Angel's don't time, his scream reached his true voice. It's ethereal pitch bleeding in over Jimmy's strangled cries. At every new wound, blinding blue-tinged light spread like an icy sun through bloodied clouds. His vessel was shaking in its bindings; flesh burning against the crudely scribed angel sigils.

And Castiel was afraid.

The heavy metal of his own angel blade pressed into poor Jimmy's tattered skin, slicing so neatly the stinging burn of the laceration only came as Castiel's grace stitched the ill healing flesh back together.

"Little angel, fell from high," The demonic voice drawled over its own, made up nursery rhyme; the lyrics of which Castiel had carving rings around his mind. His nasally southern drawl crawled lazily toward the angel's inhabited meat suit, "Down to earth; to learn, to die." Castiel's four edged blade was pressed into the soft of jimmy's belly.

And the angel whimpered.

Castiel, the two thousand year old Angel of The Lord, who had been tortured numerous times; "rehabilitated" by heaven itself.

And he was breaking at the hands of Alastair. Because this demon had worked out the angel's weaknesses – sought them as if it was his life's sole purpose to destroy Castiel. That and Alistair knew; an angel does not feel pain on a physical level – not immediately unless you harm their grace however that would equal permanent damage which the greater demon was reluctant to do. So final option was simply to make the angel experience prolonged pain – forcing him to fall into a human state of mind particularly what with Alistair's attention to detail which happened to prompt the use of anti-grace sigils.

"Oh Angel, now, all I wanna see are those pretty wings o' yours," the demon's middle aged fingers cupped Castiel's adopted cheek, pulling the tarnished face up, forcing the beaten Angel to meet a fiery glare of the pit, blazing in his tormentor's eyes. Castiel's lips parted to scream, in synch with Alistair's twisting smirk, as the heavenly metal sunk into his gut.

"When you torture an angel, it screams, that pain causes a ripple effect of strange incidences."

The words ripped through Dean's memory like ragged glass shards; Weeks he had been missing, god damn weeks. Dammit where the hell was his angel? His phone jumped to life in his pocket and in an instant it was nestled in his palm.

"Give me some good news, Sammy." He growled and his little brother launched into nerd mode; it almost made Dean smile, almost.

"I've managed to pinpoint the centre of all the omens, it took time but each seems to have been similar signs, all pointing to the same place. It's in some church ruins just outside - not sure exactly - careful, I think -" the voice from the other end crackled with static as a screaming whine pierced Dean's head. His knees burned as they hit concrete, palms hot as they pressed to his ears.

"Dean!"

Cas.

Painfully slowly the whine of his angel's true voice faded out; Dean was almost sad to hear it go. He opened his eyes, blinking away the swirling pools in his vision, realising the windows around him had blown out.

Castiel.

He pushed up from the floor where he'd sprawled, rocking precariously as black spots danced across his vision.

"Sammy? Did you hear that?"

"Dean what the hell was that? You oka-?"

"Yeah Sammy," the hunter cradled his pounding head. "Where's my angel?"

He forced the doors of the church open; not caring that this was probably a trap. He'd taken out two demons already, scratched out four angel sigils; He was closing in on Castiel. Human sounding screams echoed around the walls, sending chills down Dean's spine. Memories of icy fire drilled into his blood; knives, death, never sleeping. Alistair hissing in his ear; like a twisted lover-

No, Dean shook his head; that was then.

Now, he had to find Cas.

Alistair chuckled as he pierced the helpless warrior with its own blade. The four edges each carving and twisting a new path with every tiny flick of his wrist. The demon could feel the little angel's grace ebbing and with it Castiel's will. An angelic knife hit home, deep within the vessel's shoulder and Alistair yelled out in childish joy as the celestial being screamed.

The hunter squinted through the shadows at off centre pews, thrown about upon entrance; other than fallen tapestries and out of order seating - the high-ceiling room was deserted.

"Shit," Dean muttered. 'Must've moved on,' he thought bitterly. "Come on, Cas, buddy. Gimme a sign- anything!" Minutes lazed by, the eerie silence making his skin crawl. With a sigh, Dean turned to leave. His fist slammed into the back of a pew, splintering the rotten wood. With a snarl Dean shook off his hand; blood splattered the dusty cement floor and stone walls as he did.

Something clicked.

Dean looked up toward the sound, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief as he stared at the huge arched doorway, inscribed with thousands of coiling, twisted sigils; where the hunter's blood touched the carefully carved lines, they glowed.

"Sonuvabitch, 'found freakin' Narnia." Dean neared the heavily warded door and then, glaring determinedly, he began to tear at the sigils until his fingers were bloody; figuring that it would, at least, help Cas's strength,

'Almost got him,' he thought. The sudden screeching resonance of an angel's voice cut deeply into his soul, his heart ached fiercely in his anger. When the ringing in his ears calmed, it was silence that struck him as hard as a punch to the gut; the doors were open.

Castiel's throat felt raw, his cries no longer held volume; just air, passing through empty space. His wrists burned in a human pain, metal cuffs carving into the narrow joint causing streams of red to leak down over his forearms; every now and then, as he swung from the ceiling, he could hear the squelch of the liquid between his borrowed flesh and the relentless grey iron. Muscles in his shoulders screamed as they tried to keep the humorous bones attached to his scapulae. His spine throbbed under his own weight and any feeling in his fingers was gone. Chin on chest, Castiel stared down at the ground; grey concrete at least three feet from his toes. Gritting his teeth, breath hissing between them, his bare body tensed in a never ending pain - every taught muscle gleaming with sweat-slicked grime; splattered red drying and peeling.

"Come on angel, show me your pretty wings," Alistair's hands directed the four-edged tool down between the angel's shoulders, tracing the crests of his humanoid spine. Castiel keened as the cold weapon traipsed down his back, teasing- threatening.

"I can't,"

Alistair jumped back in delighted surprise; his hands clapping around the hilt of his instrument.

"Why ever not, my sweet?" The endearment made Alistair's toes curl in disgust but he grinned as the being below him shuddered.

"This dimension...this form does not have the...shape required. The agony would be...unimaginable." Castiel's choked voice brought peals of laughter to the demons lips and Cas cringed, realising his mistake.

"Unimaginable, you say?" Brutally crafted metal crunched through the flat of a shoulder blade, blood pit-pattered innocently against the dusty ground as muscle gurgled like a squeezed sponge; its pointed tip cut straight into the back of Jimmy's lung and the arm above the wound popped and Cas's shoulder crunched as it was wrenched from its joint; forcing half the angels weight to hang on flesh alone, Castiel could feel it tearing. Alistair leaned toward Castiel's ear, feeling the angel's hot breath brush his cheek as he gaped- too pained to talk.

"All alone Angel, no one to turn to now you've turned on your own family. Tsk, tsk, tsk naughty little traitor. No one's going to save you anymore," with a short laugh the demon wrenched the blade slickly from Cas's shoulder, the angel gagged as he coughed blood.

Giggling hysterically Alistair lined the point of the knife with the other shoulder, pressing steadily into yet unmarked flesh. "I'll make it easier for you, shall I? Two holes for two wings," grinning Alistair plunged the blade past skin, muscle and bone, the pleasure of the angels scream rolling through him.

He frowned however, when the word sung, was none other than the name of his favourite student.

"No," Dean's voice bounced over the silence even though he'd only spoken in a whisper. His heart hammered painfully against his engraved ribs, his breath hitching. There was the door, light spilled through it like a calling to Dean but he couldn't move. Someone stood in the way,

'Not someone, something,' the hunter trembled.

The greater demon looked up, grinning.

"Oh honey, you're home."