Title: Blackened

Author: Lucky Gun

Beta: Spenchester

Summary: Castiel is ordered by God to retrieve a one Dean Winchester from Hell. A take on the angel's first interactions with the hunter and how it affected the forging of their friendship. Oneshot. No pairings. *COMPLETE*

A/N: I've wanted to write this story for a long time, but I just now decided to make it a oneshot and get it out of my system. I think it would have been very disturbing for Castiel to go into Hell, and for him to see Dean in all his fallen horror. I also think he wouldn't have known what to really make of the situation. So I decided to write it out. The story borrows from common elements in some of my previous stories. The angels Raziel and Nitish make an appearance, and John's actions from Point of Know Return are referenced.

He stood at the peak of the tall mountain for several hours, wind ruffling his vessel's hair incessantly, the cold not touching him in the slightest. His face was turned upwards to the sky, the bright sun beaming onto his face, and he thought, for a moment, he was content.

All too quickly, though, his soul was tugged, urged, prodded, and he sighed silently as he vanished into the sky, his wings gliding along the breezes effortlessly. It took both too long and too short a time to get to the high halls of Heaven, but soon enough he found himself in those hallowed corridors once again. He wandered almost aimlessly throughout the clouds, unerringly moving in the correct direction by the continued pull on his essence.

Within a few moments he found himself outside the throne room of God, though the heavily gilded doors were closed. The vast expanse of space behind the doors was open and empty, though that by no means meant there wasn't a meeting occurring. Still, he got himself comfortable and settled in to wait.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Castiel, my boy! There you are!"

Before he could stop it, a small smile had spread across the angel's face as he turned towards the voice. The archangel who was casually strolling across what passed as the floor looked aged and old, the huge wings behind him speckled with gray and folded neatly against his back. Another archangel was walking next to him, younger in appearance though barely in age, and Castiel gave them both a respectful half-bow.

"Raziel," he greeted the older one, nodding once more to the other as he added, "Nitish. It has been long."

Raziel grinned, the corners of his mouth peeking out from behind a white beard and mustache, and he gestured with his hand, indicating they should walk.

"And so it has, my friend. I trust the world is not finding you too poorly?" he asked conversationally, and Castiel frowned a bit, truth immediately gracing his tongue.

"The world is a far harsher place the last few centuries. The darkness and the things that roam within it stir against us. They are readying for something, preparing themselves. And the gates of Hell shudder with barely-contained fire. Something has happened recently. I simply cannot tell what," he admitted, and Nitish gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze, to which Castiel didn't know how to interpret or respond.

Raziel was the oldest and strongest of the archangels, and spent much of his time at the Christ's right hand, recording and dispersing the history and glory of God. Nitish often helped him; though the two were equal in many ways, Raziel was more a mentor to the younger archangel, and Castiel often found himself grouped with Nitish in that. It often warmed the more human part of him that bled over from his vessel, and more than once he wondered what it was like to have a family.

"Yes, yes. We're aware. We've done our own investigations and it appears Lilith is moving."

Castiel froze in place and stared at Raziel's back as he continued on, shock and fear openly displayed on his face. Hurrying to catch up to the two archangels, he found himself searching for words.

"Moving. As in, the Apocalypse. She's starting."

None of his words were in the form of a question, and Nitish gave him a sideways glance, his white and gold wings twitching before resettling into place.

"She's had her eye on a particular subject for years, ever since Azazel's not-so-secretive subterfuge made her aware of him. Think back to the recall from a bit of time ago; you remember the soul that appeared to Peter before burning away into the mists?" Raziel asked, stopping to turn to Castiel.

For his part, the angel was trying hard not to let the despair from that day smother him. The soul that had arrived had been scarred and battered, and he himself had wanted nothing else than to bathe it in light and love. But before it had even reached the warmth of Heaven, it had stopped, pain and indecision obvious, and it had been yanked away from the gates without anyone's approval, much less its own. While soul recalls were not very common, near-death experiences and advances in medicine had led to more of them over the past few millennia. Very rarely, however, did such a recall happen to such a damaged soul so painfully and violently.

Opening his eyes, not even realizing when he'd closed them, Castiel gave Nitish a curious look while he answered Raziel, "Yes, of course. The reverberations of it spread throughout the heavenly host. Was Lilith responsible for it?"

Nitish shook his head and responded, "No, it was actually the work of one of Crowley's children. The soul's brother made a deal."

Once again, Castiel closed his eyes and ducked his head, a quick but heartfelt prayer singing from his essence to his Father. Looking back at the older being, he cocked his head and frowned as realization dawned on him.

"A deal? The brother sold his soul for his brother's life? One so righteous would usually not be in direct contact with those of our world, would he? Not without being diminished," he said bluntly, and Raziel appeared to appreciate it, for he smiled while Nitish chuckled slightly.

