[DCBB-FIC] Castiel Rising; NC-17; The Coward
The Coward
Castiel has found something more boring than watching people sleep. Goats. Slow, putrid, diseased goats to be used in raising Pestilence. But Castiel does as Lucifer wills, and so he will tend to these goats and make sure all thirteen of them survive until they’re needed.
Which reminds Castiel of Dean. Castiel frowns at himself, nudging a wheezing goat closer to the rest of the tribe, and curls his wings closer He’s a little disturbed with himself, with how his mind rotates around Dean now. If he’d known that this would happen, he wouldn’t have allowed Dean to lay with him. He thinks. Maybe.
Castiel runs a hand over his face and tries to get his attention back onto the goats. Another one starts slowly moving too far from its brethren and Castiel walks over and pokes it with his foot. It bleats at him once, blinking crusty eyes, before wandering back. At least the goats listen better than Dean.
Damnation.
“Castiel, you seem distracted.”
Castiel turns around, smiling, and sees Lucifer landing a few yards away. The goats behind him bleat and cough, startled, but settle almost immediately as he draws closer. Castiel tries not to let his gaze linger on the raw and peeling skin on his vessel’s face, and instead looks back at his tribe of goats, nodding. “I am,” he says. “I haven’t heard from Dean in the past week, since he left that voice message about the trickster god.”
Lucifer makes a noise, walking past Castiel and to the goats. “Are you worried about him?”
Castiel grits his teeth. “Yes,” he finally says. “I… I am.”
Lucifer looks back at him, wings folding. “That’s… interesting,” he says slowly. Castiel nods again.
“I know,” he says, feeling his wings droop. “It’s unexpected.”
Lucifer turns away. “The ritual is almost ready,” he says. “I think I can let you go.”
Castiel stares at him, guilt and excitement warring in his chest. He wants to thank him. He wants to apologize. “I will return soon,” he says instead.
“I know,” Lucifer says, still not looking at Castiel.
It kills a piece of him inside. Castiel spreads his wings and flees to the sky.
-----
When Castiel arrives in Wellington, Ohio, he knows there is something… off. He can feel something pressing on the world, through the veil. A bubble of contained energy. Castiel moves toward it, knowing that, if Sam and Dean were after this trickster, this would be where they would end up. Only a god could make a pocket dimension like this. He braces himself, mind flashing back to when he’d dove into Hell so long ago, and he flies straight into it.
It’s harder than Castiel thought, tearing through. It clings to him, catches on his wings, and Castiel tears at it first with his fingers and then with claws he leaks through from his true form. He struggles, reaching out with his grace, trying to find any life, any sensation. He feels a ball of power through the nothing and makes for it, cutting, flying, fighting through the void.
Then he’s free and watching a pair of doors slide open. Castiel doesn’t wait-he can already feel the power of the room collecting itself-and he rushes forward, looking through the lights and smoke.
“Cas?!”
Castiel nearly smiles when he sees Dean, his feet trapped in some strange device. Sam stands on a similar platform a beside him. Castiel looks around the room and sees many puppets-lifeless constructs, dolls made for amusement. He ignores them and marches forward.
“I have to get you out of here,” he says. Dean twists further around, meeting Castiel’s eyes.
“How did you find us?’ he asks. “Or that we were even in trouble? I just left you that voicemail yesterday!”
Castiel stares. “Dean, you sent me that message a week ago.”
“Shit,” Sam says. “We gotta go.”
Castiel nods and lifts his hands to touch-
He slams against a wall, wings pulled tight against his body by the size of the space he’s been forced into. He reaches out in the blackness, claws already forming, and slashes at the wall he feels just over an arm’s length away. He tries to spread his wings, and they barely uncurl before he’s hit the walls and roof of his prison.
He can’t help the sudden spasm he has as panic flares in him, striking against the walls, pushing with his feet and wings, shouting nonsense. The burst of fright passes and he curls in on himself, breathing to calm his vessel’s pounding heart. He wonders if this is why angels take vessels instead of making bodies of their own-the soul acts as a buffer, keeping the emotions at bay. Castiel has never felt as strongly as he has in these last weeks. It’s terrible.
Once calm, Castiel reaches out again and feels the walls. They’re strong, but have give, as if made of rubber. He feels grooves from where his claws had managed to get in, and Castiel wonders just what could make this. No pagan god could sneak up on an angel. No mere trickster could have moved him like that.
