Thank you goes to my beta bethanyyerinn!

The battle is bloody and ruthless. A lot of demons and angels fall that day. There are only six angels left against the most powerful demon - Baal-berith. One touch of the fire whiplash he holds can scorch the ground and burn every single living thing, including angels.

Castiel sees with his own eyes how his sisters and brothers combust when the whip touches them. Baal-berith is fast and strong and Castiel regrets that they have not brought reinforcements. But no one has expected such resistance and endurance.

Castiel raises his blade to strike a blow, but the demon's whip wraps around it, melting and shattering it to pieces. Instantly Baal-berith's hand closes around the angel's throat, squeezing it hard.

"You thought you could defeat me so easily, angel-face?" he growls menacingly. "Look at your dead siblings. Look at what you did."

Castiel once again silently blames himself for such great loss and unwillingly thinks that the demon is right.

"Give me a quick death." He stares at Baal-berith, unblinking and determined.

The demon smirks. "Quick death? Oh no, I have something else planned for you, pretty boy."

As soon as he speaks those words, Castiel feels horrible pain in his wings, like something's being ripped out, his senses get dulled, his vision blurs, and he passes out.

Castiel wakes up three hours later in a field. His head is pounding and his throat is dry and scratchy. His whole body aches and the pain in his back, or maybe his wings, is unbearable. As minutes pass, Castiel realizes that Baal-berith bound his grace and that is the reason he is feeling so vulnerable and fragile, like a human.

He walks out of the field onto an empty road. He does not know how he got here and he cannot recognize the place. The angel simply decides to walk until he sees any signs of life. There are vast corn fields on either side of the road and some frisky, loud coyotes accompanying the angel on his way to nowhere. Castiel's mind is occupied with a far more important question: when will Baal-berith's spell lose its power?

He's so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice when the dusty road ends. Castiel finds himself standing in front of an old, crappy looking bar with a green neon sign which says El Cielo. The angel recons that he's somewhere in Mexico. A crashing wave of pain washes over him and Castiel groans. He needs to sit down and rest a little, therefore he decides to go into the bar. Besides, the name of this place sounds soothing: El Cielo – Heaven.

He's met with a cloud of smoke, the smell of alcohol, and loud music pouring out of speakers from the depths of the room. Castiel manages to take a few steps before all the noises stop and everyone in the room stares at him. A washcloth in the bartender's hands falls on the bar counter. Castiel frowns, not understanding the reason for this sudden, dead silence. Until he sees their eyes. Dozens of black eyes are drilling holes into his soul. Castiel reels and catches the edge of the bar counter, preventing him from falling on the floor. How ironic! El Cielo full of demons!

"Don't come closer or I will smite you!" Castiel's voice is hoarse and does not sound as threatening as he would like it to be.

"Oh, really, angel?" A fat, bald man drops his cards on the table and stands up.

"You should not have come here," a second demon, a middle aged man with a scar on his cheek, cuts in, moving his chair back.

"Of course, because we are gonna fry your wings extra crispy. Maldito bastardo!" A black-haired Mexican standing at a pool table breaks a cue stick over his leg, holding the pieces like swords.

Castiel looks around, searching for something that he can use against these creatures. He is powerless and can't use his grace thanks to Baal-berith's spell, which by the way is getting worse, draining energy from the angel. Maybe the demon had planned everything to go like this? He dropped the angel near this place so he would find his death in the hands of these black eyed creatures.

"So, tell us, how did you fi…" the bald demon steps towards Castiel, but he's interrupted by a loud, confident voice.

"Atrás cabrón, o te romperé los dientes!"

Everyone in the room falls silent. The demons, who were just ready to attack Castiel, retreat slowly and go back to where they were. Castiel tries to see the owner of the voice in the thick smoke and dim lights.

"Looking for me?" a deep voice growls behind his back and the angel whirls around.

It's a young demon wearing a blue T-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. His green eyes are looking at Castiel with amusement and curiosity.

"What is such pretty thing as you doing at our bar?" The demon clicks his tongue, contemplating the angel shamelessly. "Aint you a little, curious angel?" he chuckles and tries to touch Castiel's face, but the angel punches him in the jaw, catching a small part of the demon's pretty, full lips.

The demon chuckles and licks blood off of his bottom lip. Dean leans towards Castiel, whispering quietly. "You know, there's a saying that true love always starts with a fight. Kinda seeing the truth in that. By the way, I'm Dean. Who are you? Wanna tell me your name, pretty boy?"

"Get… Away… From… Me!" Castiel snarls, enunciating each word. "Abomination!"

"Aw, you're hurting my feelings." Dean puts on a rejected face. "And what will you do if I don't get away from you?"

"I will smite you!" Castiel tries to reassure first of all himself that he still can do it.

Dean throws his head back and laughs. His laughter is pleasant and nice to hear. What? Castiel shakes his head in disbelief. Did he just think that?

"You can't do anything, angel." Dean smiles at him. "I can see what's wrong with you. You are under a binding spell. Your grace is bound and you are powerless. Also, you've got some nasty thorns in your wings, which are draining energy from you." Dean winks at him nonchalantly, like it's one of the many usual conversations he has on daily basis.

"There are no thorns, I would be able to touch or feel them," Castiel protests.

"Of course not. They are demonic herbs. And if used correctly, no angel is able to see them. The purpose is a slow death. Hmm, I see you pissed off someone pretty bad if he used this shit on you." Dean leans against the bar counter, folding his arms across his chest.

