Summary: He wasn't their creator, but he was their initiator. He'd brought them out of purgatory; he would be the one to send them back. And they would go screaming.

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He was their conduit, he was responsible. They had taken asylum in his vessel and reined his damaged form into wreaking havoc on everything he had fought and cared for. And, through true poetic justice, it would in the end be the leviathans' original vessel who was the one to bury them.

Thunder rumbled from outside. Numerous shrill pops echoed down the cramped corridor as every light bulb overhead burst from their sockets, throwing the room into near darkness. Dean felt his insides churn in a way he was too familiar with. Doubt scratched at the edge of his racing thoughts.

The leviathan's form gave an infinitesimal shudder, actually taking a step back from the dark-clad angel. "You got your powers back," it surmised, low.

"I got my powers back."

That same gruff voice. Castiel wore a bitter smirk, the corners of his mouth curving upward just barely, Dean noticed, staying huddled in the corner as a veritable force of power swept through the room. The floor beneath him trembled, an echo of a groan rising up from the dust. Dean also discerned that the leviathan looked scared shitless, but he couldn't actually garner any true joy out of the scene, because he sort of was too.

"And your memory?" the leviathan went on, wary beneath the patent mask of chilling bravado.

"That too."

Jagged streaks of lightning flashed beyond the dirty panes, illuminating the room. The lines of the angel's face fell then into shadows, stunning blue eyes flashing in sharp relief. He leveled the monster with a compelling glare that oozed pure menace as ebony silhouettes unfolded across the brick and mortar, and Dean recognized those outlines. A gust of wind disrupted the stale air as intangible wings were brought to bear, unfurling. The angel's gaze looked almost luminescent, his entire form radiating wrath until he was literally glowing under the sway of it.

Cas was going to kill it. Dean had no idea how, but this evil, twisted thing was about to die.

Deep in the dredges of his mind, he felt, at last, that sure swell of dark satisfaction.

Get him, Cas. You tear him a freaking new one.

He wasn't their creator, but he was their initiator. He'd brought them out of purgatory; he would be the one to send them back. And they would go screaming.