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The room stunk of blood, Castiel could taste every bit of pus that spread through the monsters body, indistinguishable from its blood. Eve's intestines spread out. Just pushed to the side. Not even on racks.
It was not a holy place
Crowley pulled the prong back. The creature, rotten and filthy, behind his back, slumped again. No longer struggling against the restraints. Spread out on whatever torturing device was there, Castiel did not know the name. Surely Crowley would have found a suitfully inappropriate name to give it. The monster was gagged, beaten, half dead. He could not see where the flesh wounds exchanged themselves for soul wounds. He did not care to look close enough.
A horrid face turned to Castiels, mangled and full of hate. Hubris. Crowley. Vermin beneath his boot that he was unfortunate enough to speak with. Crowley's face was one of the worst, vain and shallow. Not enough hate spread deep, no. Instead pure pride on every surface.
He wondered if his looked similar now. If the grace was still pure enough to purge his anger.
If he sunk further down the path he was on, would he fall? Or would he have to be thrown? Is god the only one able to cast out. Was Lucifer thrown? or did he simply fall. Did the weight of his sins betray his grace, the clouds giving out from under him one day. Did his hubris overcome the holy blood in him. The blood carrying the Lord through his veins.
There was no god to cast out Castiel. To Castiel him out. Sam would snort at the joke, or at least his soul with pulse with warmth for a breif, brief moment. Face twitching and rolling his eyes. Murmuring that "isn't he your father? Why joke about it?"
But, the Winchesters did not know a vital fact, humanity didn't, in fact. Most angel's were still unaware. Believing something else.
God is dead.
That was the hidden truth. God has been dead for... millenia. Is what the Winchester's would call it. It is not known, because it is not noticed. Heaven continues to function in the holy fathers absence. The world continues to turn, undettered by the grace of his lord gone. Most do not know. That is the reason Sam's prayers went unanswered. God would not answer. God could not answer.
Castiel can.
The Lord was dead, yes. The lord wept and wept until he burnt to nothing. Each miniscule atom eating itself until nothing was left. The lord was not there to answer. Castiel can. Castiel has the privilege, the right to answer. He can listen into the private radio, a channel and station just for him. More often than not Deans voice floats through. Crackling and startling, asking for help again, asking for yet another favour.
Sam's voice whispered through occasionally. Thanks. Prayers. Small pleads. Sometimes just a thought of Castiel passing through his mind unknowingly broadcasted. Thinking that "Cas would be useful here... Castiel would like this cat, i don't. I wonder if Cas is safe" it was pleasant. Friendly.
Sam even got into the habit of saying "Thank Castiel" instead of "Thank God".
As God was not there. God never was for Sam. God is no longer. So no one was there for Castiel to plead with. No one was there to guide him. No one was there to stop him from sin. Or anyone. But Cas needed God.
No one was there to accompany him as he gazed at Crowleys soul. Broken and damned, eternally. You cannot save a soul like his. You can barely save one like Deans. Cas almost couldn't. Wretched and vile. The lack of faith alone made Castiel queasy.
Crowley lacks faith as well. But he still dares to order him around like a mortal does.
"Please"
The word is flit by fast. But he can feel the scorn in it. The annoyance. Crowley's 'face' turned to him.
"I'm begging you, Castiel"
Cas almost wonders the question. He knows its coming.
"Just kill the Winchesters"
"No."
The response is immediate. The Winchesters are linked to him. As if you asked Gabriel to be serious. If you asked Lucifer to put down his pride, asked Michael to be gentle. It was not possible. Crowley looks like he expected the answer.
"Fine. Then I'll do it myself"
How dare he. How dare Crowley stand there, and threaten them. How childish. A boy playing dress up. A young boy playing with his dolls, putting on his fathers hat and pretending he knows. Pretending he has enough right to even look at an Angel.
"If you kill them, I'll just bring them back"
"No you won't. Not where I'll put them. Trust me"
The gall alone makes Castiel blanche. Averting his eyes from the rot through Crowleys soul. As if gazing too long will cause it to spread.
"I said, No."