"I don't understand." Castiel's frown deepens.

"You see, someone – and my guess is it was a superior demon – cast a grace binding spell on you and then put those thorns into your wings. If you did not have your grace bound, you'd be able to heal and get rid of these things, but that's the point – no grace, therefore death," the demon explains patiently.

"It's not true," Castiel protests. "My grace will come back. It's only temporary." He wants to add something else, but he feels lightheaded and his knees buckle. Before he hits the floor, someone's strong hands catch him, not letting him fall.

"Your wings are bleeding and losing feathers. You'll be dead in two hours if you're lucky." Dean swallows hard when the angel's limp body slumps against his muscled chest. "By the way, I can help you get rid of those thorns." His lips touch Castiel's ear and the angel shudders. He wants to object and send this demon to hell (literally and figuratively) but the pain is getting worse and Castiel whimpers.

"Come on, angel. Tell me your answer." Dean looks into Castiel's eyes and they look so clear that Castiel nods his agreement. "Good." Dean smiles. "I gotta tell you though, you're gonna owe me for this."

"I don't have any money. I cannot pay you." Castiel shrugs.

"Oh, I'm not talking about money, pretty boy," Dean chuckles. "I'm talking about something else, and you will give it to me. Willingly. Let's begin." He turns to the public, which is witnessing their conversation. "Muy bien. Todos fuera!" The walls shake from his shout and the demons, including the barman, start to leave the bar one by one. Soon after, Dean and Castiel are the only ones left inside.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Dean chuckles and starts to unbutton Castiel's beige trench coat.

"What are you doing?" The angel swats at his hand furiously.

"Well, excuse me, but this needs to be off. Your shirt too. I need to see your back." The demon simply shrugs.

Castiel lets out a small sigh and cautiously turns around, shucking off the trench coat. Soon after it falls on the floor, a white shirt joins it.

"Hmm…" Dean hums incomprehensibly.

"What is it?" The angel turns his head. The blue eyes are full of pain and exhaustion.

"Nothing. It's nothing that I can't fix," Dean assures him and takes a good look at the angel's back, which is covered in small bloody scratches, stretching down to the angel's waist.

"Alright, you should relax, umm…" Dean stutters, still not knowing the angel's name.

"Castiel. My name is Castiel." The angel gasps when the demon touches his back gingerly.

"Nice name, Cas," the demon says with a grin. "Relax now. I need time to pull these fuckers out."

"You… you can see my wings?" Castiel asks incredulously. It's very rare that a demon can see an angel's wings without manifesting them.

"Yeah, I can. I was born with the ability." Dean nods. "Oh, there you are, you bastards."

For the next half an hour, Dean fumbles behind Castiel's back, pulling, plucking, or tearing things out of the angel's wings. Castiel cannot see them, but he feels relief increasing with every single pull.

"Done." Dean declares after a while, wiping sweat off of his forehead. "Stretch your wings. How do they feel?"

The angel stretches them gingerly, raises and lowers them carefully. They are in perfect shape. No damage.

"They are fine. Thank you, Dean." Castiel wants to stand up from a chair and put his clothes back on, but Dean's hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Woah, there Cas! Not so fast. Your grace is still bound and the wounds will take a long time to heal without it. Unless I do something about them."

"You? What could you do to heal them?" Castiel raises his brow.

"You'll see." Dean smirks. "Sit down and don't move."

Castiel gasps when the demon's hot tongue licks one of the wounds on his back. His hands grabbing the edge of the bar counter turn white as a hot wave of some unknown sensation spreads in his body.

"Dean…" he sounds surprised and shocked. "What are you doing?"

The demon just keeps licking him, tracing his tongue over the bloody traces, cleaning and lapping at them. One of his hands rests on Castiel's thigh while the fingers of his other hand slide through the angel's dark messy hair.

"Virgin… you are a virgin…" the demon moans lustfully, kissing and sucking at the wound near Castiel's neck. "Mine… I'm gonna make you mine, Cas! And that's how you will pay me…" Dean bites down on the angel's shoulder.

"Who… who are you?" Castiel feels dizzy. His blood is boiling and gathering in one spot. The touches of this demon are burning hot against his skin and he does not want them to stop.

"I'm an Incubus and you're my prey. I'm gonna make you mine, mark you as mine so everyone can see who you belong to…" Dean's voice is spreading electric sparks throughout his body and Castiel's mouth goes dry. His heart is thundering against his ribcage, trying to explode.

Saliva! It's Dean's saliva. He's been licking Castiel's wounds and his saliva got into the wounds, spreading desire and lust into the angel's veins.

Castiel has no strength or a desire to fight Dean off when the demon's hands turn him around and a pair of luscious, sinful lips cover his mouth. Castiel moans when Dean's tongue invades his mouth and grabs the demon by his shoulders. Dean just chuckles into the kiss.

"I'll make it good for ya, Cas. You'll love it." Dean grabs the angel by his hips, lifts him up effortlessly, and wraps his legs around his waist tightly.

Castiel's mind is too clouded to object the Incubus' venom and he simply yields to Dean as the demon takes him to the pool table standing in the furthest corner of the room.

To be continued...

Translations:

El Cielo - Heaven
Maldito bastardo - poor bastard
Atrás cabrón, o te romperé los dientes - Back off asshole, before I knock your teeth out!
Muy bien. Todos fuera - Very well. Everyone, get out.