A/N: So after several comments on the ficlet "Sport" wanting to see more of what Cas went through and the aftermath, the muse decided to sit down and bust this fic out. Expect even more pain and angst.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

Chapter 1

Castiel jostled back and forth in the rear of the van as the vehicle rumbled over an unpaved road. There were no windows, but he could tell by tuning into the cosmos that they were somewhere in rural Missouri, an hour from where he'd met with a pair of hunters in the hopes of recruiting some extra eyes and ears in the search for Kelly Kline and Lucifer's unborn child.

He hadn't expected them to come with sigiled handcuffs and to jump him.

So far his demands for an explanation had been met with stony silence, and one time a kick to the face. He kept quiet after that, biding his time for either a chance to escape, or for revelation about what was going on.

The van finally slowed to a stop and the hunter sitting in the back of the van with Castiel opened the rear doors. He then grabbed Castiel by the arm and began hauling him out. With his arms handcuffed behind his back, he almost lost his balance exiting the cargo bed.

They were in the middle of farmland, with nothing but crops stretching out for miles in every direction. Some barns and houses could be seen in the distance, like tiny Lego pieces. The only thing in the immediate vicinity was a large warehouse. Its exterior looked to be reinforced with concrete. A set of stairs on the side led up to a door on an upper level.

Castiel was dragged toward them. He almost tripped on the steps, and thought about trying to break free, but one of the hunters had his angel blade and was pressing it into the small of Castiel's back. So he gritted his teeth and kept moving forward.

At the stop of the stairs, the other hunter banged on the door. It opened a moment later and the man on the other side gave them an almost irritated look.

"What do you want, Travis?"

"Tell Lars I've got a good one for him," the man gripping Castiel's arm said.

The man inside looked unimpressed, but opened the door wider to permit them entrance. They passed into what looked like a lobby, but were immediately directed to the left and through a door into an office. A man with bushy red hair sat behind an oak desk, counting stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

"Travis is here," the guard announced.

The man behind the desk—Lars, Castiel presumed—barely even glanced up. "What is it this time?"

"I've got an angel for you."

Castiel's eyes narrowed.

"The last 'angel' you brought me turned out to be a nymph," Lars said blandly.

"Yeah, well this one's really an angel," Travis insisted.

Lars finally looked up and rose from his chair. "Is that so? Looks more like a tax accountant."

"I can prove it."

Travis moved the angel blade to Castiel's arm and delivered a swift slice. Castiel flinched at the searing burn as blue grace welled up from the cut.

Lars's brows rose. "Well, then. I guess you aren't as incompetent as you look." But then his gaze narrowed and he lashed a hand out to grab Castiel's chin, forcing his head to the side so he could examine the abrasion that was still on his cheek from one of the hunter's boot prints. Lars sighed. "What have I told you about damaging the merchandise?"

Castiel bristled. He wasn't anyone's merchandise.

"Angels heal," Travis countered. "I want ten thousand for him."

Castiel's eyes widened. "Hold on," he interjected. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. We're on the same side of good here. I called you to ask for help regarding Lucifer's unborn child."

Lars arched an amazed brow. "Lucifer has a kid?" His face cracked into a grin. "Travis, you bring me that and there will be an extra bonus in it for you."

Castiel gaped at him incredulously. "You're hunters," he sputtered, even as he realized how ridiculous such an outburst was.

"Your point?" Lars replied.

Castiel didn't know what to say to that. He still didn't know exactly what they wanted with him.

"Five thousand," Lars countered.

"Don't insult me," Travis rejoined. "Nine thousand."

Castiel couldn't believe this was happening. He cast his gaze around, gauging his chances of escaping. If he could get his hands in front…

"Seven thousand, and that's my final offer," Lars said, then curled his lip up in a minatory grin. "Or I take him off your hands after you suffer an…accident."

Travis's eyes were furious, but he swallowed hard as though nervous as well. "Fine. Seven thousand."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Lars said as he went to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a curved metal band and turned back toward Castiel.