Crowleys face falls. Tense. His soul swirls and the rot recedes for a moment. Castiel glances back, Crowley seems to fire up again after a second. Twisted in malice. Nothing but hate capturing his soul.
"I will not under estimate them. I will NOT. Unlike all the other game pieces that seem to disregard those denim wrapped nightmares!"
He spits. Then not content, continues.
"Dean Winchester will torture. He knows just how to since he was Alistair's little prodigy. I don't want myself on that meat hook, lemme tell you. And Sam-"
Castiel cannot help the tensing through his vessel's- no, his body, at the mention of the damned name. Sam Winchester. The boy with the demon blood. The boy who's knuckles Castiel wished to kiss in greeting, the hoy who Cas wished to embrace. The boy damned no matter how hard he tried. The boy who's faith lied in Cas.
Castiel's friend.
Then Crowley froze. Soul focused on him, and after a second a look spread across his 'face'. Meatsuit curling towards him.
"The little one. He's... different to you, isn't he"
It doesn't deserve a response. It doesn't. Yet he's compelled to speak.
"I would doubt calling Sam 'little' would suffice"
Crowley raises his eyebrows then turns. Content to go back to poking around in Eve's chest. Like Castiel is not a threat, not even something to be deemed worthy. He should smite Crowley where he stands.
"So what?"
He doesn't answer this time. He's said too much already. Simply tensing when Sam's name was mentioned was too much. Sam is...different. yes. He is different to Cas.
For one Sam is nice. He is patient. He fights back. He has faith. He is sweet and funny. He doesn't look down his nose at Cas for not understanding. He doesn't see Cas as a tool.
He sees Cas as an angel. Yes. Dean views Cas as an angel but in a very different way. Cas is an angel, a higher being, yet at the Winchesters beck and call. Dean sees that as useful. Cas is a tool to get them out of unfortunate situations, Cas is someone who is help.
To Sam, Cas is divine. Yet still a person. Still someone on their level, not truly. Never truly. If it wasn't for Sam's pure awe at Cas, he would find it amusing how Sam thinks he's 'one of them'. Cas is an angel. Of course. Someone to pray to. But not a tool. To Sam, Castiel is Castiel. With or without his grace. Deak views him as nothing more than a 'baby in a trench coat' without his usefulness.
Sam is the only reason Castiel knows things about earth. Dean didn't tell him about pornography or what it was, or food, or the things that humans go through. No. It was Sam, patiently asking and answering questions, Sam.
Sam Winchester who still saw Castiel as a friend. Who wasn't radiating waves of embarrassment at being seen with him. Who didn't scoff when Castiel messed something up.
Who was kind.
The other Angels would say Castiel had found himself a favoured pet. He did not deny the claims anymore.
"Is Sam your favourite?"
Crowley prompts and Cas blinks again. Focusing on crowleys hand disappearing in Liliths chest as to not look at the pustule filled face again. To taste a different sense of grime as the molecules of blood float through the air.
"Sam is.... friendlier, than Dean"
Thats all Castiel will give him. Crowley just snorts.
"What? He gives you a good time?"
Castiel cocks his head. Of course Sam gives him a 'good time'. Sam is always pleasant to be around. Even with his demon blood. But he is sweeter now, holier. Castiel wished he had gone for the hug when the boys soul was returned. Instead of misunderstanding when the appropriate time was. Since the cage, Castiel's fondness has only grown. Crowley deflates, then shakes his head, a 'nevermind' muttered under his breath.
"Well. How about this. I'll kill Dean, but you can have your little toy all fine. Capishe?"
It takes way to long for Castiel to shake his head no.
"Just find purgatory"
Crowley frowns, he continues. This conversation is over.
"If you don't, we will both die. Again, and again. Until the end of time"
He turns. Starting to leave.
"The Winchester's wont get to you"
Its a promise to himself. He will not allow his plan to go challenged. And he will not allow his friends to hurt. Crowley is yelling as he leaves, wretched vermin squeaking and crying out like it could do anything.
"Let them get to me... I'll tear their frigging hearts out!"