Unless it wasn’t a trickster. Unless…
Castiel forces himself away from that thought by pushing his claws into the wall again, trying to discover how thick they are. His fingers sink in until his first knuckle disappears, and the resistance on the tip of his claws vanishes. He pulls himself free and stares first at his hands, then at the walls. Too long to just cut his way through. He’ll have to do something drastic.
Castiel narrows his eyes, frowning, and smirks. He inhales once, stilling, and instantly morphs into his true draconic form in its full size. The walls offer no trouble, shattering under the pressure and spilling Castiel into the clinging void. He turns to the greatest concentration of energy and forces his way through once again.
As he struggles through the last of it, Castiel morphs back into his vessel and he blasts into the next bubble of power. Another door slams open and a faceless crowd of puppets gasp at his entrance. He’s honestly surprised he made it this far, surprised to see Dean’s face again. He huffs as he walks inside and closes the door behind him, as if that alone could keep him out.
“We don’t have much time,” Castiel says, but Dean shakes his head.
“Cas, you’re bleeding,” he says. “What’d the trickster do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel snaps. “It’s not a trickster.”
Sam steps forward, around a table, and his brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
Castiel glares. “He’s an-”
He’s launched back, colliding with the wall, and slumps to the floor. He stays there, stunned by the force of the blow, as the door swings open again and another man enters to the sound of applause. As he turns brass eyes on him, Castiel is nearly suffocated by the realization he’d wanted to bury.
“Gabriel,” he tries to say, but his mouth is bound. He touches his face, running a hand over the small piece of tape.
“Cas!” Dean shouts, and Castiel looks over at him, wide-eyed.
‘Understand,’ he begs with his eyes, flicking his gaze between Gabriel and Dean. ‘Understand.’
“Well, well, well!” Gabriel chirps, cheerful and eager. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
Castiel turns his eyes onto Gabriel again, glaring. ‘Lucifer will hear of this.’
He thinks he might see Gabriel falter, grin wavering, but it’s gone in a flash. “See ya,” he chirps and raises his fingers.
Castiel looks to Dean again, meets his eyes. ‘Understand.’
He’s gone before he can hear Gabriel’s fingers snap, and reappears in an empty, rectangular warehouse. Every spare inch of space on every surface of the it is covered in symbols, trapping sigils, and talismans. Castiel wonders if there are any missing from this collection.
“You sure you did the ritual right?”
Castiel spins around, startled by Dean’s voice behind him. He and an elderly man are sitting on tables amidst an armory’s worth of monster-killing weaponry. The elderly man-Robert Singer, Castiel realizes-glares at Dean, and Dean leans back.
“Sorry,” he says. “Touchy, touchy, huh?”
The warehouse suddenly rattles around them, the lights flashing, the roof nearly pulling off. As Dean and Robert gather weapons to themselves, Castiel hears wood creaking and the sound of great wings beating. He turns to the doors as they blow open and a man strides into the warehouse, ignoring the sparks landing in his hair as he marches by.
It takes a moment for Castiel to realize that it’s James Novak, but as James shrugs off bullets and walks with the air of something non-human, Castiel understands. It’s him.
“Who are you?” Dean asks, holding a blade Castiel has never seen before.
The other Castiel frowns, narrowing his eyes. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”
And Castiel’s mind goes blank.
-----
Castiel doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here, watching the clips of his other self interacting with Dean and Sam. He doesn’t know if it matters-if time is so different here, then the world could be passing by in a blink, or dragging on. It doesn’t matter.
This is… what is this?
As Castiel watches his other self standing in the kitchen of the Prophet Charles, facing his certain death, he shuffles through the memories he’d gotten from Dean. The fallen angel Anna had been the angel to break into the angelic waiting room to rescue Dean. She’d stayed behind to fend off the archangel who followed.
And Yahoel had been the one to pull Dean from Hell. Uriel had killed him when he’d refused to convert, and Anna had then killed Uriel. ‘What are these scenes?’ he thinks as everything changes, and Castiel sees himself doing battle with Qafsiel and Manakel again. But, this time, he sees Dean’s face, and sees the relief on it.
And it hurts.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel whispers, unable to look away.
“Welcome to the inside of Chuck’s head,” Gabriel says, and Castiel jerks himself away. Gabriel smirks at him, brass eyes flashing. He stretches out his copper wings, showing them off to Castiel, and steps back a few paces. “Thought you’d like to see how things could have gone.”
Castiel frowns, looking back at the scenes. He’s in a hospital now, looking at an injured Robert Singer. “How do you know this is the way it would have gone?”
