Fate Comes on Dark Wings, Prologue
Five days, seventeen hours, and twenty-one minutes since Mérida. Castiel looked up as the door to his cell swung open, sky shining in. This was it. The demons were coming to put him up on the rack. He was just surprised they hadn't gone to work on him sooner. Whatever they did, Castiel told himself, it could never be as bad as his punishment in Heaven. Besides, Dean would surely come for him one day.
The raw, overwhelming power of an archangel filled the air. Lucifer himself stepped into the room, a faint smile playing at his lips. "You're the one, right? Castiel, who split the Host in two."
Castiel stared at his visitor in shock. It took him a few moments to realize Lucifer's intentions. Captured angels had been spotted later fighting for the forces of Hell. "The answer is no," he ground out.
"I thought you might say that." Lucifer cocked his head, a much put-upon brother dealing with a recalcitrant younger sibling. "Fly with me, Castiel."
The place they landed in seemed like a picture from the days Before, when humans fought only each other and a handful of hunters were enough to defend against the monsters lingering in the dark. Now the forces unleashed by the Apocalypse warped the planet itself, shattering the land with earthquakes, floods, fiery rains, blight, and numerous other calamities. But this land was green and beautiful, all sharp peaks piercing the skies, forests painting the slopes. Castiel stretched his consciousness out for hundreds of miles and found only animals. "Three hundred thousand people used to live here."
"Do you remember," Lucifer said as he looked over the Appalachians, "how humans tore up these mountains looking for coal? By the time I escaped, they'd begun to blow up the peaks to find new seams."
"Three hundred thousand people," Castiel repeated. "How much of the Eastern Seaboard did you destroy?"
"Destroy? I fixed it. I'm restoring Creation."
"Bullshit," Castiel snapped, surprising himself with his idiotic bravery. "Your armies are destroying the world!"
"The demons are a means to an end. I'll deal with them when the time comes." Lucifer leaned in, pulled Castiel around to look him in the eye. "I understand, brother. Dean Winchester is an extraordinary human. Your loyalty to him is commendable. But the rest of the species..." He shrugged dismissively. "No other creature in Creation is as greedy and shortsighted. They would have destroyed themselves in a few generations anyway and taken the planet with them."
"They learn," Castiel insisted. "Our Father created them to grow and evolve in a way unlike any other animal. It has been only a few thousand years since the start of human civilization and already they are exploring the stuff of the cosmos. Well, were exploring."
Lucifer laughed. "Really, Castiel? You're making theological arguments to me? I was by our Father's side when he created humanity and I can tell you, He said no such thing."
"The meaning is evident in His actions."
"Mm. You were more of a philosopher than a soldier before the war, weren't you." Castiel tried to pull away, but Lucifer held him tightly. "I am offering you a chance, brother. Join me. I will even preserve Dean Winchester for you."
"The answer is no," Castiel repeated.
"I see."
After they flew back to Philadelphia, Lucifer pressed Castiel's vessel against a wall, reached into the very stuff of him, and ripped out his wings. "We'll talk again when these grow back," he said, and vanished.
Castiel screamed and screamed.
**********
Lucifer visited him twice more. The answer remained no.
**********
"You're a tough nut to crack, aren't you," Sam said, almost conversationally. "Almost two years and you haven't even begun to break." He ruffled Castiel's hair. "Lucifer is...annoyed. He wants you fighting for us. You're a symbol." Fingers closing painfully tight in his hair, and then Sam yanked him upright to lean and close and murmur in his ear. "You need to be destroyed." At the best of times, Castiel was weaker than Sam Winchester; now, weakened by the wards engraved in the cell walls, he found the power spilling from the Antichrist almost suffocating. "I'd rather decorate this city with your intestines, but I have to admit, the look on Dean's face when he sees you flying for us..." Sam released Castiel, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy at the thought.
"You know, Sam," Castiel said, "Every time Lucifer comes to make his offer, he always spends time talking. A lot of it is arguing, but really, he just wants a conversation. Maybe it's just me, but I'm guessing he gives the other angels similar treatment." Sam's eyes snapped open. Castiel gave him a small, sly smile. "He wants to be with his own kind. If he wins, you'll be the first to go. You're the worst of humanity. You're what he hates the most."
