lucifer? If the Devil walked through that door in the next minute, would he be wearing the younger Winchester's face?

Meg's lips twitched with vulturine amusement as she watched his futile struggles, and so Castiel forced himself to go still. All he'd accomplished anyway was receiving a few painful score marks where the cuffs had bit into his wrists.

"What is this place?" he asked, reverting to a schooled tone and expression. With his grace shut down, he couldn't sense his location on earth. The feeling of being both adrift and confined caused tendrils of disquietude to unfurl in his stomach, only amplified by the presence of the evil creature leering before him.

"Just a temporary dwelling," she replied cheekily.

Castiel scanned the room, which was really more of an alcove, twenty-by-twenty feet. A large control panel protruded from the left wall, though it was faded and covered in dust. Whatever place this had been, it appeared not to have been used in quite some time. An arch directly ahead opened up into a wider space of more concrete, large cylindrical machines, and groups of piping conduits running up the walls like giant green inchworms. Pale light spilled in from above, and Castiel could see the bottom rims of rectangular-paned windows arching up into skylights.

His gaze slowly drifted back to the demon, who was pacing in front of him with that ecstatic glint in her eye. "You seem pleased," he said, rolling his shoulder slightly in an effort to ease the ache in his wings. The binding sigils were putting pressure on his true form, not to mention he was a little singed from when Lucifer had snapped his fingers and extinguished the holy fire. For a brief moment, the archangel's power had felt like throwing gasoline on a pyre, and Castiel had expected to die. To wake up alive, but imprisoned like this…well, he wasn't sure which was worse.

Meg stopped at the dilapidated control panel, placing her palms against it. "We're gonna win. Can you feel it? You cloud-hopping pansies lost the whole damn universe. Lucifer's gonna take over Heaven." She broke into a giddy grin. "We're going to Heaven, Clarence."

Castiel cocked his head. Lucifer had promised his followers admittance into Heaven? The idea was ludicrous. Why would the demons even care? Except to destroy that which they could never have. But did they truly believe that was the end goal, that Lucifer could—or would—allow such depravity to enter Heaven, the archangel's former home? Not even Castiel could wrap his head around that notion. But then, Lucifer was not called the Great Deceiver for nothing.

"Strange," he said with a nonchalance that belied his current predicament. "Because I heard a different theory from a demon named Crowley."

Meg's face instantly changed, a flash of black darkening her eyes and stirring the abyss Castiel could see in the ruined shape of her soul. "You don't know Crowley."

"He believes," Castiel continued, weighing his words carefully. "Lucifer is just using demons…to achieve an end, and that, once he does, he'll destroy you all."

Meg stalked closer. If Castiel could goad her further, perhaps she'd come near enough he could strike…though how he had no idea. He couldn't smite with his powers fettered, and he couldn't break free of the chains. What would Dean do in this situation? The Winchester always seemed to have a plan for getting out of tight spots, and he was a mere man without supernatural powers. Castiel just needed to think. Would Lucifer have entrusted the demon with the key to these chains?

"You're wrong." Though Meg's face appeared calm, the ire brimming just under the surface wafted off in palpable waves that bristled Castiel's invisible feathers. "Lucifer is the father of our race. Our creator. Your god may be a deadbeat. Mine—mine walks the earth."

She leaned into him, so close the acrid stench of sulfur on her breath burned Castiel's nostrils. He couldn't move his arms enough to try grabbing her hair in order to crack her head against the concrete, or even to search her person for the keys. Which really left him with only one thing to do.

Hoisting himself up by the chains holding his wrists, Castiel planted both feet against her stomach and shoved. Meg let out a startled 'oomph' and flew backward to skid across the ground. Castiel dropped his legs back down. Well, that was something Dean definitely would've done. Castiel could almost hear the Winchester's voice of approval, which gave the angel a smidgen of satisfaction—despite the fact that antagonizing one's captors while helpless was not the wisest idea.

Meg scrambled to her feet, face red and livid. Her cheeks puffed, and she strode forward with murder in her eyes. Castiel braced himself for retaliation, but then an even stronger presence filled the room, and a calm voice reverberated with subtle power.