Gabriel smirks. “I told you,” he says. “These are Chuck’s visions. Or, well,” he pauses as Castiel feels his eyes widen, “these are scenes from the books Chuck’s written about his visions.”
Castiel turns away from him and stares at himself taking Dean’s amulet-his most prized possession. It almost takes his breath away. “How is that…?”
“This is how it was supposed to go,” Gabriel says as he walks closer. “You surprised even God when you fell. The ground shook and the sky darkened.” He shrugs, raising an eyebrow. “But that’s the effect of free will.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. “Then why would I choose them over Heaven? Humanity over my brothers?”
Gabriel jams his hands into his pockets. “You’ve always had a bit of an odd moral compass, Cas.”
Castiel glares. “Only Dean can call me that.”
Gabriel shakes his head, looking at him. “Fine, Castiel,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”
“Did you run in this reality?” Castiel asks, narrowing his eyes.
Gabriel flinches, as if slapped. He turns to the scene playing out around them, where the other Castiel has Dean crowded near a sink. Jealousy and want coil deep inside Castiel, but he forces himself to watch Gabriel instead. “I did,” he says, smirking a little. “I guess even without you bound up in the family dungeon, I couldn’t stomach the fighting.” He narrows his eyes at Castiel. “Did you kill Raphael?”
Castiel frowns, leaning back. He flares his wings a little, and Gabriel closes his eyes. “I did,” he says. When Gabriel covers his mouth, he glares harder. “This is war, Gabriel,” he snarls. “We can’t afford such liabilities.”
Gabriel eyes pop open and he shakes his head. “‘Liabilities’?! Castiel!” He throws his arms wide, his wings echoing the motion. “He was your brother!”
“He was nothing,” Castiel says, drawing himself taller, and Gabriel goes shock-still. Castiel frowns at him. “You archangels never really understood what it meant to be an angel, did you?” Before Gabriel can move, he continues on, stepping forward. “You kept yourselves so tightly grouped. You only spoke with the angels when it suited you.” He tilts his head. “How can you expect for me to care about someone who didn’t think of me as family, Gabriel?”
Gabriel closes his eyes again, and Castiel wonders if how bright they glow is from grace, or tears. “I didn’t want that,” he whispers.
“It doesn’t matter what you wanted,” Castiel says. “If you cared about us all as brothers, then you would mourn more than just one lost archangel. You know how many angels died in the first war.” It isn’t a question, but Gabriel nods anyway. Castiel nods back. “How many of them died for a cause they actually believed in?”
“Castiel,” Gabriel starts, and Castiel flares his wings again.
“I want Lucifer to win,” he snaps, “because through him and his love, I learned free will. And I want that for all of my brothers. I want them to choose to fight for us, or against us, or just not fight at all.”
Gabriel stares at him. “Is that all you want?”
‘No,’ Castiel’s mind savagely tell him. Castiel can’t help but look at the scene playing, watch Dean smile at the other Castiel, laughing. ‘I want what he has.’
Gabriel just gives him a small, sad smile. “You won’t get that,” he says, spreading his wings, “because this will all be over soon enough.”
“Wait,” Castiel starts, but Gabriel vanishes. He rushes forward, heart thundering in his chest. “What do you mean? Gabriel!”
But Castiel does understand. He races for the nearest door in the scene and throws it open, and he’s shoved forward and falls through it. He spreads his wings to catch himself, but they’re tied to his back, and his arms flail uselessly as the ground rushes to meet him.
He hits an flat, angled surface and continues to roll for several more declines until he slows and finally stops when the ground inclines again. He groans, pushing himself to his feet, and looks around. It’s a room made of doors, nearly in the shape of a sphere because there are so many. Castiel hesitantly steps forward and the room lurches, rolling with him so that a new door ends up under his feet and he remains standing on a level surface.
Castiel reaches down and grabs and turns the knob of the door directly beneath him, and he’s once again falling through a doorway, only this time the fall is greater. With his wings still bound, Castiel can only watch yet another room of doors rush to meet him. He lands heavily on a doorknob and the pain arcs straight from his lower left arm all the way to his grace.
He pants, rolling away, and clutches the aching spot tightly. The broken bone doesn’t mend, and Castiel hisses in pain again, wondering if the cuts on his face are still there, too. Tentatively, he tries focusing his grace on those wounds, to speed their recovery so the pain wouldn’t compound the injuries on his grace. The moment he does, though, his energy is sapped from him, leaving him shaking and breathless.