Castiel's eyes widened as he realized what it was, and he tried to jerk away. "No—"

The hunters seized his arms and held him still as Lars snapped the collar around his neck. He felt the power of sigils suddenly flaring to life with the circuit closed, and his grace was instantly lashed down even tighter in conjunction with the sigiled handcuffs, so much that it almost stole his breath away.

"Spencer, take him downstairs and get him ready," Lars instructed, and turned away to start counting out some money.

The man near the door came forward and grabbed Castiel by the arm. Instead of taking him back the way he came, he moved toward a door in the far corner of the office that had a key pad. After punching in a code, the door opened, revealing a stairwell descending down. Spencer pushed Castiel to go first.

"Ready for what?" he asked.

"You'll see."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Shut up." Spencer gave him a harsh shove and he almost went sprawling at the bottom of the steps.

They must have come down to the first level of the warehouse, which was solid concrete. Instead of a wide hangar space, though, there was a corridor. As they turned down a ninety-degree aisle, Castiel pulled up short at the sight of a row of cell doors made of iron bars. Spencer gave him another shove.

Castiel flitted his gaze back and forth as they passed the cells built into slabs of concrete. Most of them were full. Castiel caught glimpses of vampires and werewolves, and other creatures with inhuman eyes peering out from the shadows in the corners.

"What is this place?" Castiel asked.

Again, Spencer ignored him.

They came to a cell at the very end that was empty and Spencer paused to open it. He then pushed Castiel inside.

"I'll be right back," the man said as he slammed the door and locked it.

Castiel took in his new accommodations with growing trepidation. He tried to tease some of his grace free from the magical bonds trapping it, but it was no use.

A few moments later, Spencer returned with two more men. He unlocked the cell door and entered, then came around with a handcuff key and undid the sigiled cuffs. Castiel had hoped some of his grace would be accessible now, but he still couldn't feel it under the collar's restraining power. The cut on his arm stung mercilessly from the inability to heal.

Spencer took a pile of garments from one of the men and passed it to Castiel. "Change into these."

Castiel stared down at the clothes dubiously. There was a white tunic, a skirt of leather lappets, and a leather breastplate. A pair of sandals and vambraces sat on top.

"You're joking," Castiel blurted.

"I'm not. Put them on."

Castiel flung the clothes on the floor and drew his shoulders back. "No."

Spencer shrugged, and nodded to one of the men, who pulled out a small remote from his pocket. He pushed a button, and bolts of lightning suddenly shot through Castiel from the collar. He doubled over from the shock of it, every nerve ending firing with searing pain. And then it stopped.

"Put the clothes on," Spencer repeated calmly.

Castiel's chest was heaving, but he managed to lift his head in defiance. "No," he gritted out.

The man pushed the button again, and Castiel threw his head back with a scream. The agony was all-encompassing as electricity shot through every muscle, causing it to seize.

"No," Castiel managed to gasp before his lungs spasmed as well.

The lightning continued, until he finally passed out.

Castiel woke to a dull throb pulsing throughout every inch of his body that he could feel, which was everywhere. Even his internal organs ached, and that seemed quite a feat.

He blinked groggily, and realized he could feel coarse concrete directly against his arms and legs. He straightened sharply, which only sent a spike of pain through his head, but he ignored it in order to take stock of himself. He gaped in disbelief as he found himself dressed in that Roman garb. His suit and trench coat were nowhere to be seen.

His jaw clenched in mortification, and he quickly struggled to get to his feet. He was alone in his cell, but there was a subtle rumble echoing from somewhere. He couldn't tell what it was, though.

Castiel glanced down at his dress again in disgust. What was the point of forcing him to wear this ridiculous costume?

The din continued to reverberate through the stone corridors, and Castiel pressed himself against the bars to try to hear better. Footsteps interrupted him, though, and he stepped back as two men came to stop in front of his cell.

"Showtime," one of them said, unlocking the door.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Castiel demanded. Given the way he was dressed, however, he suspected the 'show' part involved him.