Sam scowled--then grinned, bright and wide and playful. With a flick of his wrist, he lifted Castiel into the air and slammed him against the wards. Castiel bit back a cry of pain--he'd scream for the demons, but not for this bastard. "Did you really take me for a bitch? After all this time?" he laughed. The stink of his own flesh burning filled Castiel's nostrils. After a few more agonizing moments, the power holding him in place vanished, and he fell to the ground with a thump. And then Sam loomed up before his eyes, bending over with a serrated knife in his hands. This close, Castiel could make out the Enochian runes engraved into the metal. "I figure the demons here have been getting lazy," Sam hissed. "It's so easy to break an angel. Wake up the vessel and--" He dragged the knife across Castiel's belly, reached in, and pulled out the innards. "--go to town. I wish I could hear the angels' screams, but they do beg so prettily afterward.
"But you--you don't have anyone else in there with you. You're wearing a glorified fucktoy. That's right, I know exactly what your siblings did to you," he smirked at the look on Castiel's face. "How Dean got you out of Heaven. The other angels were more than happy to explain after they switched sides."
Castiel tried to turn away, see anywhere but Sam, the very last person he wanted to know about his punishment. Sam gripped his chin, held him in place. "You don't get to look away," he cooed, like a parent calming a child. "You're going to look me in the eye while I cut you up and then I'm going to find out what really hurts you." A flash of the knife opened his jugular; another two severed the tendons in his arms. "I'm guessing I'll have to do something about the layout on your chest." And this time, Castiel did scream as the flesh of his chest peeled away, feeling the ties binding him to this body waver ever so slightly. "Jackpot." Sam grinned. "I've got a couple of weeks to burn. I got time to be creative."
**********
The first explosion shook the foundations of the prison; the next three brought the building tumbling down. Castiel curled into a ball as his cell collapsed around him, his heart leaping in his chest. Dean was coming. It hurt a bit, to be buried beneath the rubble, but after a month in Sam's hands the pain was inconsequential. With the wards broken, his Grace swelled within him, giving him the power to dig himself out of rocks pinning him to the floor.
When he broke through to stare out into the sunshine for the first time in two years, he found a group of humans digging desperately at the rocks, dragging other angels out. Two of his siblings flung the rubble aside as well, but another three crouched down, staring at nothing. One had left his vessel trembling on the ground; Castiel could sense him battering mindlessly against the wards around the city, thoroughly mad.
Around them was chaos. Shells flew through the air, some flaming up and exploding as they hit the wards. Shells flew through the air, some flaming up and exploding as they hit the wards surrounding Philadelphia. The sky crackled with power in the far distance, dust storms billowing against what appeared to be a large, invisible wall. His siblings, he realized.
A human ran to his side as he pushed the last of the stones away to pull him upright. She and her friends wore rags, Castiel noticed. Not soldiers, then, just slaves imprisoned in the closest approximation of Hell on earth. He wondered how they managed to make explosives. "What's going on?" he asked his new friend.
"Lotta prisoners coming in, these last couple of months," the human explained. "Said the Americans was moving up the Eastern Seaboard, had a foothold down in Florida. We figured when the army came to Philadelphia, we could break out in the chaos if we got the angels free. But these guys--" She shrugged helplessly.
"They've been under the knife since they came here," Castiel snapped.
"Yeah? I been here more than four years and I ain't broken. Soldiers of God my ass!"
Castiel shook his head against her bitterness, too tired to deal with the intricacies of human emotions at the moment. He moved to crouch down next to his siblings. "Tophiel," he said to the nearest in Enochian. "Tophiel, we need to go back to work."
Tophiel raised her face to look at him with glassy eyes. "--My vessel," she said after a pause. "My vessel has gone insane." She curled her fingers in her hair, scratched and pulled at her scalp. "She is screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming--I can't make her sleep!" The despair hung heavy in her voice.
Castiel wrapped his arms around her "Think of the demons," he murmured in her ear, and Tophiel moaned. "They're coming back, Tophiel." She trembled against him. "They're going to hurt you, and they're going to hurt your vessel--what's her name?"
"Amira al-Husseini."
"Are you going to let the demons hurt her again?"