"Meg," was all it said, and the demon stopped short, fury blowing her pupils wide.

Lucifer stepped inside the alcove, and Castiel felt a thrill of relief that Satan was still possessing his first vessel. But the ease was short-lived. Castiel had not been afraid of the pain a mere demon might inflict, but the Devil himself…that triggered a flicker of fear.

Lucifer gave Meg a considering look. "Leave."

She appeared ready to argue, but quickly bit her tongue. Throwing one last glare at Castiel, the demon pivoted and stormed out. Castiel sighed; he was not looking forward to whatever revenge Meg devised. Still, the look of surprise on her face had been somewhat worth it.

A shiver ran up his spine when Lucifer turned that appraising gaze on him. "You're just full of pluck, aren't you?"

Castiel wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not, but remained quiet anyway.

Lucifer wagged a finger at him. "You're unique, Castiel. I bet Heaven never fully appreciated your talents."

Castiel almost pointed out that he was part of the contingent of angels that laid siege to Hell to rescue the Righteous Man, that he had in fact been the one to first reach Dean Winchester in the bowels of the Pit and carry him to redemption, but he clamped his mouth shut before such vain self-adulation could pass his lips. He hadn't been praised for his actions or valor by Heaven; no angels ever were. They were soldiers following orders, not for personal ambition or glory, but because that was who they were and what they did. Or, at least that was how it was supposed to be… Uriel and Zachariah had proved that notion wrong.

"Where's Sam?" Castiel asked, wrenching his attention away from those dour thoughts and leveling an accusatory glare at Lucifer.

"Safe." Lucifer tilted his head, brow creasing slightly. "You believe I would harm him? No, Castiel, I care about Sam. The things he's done for me…he deserves honor and reward." Lucifer began to pace, crossing his arms and tapping one finger on his elbow. "I'm curious about this devotion you have toward him. After all, Heaven sees him as an abomination, would just as soon destroy him as they would me." Lucifer paused to consider him. "I'm sure you felt the same, initially. What changed your mind?"

Castiel shifted in discomfort under that penetrating gaze. "I—Heaven—was wrong. Sam is good. Despite the mistakes he's made. But his heart is pure. No matter what Azazel did, in spite of the stain your demons tried to lay claim on him, Sam is a righteous man."

Lucifer's lips pursed in a commiserative moue. "Heaven will never see it that way. No matter how good Sam tries to be, he will never be admitted into Heaven when he dies. He will either be cast into the Pit, just as I was, or the angels will obliterate his soul completely, scattering it like stardust across the cosmos."

Castiel's chest constricted. No, he couldn't let that happen. Sam deserved to go to Heaven when he died; he deserved to be with his brother in eternity. But what could Castiel possibly do to guarantee the security of the younger Winchester's soul? He had neither the access nor clout to ensure a place for Sam in Heaven.

"You know, Castiel," Lucifer spoke up. "The only way to protect Sam is to join me. Once he says yes to being my vessel, he will never die. I will never let the scourge and torment of Hell touch him. But Heaven will still be after us both. And you. Join us, Castiel. Stand by your friend."

Castiel's expression hardened. "And Dean Winchester? You will never convince Sam to turn his back on his brother." Maybe when the Winchesters had been fighting there'd been a chance Sam would give in, as had happened in the future Zachariah had sent Dean to. But the older Winchester had already affected change by reconciling with his brother. As long as those two were united, nothing, not even Heaven and Hell, could stand in their way. Castiel believed that. Had to believe that.

Lucifer spread his arms in a mollifying gesture. "Dean Winchester can be spared. If Michael does not take his vessel, there will be no need for Sam to hurt him."

"But then the rest of the world will be destroyed."

Lucifer shrugged. "What's so great about this world anyway? Disease, famine, death, all these existed long before I was released. Tragedy is nothing new, Castiel." He canted his head thoughtfully. "Is it truly the world you wish to protect, or the Winchesters? Because if you join me, Sam will be safe…and Dean Winchester we can work on."