“For all your talk of brotherly love,” Castiel murmurs, “this feels entirely absent of it.” He lays his head on the door, closing his eyes. Escaping under his own power is impossible, which is probably what Gabriel had intended. It feels better to think that, than to believe Gabriel would let him suffer. He swallows, curling tighter around himself, and tries to keep still. He’ll have to wait, either for Lucifer to come after him, for Gabriel to release him, or for Sam and Dean to somehow find a way to kill Gabriel.
This is an entirely new kind of Hell.
-----
One moment, Castiel is laying on his side, waiting for rescue, the next, he’s propped on his feet in the abandoned warehouse he’d flown into to start this whole ordeal. Pain jolts through his arm and grace and he nearly collapses.
“Hey, Cas, hey,” he hears as two arms wrap around him, jarring his own. He lets out a gasp and Dean lowers them to the ground. “Cas, what’s wrong?”
Castiel leans his face into Dean’s shoulder, feeling his soul through the layers. He closes his eyes and exhales-it’s calming. “Arm,” he grunts, and stiffens to keep the rest of his noises inside as Dean pokes and prods and feels.
“You’re out now,” Dean says, reaching under his arm. “Can you stand?”
Castiel nods and focuses on getting his legs to straighten as Dean helps pick him up. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
When he opens his eyes, Dean’s own are looking straight into his. Dean smirks back. “What would I do without my bodyguard slipping me hints?”
“Probably star in a body wash commercial,” Castiel hears Sam drawl behind them. Dean’s face flushes and he flinches, but he makes sure Castiel has his balance before pulling away. Castiel looks back at Sam, whose face is contorted into confusion, before Sam looks away and at something behind them. “What are we going to do with him?”
Castiel stiffens and turns slowly, narrowing his eyes when he sees Gabriel trapped in the holy fire. His face is drawn tight, regret and concern in his features, and Castiel wants nothing more than to tear his vessel’s skin off. Gabriel’s wings are nearly too large for the holy fire, and he keeps twitching them away from the smoke trails. Castiel stretches his own wings pettily, although it does feel good after being bound.
“I could kill him,” he offers, voice deeper than normal, like a growl. Gabriel’s wings spasm, and, although his vessel’s face betrays nothing, his eyes flare their true brass color. He looks over at Dean, who simply shakes his head.
“He’s not worth it, Cas,” Dean says. Castiel frowns, and Dean shrugs. “He’s not part of your war, or our battle. He’s just a coward, too scared to stand up to his family.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow when Gabriel makes an indignant noise. “Hell, I may not like what side you’re on, but you had the guts to make a choice.”
Castiel feels his grace flare with the pleasure, which merely makes all its injuries tweak. He winces, and Dean gives him a concerned glance before looking back at Sam.
“Let’s go,” he says. Before Castiel can twitch, Dean grabs the wrist of his uninjured arm and tugs him into following. “All of us.”
Castiel blinks, stumbling after Dean, but doesn’t pull free. Sam gives them both another odd look before turning around and walking to the door. As Sam pulls it open and holds it, allowing sunlight to come filtering into the warehouse, Gabriel makes a protesting noise.
“Hey, hey!” he shouts, panic laced in his voice. Castiel whips his head around and Dean holds his arm tighter. Gabriel’s copper wings twitch. “Are you just going to leave me here? Forever?”
Castiel curls his wings tighter and wants to say yes, that he should feel the terror of being trapped in some small place without knowing if he’d ever escape. He looks at Dean, though, because he knows that Gabriel has troubled him more than he has Castiel. Dean takes a moment, looking at the ground, before lifting his head and smirking.
“No,” he says, and Castiel sees Gabriel’s relief in the way his wings sag slightly. Dean scowls. “I won’t do that, because I’m not a douchebag like you or your brothers are-sorry Cas.” With that, he reaches over and pulls a red handle beside the door.
An alarm goes off and Castiel twitches, looking straight up, and water gushes from the ceiling. He blinks as it falls onto his face, dampening his hair, soaking his coat. He hears a hissing noise and looks back at Gabriel, seeing the magic fire slowly dying around him. Gabriel blinks blearily back, wings slouching even further, and frowns.
Dean just grins wider. “Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he calls, and walks out of the warehouse, leading Castiel and following Sam. The door slams shut behind them.