"I--I can't. Can't fight. The wards, I'm too weak--"
"You know that's not true. Feel me, sister." He reached out for her with his true body, pressed his Grace against her until she responded. "We are free and we are going to make these sons of bitches pay for what they did. Get angry, Tophiel. Think of the oaths we swore when Lucifer twisted the first woman into the first of these abominations."
"Oaths, yeah, that's rich, coming from you," she muttered, and he knew he had her. As the others dug more angels out, Castiel moved from Tophiel to Uzzah and then Azariel, and Buraqil, Dumah, Munkar, Raziel, cajoling his siblings back onto their feet. The seconds slid by as they worked. With the angels' assistance, the humans would be able to free everyone from the rubble in a few minutes, but any moment now the demons would sense their escape.
And then the sky rippled, exploding a moment later into a dome of fire. "The defenses are falling!" one of the humans shouted over the roar of the flames. Ashes began to fall gently like snow. Lightning danced through the fire. "We gotta get out of here before the whole place gets torched!" He coughed and scrubbed soot from his eyes. The ever-present stench of sulfur began to thicken. As one, the group broke into a run.
They made as far as the occupied parts of town.
Black smoke blocked out the sky, lancing down into the terrified slaves swarming below. The demons smashed humans against the walls, broke necks, slashed open stomachs, hamstrung and decapitated. Scorched earth tactics, Castiel thought. He went to work.
None of them had the strength to burn the filth, but they were still angels, and these demons were cannon fodder possessing unarmed humans. It was simplicity to pin a line of demons against a wall and give them a proper exorcism. And then, one by one, the demons fled their hosts, leaving only humans and angels in the streets. They'd won.
"There are tunnels below the city," Tsadkiel said. "Those rebels are moving through them."
"The way out?"
"Must be, or the closest thing we've got. There's an entrance about a mile away--"
The ground ripped open, spewing hellfire. As the fire incinerated humans and angels alike, Castiel manifested his wings, seized the two nearest bodies, and leaped into the air. Landing on a building on the outskirts of old Philadelphia, he released the two he had rescued, turned to go back into the inferno--and fell to his knees, too terrified to move. This maddened escape, the power warping the sky, the spells ripping the city apart--Castiel folded away his wings and trembled.
"They didn't take your wings?" Uzzah. He'd rescued Uzzah. And a human.
"They've grown back. It's almost time for Lucifer to rip them out again." Castiel willed himself to his feet. "I need to go back," he muttered, as much to himself as to the other two. He perched on the roof's edge, gathering his strength to return.
A familiar figure appeared with a pop in the street.
Force wrapped around him, slammed him hard against the opposite building and then to the street. A boot ground his face into the cracked asphault. "Clean up duty," Sam drawled. "Real pain in the ass." He grasped Castiel by the throat and lifted him into the air. "Well, at least I get to kill you." He dug his fingers into the sigil layout and began chanting in Enochian. Magic bound Castiel's true self, began to pull, and blessed Father the pain--
--With a large crack, the skyfire vanished; the sound of breaking glass filled the air as the barriers shattered. Stunned, Sam broke off the chant, and the spell unraveled. Castiel flung himself back, flapping his wings wildly to port out of Philadelphia.
But something went wrong. Perhaps Sam's spell skewed his direction. It felt like drilling straight through the walls of the worlds. Like sinking through very thick, crushing metaphorical gel. And then something snapped, and Castiel fell through.
Into nothing.
Less than nothing, even--more like the negative of existence. Floating in the negation, Castiel wondered if he had died. But then he sensed the glimmers of prayers and messages and spells rushing past him. This was an important discovery, he realized. Finding prayers and seeking revelation came as naturally to angels as breathing did to humans--so naturally that no one had ever really bothered to wonder how it worked. This negation could be the explanation.
Castiel didn't care.
Burnt, exhausted, and weak, all he wanted was to rest. Anywhere would be fine. Castiel felt around in the negation, snatching at passing messages and prayers. Surely one of them must have a friendly on the other end. Here: someone was performing the Last Rites. Desperately gathering the glimmer to himself, he sensed a familar, nonhostile presence on the other end beside whoever was reciting the prayers. There was no time to confirm the person's identity; the negation was dragging at his very being. With the last of his strength, Castiel hurled himself in the direction of the prayer's source, felt the crushing pressure as he drilled through the walls of the worlds once more, and tumbled through a blinding light onto a hard stone floor.
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