REVIVE ▸ d. winchester [2] ✔

Chapter 10

Behind the gates of heaven, deep inside the walls that so often held a sense of peace for both mortals and angels alike, a darkness was taking control. Complete and absolute control.

The darkness himself was an immortal, one with a mind consumed by greed and malice. He was the Angel of Death.

However, well within heaven, the darkness had failed to consume the light of four angels. These four angels were noble and proud, and dedicated to their father's words. Their lights of hope and faith refused to fade.

Restrained against a stone wall of each of their cells, the four angels' hands were chained above them, leaving them completely powerless to defend themselves. Yet, their hand restraints did little to render them useless compared to the devices used against their minds.

Atop each of the angels' heads, metal headgear sat, kept crudely in place through the use of spikes. These spikes prevented the angels from communicating with each other or other beings like them, leaving them subject to the Angel of Death's torture with no end in sight.

For days, the angels were to be kept in their solitude cells. They were given no refreshment or care in order to keep their vessels healthy. The only contact they had with another being was with the darkness himself when, twice a day, he would enter each cell and dive deep into the minds of each angel.

Azrael would search their minds. He would seek out answers to his greatest questions. Those answers would be the key to the world he had planned for. He looked for the locations of the greatest and most powerful objects created in the universe: Hands of God. The Rod of Aaron. The Horn of Joshua. The Colt. These would give him the power he desired. And he believed these angels knew where he could find them. 

There was one angel in particular that Azrael sought answers from. After all, who better to ask than the one who was trusted most by God to do his greatest tasks? The one who saw the light and dark in humanity, and knew himself what it meant to be human?

Who better to ask than Castiel?

The angel in the trench coat was kept in the darkest, most dreadful cell, the one deepest within heaven's walls. Weeks had already passed for Castiel, however, the angel had little knowledge of just how much time had already passed between the moment he was yanked away from Sam and Dean and the present. The minutes blurred into hours, and the hours blurred into days. Days turned into weeks, and Castiel had no hope of keeping his head straight.

Especially not when his own mind was being poked and prodded at by an all-powerful archangel.

Castiel's mind and heart were tired. He was defeated. The last thing he could clearly recall was the look of despair and anger in Dean's eyes. He could literally feel the lost and broken souls in the room, and between Sam and Bobby and Dean, he was overwhelmed with the feeling of anguish.

They had lost Jackie. And they blamed him.

So Castiel was left to hang in the cold and dark room, emersed in the emotional, physical, and mental pain brought about by his memories and bruises.

*      *      *

Azrael stands in front of the bloodied and broken Castiel, arms crossed in observance as he waits for an intelligible response. Azrael's own hands were covered in blood, although not his own. Each time Azrael reached out to move the spikes inside of the angel's head, more and more red would appear on his fingertips.

"Castiel," the archangel speaks. "Do you know what the best part of all of this is?"

Castiel's only response is a grunt of pain. No words have come out of his mouth for days, and nothing was about to change if Castiel could help it.

Azrael's fingers roughly rotate a spike on the side of Castiel's head, searching for just the right angle so that Castiel's mind and every thought would become his own. He was waiting for the moment where Castiel would have no control over what he said, causing him to spill out every single secret inside of him. Secrets that included the locations of the Hands of God.

"No matter how hard you try," Azrael continues, "No matter how hard you fight like the good, perfect angel you try to be, only one of us is walking out of this alive."

From inside of his dark jacket, Azrael pulls out a shiny, silver angel blade. His intentions were clear to Castiel who still hung helplessly in front of his captor. This was not the first time he had been put in this situation since he had been locked in the cell, and Castiel knew it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Fight as you may, Castiel, but the odds are not in your favor."

Azrael carelessly flips the blade once in his hand before driving it forward against Castiel's chest. The tip of the blade runs from his collar bone down to his lower abdomen, and just as in the days and weeks before, Castiel's eyes give away the pain he refuses to express out loud.

"Your vessel can only take so much, Castiel." Azrael's dark eyes look down, running over the wear and tear the angel's vessel had sustained by his own hand. Azrael had to admit to himself that Castiel had well outlasted the previous angels he had tortured for information, and he was sure he was going to outlive the other three angels he currently held, too.

However, once Azrael took in the angel and really looked at him, it was clear that he was just as broken on the inside as the others were. Perhaps more.

And he knew exactly why.

Azrael's own thoughts bring about a low chuckle from the archangel. His laugh is mocking and full of complete rapture, and Castiel can't help but pick up his head and look the man in the eyes.

They think she's dead.

Azrael had already known this fact. He had seen the repercussions of his actions. Seeing the Winchesters fall apart at his hand in tragedy was something that he could never forget. But Castiel. Fooling an angel into believing a lie when the exact opposite was reality, that was something to relish in. The angel couldn't find her soul anymore- Jackie was dead to Castiel.

Azrael's mouth slowly forms a deadly smirk, one full of power and control. He takes slow steps forward until his face is directly in front of Castiel's, then he reaches up and tweaks yet another spike in the angel's head.

From being so close, Azrael can easily feel the shaky breath that comes from Castiel. However, not satisfied with his withholding of pain, Azrael pushes the spike in even further until an agonizing yell comes from his prisoner.

Azrael laughs quietly again, and before backing up, he whispers into the broken angel's ear. "There we go."

Azrael wipes his hands on his jacket, making sure to make a show of it before turning his back to Castiel and pacing towards the door of the cell. Azrael would be back again, ready to work on finding the frequency inside of Castiel's mind that would break him completely.

But, until then, Azrael had other business to attend to. He would leave Castiel alone in his cell for as long as he needed to until he got his answers. He wasn't afraid of waiting. He had time.

As the Angel of Death exits the room and slams the door shut, he peeks inside with yet another daring smile. He throws one last word into the cell before walking away with clear purpose in his stride.

"You're strong, Castiel. Just like her."