He keeps pulling Castiel until they’re next to the Impala, and only then lets him go to fish in his pockets for the keys. Castiel leans against the car, glad to have it there so he can rest. He should really try getting to Lucifer-being closer to the origin of his energy will make his grace recharge faster, plus he doesn’t know how long he’s been trapped in Gabriel’s prisons. But he’s too tired to think about flying yet, especially with how his arm and grace ache.
“Do you think what he said was true?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t know if he’s talking to him or what he’s talking about, so he shrugs and winces.
“I think he believes it’s true,” Sam says, and Castiel has his answer who Dean was talking to. “But since when have we ever done what some monster expected?”
“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I still wish I was in a sitcom, though.”
Sam just laughs. Castiel hears a car door opens and wonder if he should step back now. He’s just… tired.
“Cas, you gonna get in?”
Castiel lifts his head and blinks over at Dean. “I-” He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But he wants to understand what he saw: what about these brothers that could make him face death for them, kill his own brothers for them? But that could make everything… difficult.
“Dean,” Sam says, sounding hesitant, reproachful. There’s something in his tone that makes Castiel’s wings twitch in irritation.
“Yes,” he says, and carefully uses his uninjured arm to open the door. He slides into the car and, as he closes the car door, feels the anxiety fall on him. He reaches back with his left arm to pull the seatbelt across his chest, pushing the tingling sensations in his fingers and toes to the back of his mind. He meets Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror and nods.
Dean smiles back at him. “Good,” he says. “You can, er,” he flounders, looking down as he puts the car into gear, “not sleep, I guess, since you don’t actually do that, but close your eyes and relax. We’ll set your arm once we get to the motel room.”
Castiel nods, closing his eyes, and leans his head back against the seat. The anxiety doesn’t feel so pressing when he doesn’t see the tiny box he’s in, he thinks. The world drifts by while he’s in the backseat, set to the sound of the car on the road and Sam and Dean quietly talking.
-----
Either as a show of bravado or a sign of exhaustion, Dean doesn’t bother leaving town, and simply checks them into a nearby motel. “If he wanted to mess with us some more,” Dean says as he steers Castiel into his and Sam’s room, “he could have found us on the road. We’re safe.”
“He could take this as an insult,” Castiel says half-heartedly, feeling every ache in his grace reflected in his body’s muscles. He glances at Sam, who’s lining the motel’s only windowsill with salt, and then looks back at Dean. “Gabriel might simply come after you to prove a point.”
Dean scoffs and pushes Castiel into sitting at the end of one of the beds. “Yeah, well, until then we’re sticking here,” he says, and tugs on Castiel’s trench coat. “Take all this off so I can fix your arm up.” Castiel raises an eyebrow at him, giving him a small smirk, and Dean’s face reddens. He frowns, but his eyes flash mischievously. “Just the tops, Cas-anova.”
Sam clears his throat and Dean looks over at him, face turning redder. Sam raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms, and leans against the wall. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“Uh,” Dean starts. He looks wide-eyed at Castiel, and Castiel frowns at him as he carefully shrugs out of his trench coat. Dean turns back to Sam and says, “We’re helping Cas ‘til his battery recharges and he can Blue-Skidoo.”
Sam’s eyebrows rise even higher. “Dean.”
“Sam,” Dean says back. He turns away from Castiel, facing Sam directly. “We’re helping the guy who helped us. What’s so strange about that?”
Castiel watches, amused, as Sam crosses his arms. “I’m not buying it, Dean,” he says. He gestures to Castiel, blinking. “Castiel told me you two weren’t exactly getting along. Now you’re bringing him into our motel room?” He shakes his head. “I’m not stupid, Dean.”
Castiel can sense Dean’s rising agitation and anger, and exhales in annoyance. “We fucked,” he says, carefully pulling his broken arm out of his suit jacket, and Sam’s mouth drops open.
Dean slaps a hand over his face, the tips of his ears enflamed. “Fuckin’ A,” he murmurs, and Sam finally regains his voice.
“You-!?” Sam starts, mouth opening and closing. He blinks furiously before shaking his head. “The fuck Dean?!” Dean opens his mouth, but Sam holds up his hands. “Did you see what happened to me?” Sam asks, eyes bright, and Dean looks away. Sam swallows and closes his eyes. “We don’t need another Ruby.”
Dean looks Castiel in the eye before dropping his gaze, and he starts to undo the buttons of the white dress shirt. “It’s not the same,” he quietly says, and Castiel feels warmth spread through his fingertips. He touches Dean’s face with his right hand, trying to relay his thanks, before it drops to the mattress again.