Castiel gritted his teeth; the Devil's promises were as hollow and carious as white-washed tombs—attractive on the surface but rotten to the core. He lifted his chin. "I will never join you."

Lucifer was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed. "What will it take to convince you?" he asked, seemingly to himself. In the next instant, he surged forward and clapped a hand over Castiel's head. Castiel jerked in surprise and alarm, thinking Lucifer meant to smite him into oblivion with the power only an archangel possessed. He'd been ripped apart this way once before, and the thought of going through it again sent terror flooding through him.

But rather than the soul-splitting fire that would shred his grace into slivers, he felt a force push its way into his mind. Castiel tried to recoil as he realized what was happening, but he was physically trapped against the pillar, and his mental wards were like paper against the sudden onslaught of the archangel's will. Lucifer's presence filled his mind, an invasion that made Castiel shudder under the touch. He tried to draw deeper within himself to escape it.

A light laugh echoed through the haze of his thoughts, and that presence pushed further. Castiel immediately shielded his knowledge of the Winchesters; he would not betray them by giving Lucifer ammunition to use against the brothers. He grouped thoughts of Bobby Singer into a safe place as well. Anyone and anything that could be traced back to Sam and Dean, Castiel erected a wall around. But in his frantic haste, he'd failed to protect the parts of him, which was what Lucifer had gone after.

Unbidden, memories of Castiel's 're-education' in Heaven flooded his mind. He flinched at the pain they evoked, both physical and mental: whip-cracks like lightning spearing his grace, carrying the horrific images and sensations of humanity's depravity and capacity for cruelty—bloody battlefields, murder, rape. Castiel had been made to witness and experience every moment of torment…from the perspectives of both victims and perpetrators. He'd felt his body pierced by blades, burned by fire, flesh torn off. The physical torment had been bad enough, but worse was the horror every brutalized human felt, which had been woven into Castiel's consciousness. He shared their pain and suffering.

Yet those did not even compare to when he'd been forced into the minds of those reveling in the torture. Their rage, rapacious hunger for violence, the sheer glee they felt at a fellow human being's screams…these things were not meant for an angel to feel. It had made Castiel sick, and all too willing to fall back in line, just to make it stop—for both him and humanity.

He was bombarded with them again now, drowning in the terror, choking on bile, and lost among the agony of a million clamoring voices until he forgot his own name. That was when Lucifer's voice broke through the haze like a balm.

"Oh, brother, the suffering you've been made to endure… I understand you, Castiel. You do not desire war. You thought Heaven would bring about Paradise, an end to all this death and savagery. But don't you see? They are agents of it. They very thing angels proclaim to abhor is exactly what they themselves yearn for."

Castiel wanted to struggle against the Devil's presence and seductive words, but the wretched truth was he clung to the warm aura that offered to soothe the frayed edges of his sanity.

"You were bred to be a soldier, Castiel. But there can be no soldiers without war."

Castiel couldn't contain a whimper, curled in on himself as the pain that hemmed him in threatened to break him all over again. But then the sensations were being pushed back, and a gentle caress was smoothing over the parts of Castiel's flayed grace. Lucifer crooned softly, comfortingly, as he snuffed out the heinous memories, sealing them away to a place Castiel couldn't access. His mind gradually settled under a dark, anesthetized curtain.

The echo of his vessel's erratic heartbeat thrummed in his ears, the physical form undergoing immense strain that mirrored the internal. He was barely aware of Lucifer's presence still sifting through his mind, until the archangel spoke up with an intrigued lilt.

"Well, isn't this interesting."

Castiel felt a tickle as Lucifer teased a thread of memory loose, rubbing it between amorphous fingers. He couldn't see what Lucifer was looking at though, and then suddenly the Devil's presence retreated, and Castiel found himself back in his vessel, panting heavily.

Lucifer stepped back, a small smile curving his mouth. "Thank you, Castiel. I believe this will be very helpful."

With that, he turned and departed, leaving Castiel sagging in the chains and utterly spent.

A/N: Oy, that got a little dark there at the end. Reviews are candy! And I'd love to know what you think of the story so far. ^_^