Chapter Text
“Death is your solution?” Cas asked, doubtfully.
“After all we’ve been through…yes, Death. Mind you, after the last skirmish, he won’t do it for free.”
“You know, I think that is exactly what the little bird needs. But maybe after I cut those little wings off, I’ll see to it he gets a one on one with the pale guy,” a voice purred.
Castiel’s blood went cold.
Crowley’s expression froze. They both turned to see a tall, slender woman with tight black curls pinned to her head. It didn’t matter she was in a different vessel.
“Abbadon.”
The sound of howling filled the cross-roads.
“Don’t bring yourself to a hell-hound fight, whore. That new meatsuit of yours is going to get ripped to shreds,” Crowley said.
Cas had just enough time to wish he’d brought his blade, before Lucifer’s knight was bowled over by the hellhound.
“Don’t stay out too late, Olivia,” Crowley called, sounding oddly protective, before he disappeared.
Shit.
Cas could only watch as Abbadon fought what seemed to be air, shaking it off easily, tossing the demon aside. “You need to work on your face clawing,” she spat blood, wiping her torn face.
Gradually, the empty space she was looking at with disdain became smoke, and then a crumpled form lying on the dirt.
“Tell Crowley I’ll find him soon enough,” she turned to Cas. “As for you…we’re going to have fun, you and I.” She grinned, the slit in her lip gaping grotesquely, blood running down her chin.
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He’d tried to struggle, earning a blow to his head that had turned his vision black.
When he’d awoken dimly to blood in his mouth, his head feeling the size of a small planet, she was immediately in his face, occupying his whole line of sight.
“I’ve heard about your pretty little wings…you being the only one left with feathers, you’re quite an easy thing to find when standing next to the person I want to kill nearly as much as you,” she murmured, speech slurring slightly through the torn skin of her face. She blinked, and used delicate fingers to rip it off.
Softly, blood dripped to a floor he couldn’t see.
Nauseated, he tried to find something else to concentrate on.
Panicking, he immediately wished he didn’t as he came to full awareness. His mind was screaming, questioning the impossibility of her chaining his wings.
All six of them.
He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them, for the first time since the very moment Metatron had stolen his grace, those precious few seconds in which he was very aware of his true form.
He breathed heavily through gritted teeth, trying not to hyperventilate.
She raked her fingers across the joints of his wings until she drew blood. He baulked against the irons that held him, holding his breath to not make a sound.
Vaguely, he knew there were runes on them, runes that possibly didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t have fled even if he wanted to.
This abomination will not hear me scream. No matter what happens to my vessel, or my true form.
“There are things Lucifer chose to share with his knights, angel. I willhave your screams, one way or another. You will sing for me, little bird.”
I’m sorry, Dean.