Sam sighs, and Castiel looks over at him. “How?” Sam asks, staring right back at Castiel. “How is it different? He’s working for Lucifer, keeping us alive until we’re needed.” Dean tenses, taking more time to undo the next button, and Sam scowls. “Then we can fuck off, right Cas?”
Castiel glares back. “I care about Dean,” he says frankly. Sam frowns at him.
“I never said you didn’t.”
“Sam,” Dean finally says as he finishes the buttons, “I know I can’t trust Cas. And that’s the difference.” Castiel watches Sam go stiff, and allows Dean to pulls his arms free of his shirt. Dean holds it in his hands for a moment, looking at it. “He has a use for us, and we have a use for him.” He doesn’t look back at Sam, or meet Castiel’s gaze as he sets the shirt down and heads toward one of the duffle bags. “As long as we keep that in mind, I think we’ll be fine.”
Sam makes a noise, and Castiel looks back at him. He blinks at the strange expression on his face: jaw clenched, mouth pinched, but his eyes are sad, pitying. If Castiel had more energy, he’d peek into Sam’s thoughts to better understand it. “Yeah,” Sam says, eyes closing. “As long as we all remember that.”
“I’m not asking you to trust Cas,” Dean says, turning around, a few scraps of cloth in his hands. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
Sam opens his eyes, his previous expression cleared, and just stares at Dean for a long moment. “Okay, Dean,” he says, and walks forward. He eyes Castiel, though, and Castiel merely frowns back. Sam nods. “Okay, I’ll trust you.”
Dean smiles, and Castiel thinks he likes Sam a little more.
-----
It takes a day for Castiel to be strong enough to fly, and well enough to make the trip. A day of meeting Sam's glares and ignoring Lucifer's insistent tugging on his still-healing grace. As soon as he can, Castiel leaves Wellington, if only to escape the tense atmosphere, and follows Lucifer's pull to a small town in Missouri. The moment Castiel lands and he feels the energy in the air, he knows this is the place of Lucifer's next ritual.
Also telling is that every other person is possessed by a demon.
A man and woman exit a store, and Castiel can see the figure of the demon’s rotting face obscures the man’s. And there are more, each of them men, walking down the street. Not every single man, but almost. Castiel feels his insides twist, and he takes to the air again.
He lands in front of a motel room door, hesitating. He can hear Lucifer speaking and he senses two demons inside the room. He knocks on the door instead of just entering, and Lucifer’s voice pauses. Castiel waits a moment before the door swings open, and Meg sneers at him from the other side.
“Well, lookie who’s here!” she says, eyes black. She tilts her head slightly. “Done fucking the Winchester boys already?”
Castiel bites back a sigh. “Hello, Meg.”
She smiles thinly and draws back from the door. “You’re lucky Lucifer is merciful.”
“Meg,” Lucifer’s voice rings out, and Meg immediately turns away. Castiel lingers in the doorway until Meg rounds the corner at the end of the small hallway and into the bedroom area, then he steps inside and closes the door.
Castiel walks into the bedroom and immediately sees Lucifer sitting on the edge of a bed. The peeling and rawness look worse, and Castiel wonders if his absence caused it. “Lucifer,” he says softly, and Lucifer raises his eyes. The disappointment in them is so strong that it nearly crushes Castiel. “I-I apologize,” he says. “I was detained for far longer than I had thought.”
A week, to be exact. The guilt rushes up at him again. Lucifer shakes his head and smiles at him.
“It’s alright,” he says, and Castiel wants to argue but Lucifer gestures to the other demon in the room. “I want you meet one of the leaders of Hell.”
Castiel turns and looks at the other demon. The demon smiles and offers his hand. “Crowley, King of the Crossroads,” he says, his eyes flaring red as his rotting face overlays the vessel’s balding head.
Castiel takes his hand, barely feeling the stinging from his human skin. “Why are you here?” he asks once he’s been released. Crowley laughs.
“Not shy at all,” he says, smirking. “I like that.” He looks to Lucifer, who nods, and Crowley spreads his hands. “I’m the most influential demon left alive. I can gather a pretty penny’s worth of demons in a short time. Which is what was needed.”
Castiel frowns, brow furrowing. “I noticed the large number in town,” he says, and looks to Lucifer. “What’s going on?”
Lucifer smiles. “The next step. Castiel. Death.”
Castiel stares at him when Meg lets out a giggle, and he turns to face her. She sticks her thumbs into her belt loops. “Welcome to Carthage, Missouri,” she says, smirking. “Future population: zero.”
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