He didn't receive an answer, just the other man holding up the remote in warning. Castiel clenched his fists and tentatively stepped out of the cell. He was then escorted down the hallway. The noise grew louder, and sounded like a boisterous crowd. Castiel's stomach began to churn unpleasantly.

He was brought to a door of iron bars that led to what looked like a large open space. Lars was waiting there. The man's eyes gleamed as he looked Castiel up and down.

"Well, you clean up nicely."

It took everything within Castiel's power not to lunge at the man right there, but he was distinctly aware of the handler with the remote to his collar.

"What am I doing here?" he asked yet again.

Lars grinned. "You're our new contender," he replied.

Castiel frowned. "Contender?"

"Everyone's really excited to see an angel for the first time. Paid double the admission price for it."

Castiel could only stare in stupefaction. He was to be…some kind of attraction?

Lars cocked his head toward the handlers, who opened the door and shoved Castiel through.

He stumbled into a bare, circular courtyard. No, not a courtyard. An arena. The floor and walls were cement like everything else, but there was no ceiling, just barbed wire stretching up and inward to form a partial dome above his head. Bright lights blazed down on him, nearly blinding him if he looked directly upward. But he heard the cheers and excited whoops, and squinted up toward where he could make out silhouettes pressed together in a balcony overlooking the pit.

Something clattered at Castiel's feet, and he blinked down in confusion at the sword he found there. The iron door slammed closed, sealing him in.

For a long moment, Castiel just stared at the weapon. What did they expect him to do?

But then he heard a grating sound on the opposite end of the arena, and looked over to see a figure dressed in the same style of a Roman soldier saunter in. He had a sword in hand and was swishing it back and forth in anticipatory eagerness. But he also bore a collar like Castiel's.

Castiel's stomach cramped as he glanced down at the sword again. Were they to do battle? Castiel wasn't going to kill someone just for these people's morbid pleasure.

A crackle sounded above before a voice echoed out over a speaker. "And now the fight you've all been waiting for. Of cosmic proportions, witness a battle to the death between Heaven and Hell."

Castiel whipped his attention back to his intended opponent, and watched the figure's eyes flick black.

"In the left corner," the announcer continued, "our undefeated champion, Hellraiser! And in the right, our new challenger, The Angel!"

Cheers went up through the crowd with near-deafening intensity.

The demon stalked toward him, and Castiel snatched up the sword out of instinct.

"Are you a prisoner here too?" he asked.

The demon sneered. "You think I pander to these hunters for fun?"

He started to circle Castiel, who sidestepped to keep the same distance between them.

"How long?" Castiel pressed.

"Long enough to know to play the game." He lunged, and Castiel quickly parried, the blades screeching at the brief contact.

Castiel danced back a few steps. "I don't want to fight you."

"Fine by me."

The demon struck again, and Castiel spun away.

"Listen to me! We don't have to allow ourselves to be used this way. If we refuse to fight—"

The demon barked out a laugh. "Naive little angel. We don't have a choice."

Castiel straightened himself to his full height and tossed his sword away. "We always have a choice."

There were some gasps from the balcony, overrun by "boo"s.

The demon shrugged. "Suit yourself."

He surged forward, swinging his blade. Castiel ducked and tried to retreat, but the demon wheeled around and plunged his sword into Castiel's stomach. The shock of it punched the oxygen from his lungs, and Castiel stared down at the blade piercing his abdomen as fire erupted in his gut and out his back.

The demon leaned in. "Word of advice: trying to die in the ring won't end your suffering. They don't give us weapons that can kill the likes of you and me. You'll be back out here tomorrow night. And the next." He yanked the blade out with a squelch and Castiel fell back to hit the ground. "Welcome to Hell."

The demon turned and strode away, leaving Castiel shaking as blood pumped from the wound in his stomach. With his grace locked down, he couldn't heal himself.

The spectators grumbled to themselves as the lower door opened and the handlers came in to grab Castiel and drag him out of the arena.