"Indeed, child. One would think so. The brothers are from a line of hunters, one that stretches for generations. Touched and chosen by God, they are the vanguards for His coming plans."

The cold dread that had started seeping through his spirit nearly overwhelmed Castiel.

"Then...the deal. He'll be dragged to Hell."

Nitish gave a sharp frown as he said, "Their father is already there; Azazel had spared the soul's brother in a similar deal, and nearly killed a Reaper while he was at it. But while he may break, his righteousness is not nearly as deep as his sons'."

Castiel let his confusion crease the corners of his eyes, temporarily distracted by the tidbit of information, and Raziel started walking again, speaking to the clouds.

"Their father was a very misguided man, though he cared for his family dearly. Revenge and hatred clouded his soul from the moment Azazel took his wife. There were many times he was not kind to those who loved him best."

Accustomed to reading between the lines of the old angel, Castiel did not need any further details. Instead, he turned his attention to the more pressing issue.

"How long do we have?"

Raziel paused and ran a few fingers through his beard, the thinness of his bones belying the ability he held within them. His shoulders slumped a bit and even his wings seemed to sag for a moment. Nitish said nothing, but simply laid a hand on the other being's back for a moment, conveying some strength that Castiel could never fathom. After a few moments, Raziel appeared to pull himself back together, for the younger archangel dropped his hand and stepped back.

Turning to face the human vessel again, Raziel said simply, "He was reaped last evening. We must get to him immediately."

Alarm filtered through every facet of Castiel's being as he breathed, "The first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break."

Nodding, the wizened old celestial added, "Lilith is no fool. She is going to set Alastair upon him. We do not have a lot of time."

Finding strength and resolve someplace deep within him, Castiel drew himself up and asked, "The entire garrison?"

Nitish nodded, saying, "They're already been alerted and are awaiting you, brother. The battle will be long and hard-fought; go with God."

Castiel swallowed hard but gave a short nod and turned to leave, his mind already going over the layout of Hell, the fiends he could expect to encounter, the strengths and weaknesses of his compatriots. A soft sigh held him back for a moment, though. Glancing over his shoulder at Raziel, he peered through his translucent wings and caught the archangel's gaze.

Looking a fraction of his true age, the being was quiet for a moment before he raised his swirling green eyes to the other angel and cautioned, "If you fail, Castiel, if you're too late, retrieve him still. You know the words written."

Castiel cocked his head a bit and sifted through the vast stores of knowledge in his soul, failing to immediately find the prophetic words his mentor was looking for.

"He may begin the Apocalypse, my boy, but he's also the only one who can stop it. Unless he has fallen too far, lost beyond hope to the darkness and wrath of our brother, you must not allow further harm to come to him," Raziel whispered, his eyes brightening and his words echoing for a moment.

A bit discomfited by the suggestion that he would end one of God's treasured mortal hunters without reason, Castiel nevertheless nodded before continuing on his path.

He had a siege to plan.

Four months passed in one long, grueling, hot flare of pain and adrenaline. It had taken them almost two months to break through Lilith's defenses, hellhounds and demons flaring into existence as quickly as they could destroy them. It then took them an entire month to reach the lower levels, the garrison finally pairing off and beginning their search. Castiel leaned against the rock wall at his back and brushed a bead of sweat from his temple as he glanced around, relishing the breather.

Uriel and Hester were still with him, for which he was thankful; Uriel's bloodlust and Hester's volatility were uncommon in angels, but they were more voracious fighters because of it. He could still feel Inias and Samandiriel above him somewhere, holding the exit, should they need it, and he sent a prayer of protection on their behalf.

He snorted when he received a soft mental pulse in response.

We don't need your prayers, brother; we need you to move your tail a little bit faster.

Standing and wiping his silver sword needlessly over his arm to clean the black blood from it, Castiel stretched his wings wide for a moment and stared across the gaping chasm before them. Uriel and Hester were already bored with the break in action, but the leading angel had needed the time to think. Time worked differently in Hell, a creative change that Alastair had implemented to give him and Lilith more time with their plan.

And it seemed to have worked.

Just before they'd reached the chasm, maybe a few days before on Earth and in Heaven, though it felt like months to the angels, there'd been a shift in the temperature, the voracity of the world around them changing. The attacks had lessened to a slight degree, and it was with dread that Castiel had realized what it meant.

They were too late; the first seal had been broken.

Given that they had time, and Castiel privately hoped the blackened soul would suffer in some way while he gathered his thoughts, he had decided to take a short break, even knowing that somewhere just across the gaping maw was his goal. He was angry, for certain. They had lost two angels in the first rounds of fighting, fierce close combat leading to friendly fire that would have been almost worth it if they'd gotten to the soul in time.

Instead, they hadn't, and thirty years later, Castiel was left standing at a pit of fire with two pacing angels looking for payback.

"What are we waiting for, Castiel? The filth is just across the pit; why have we stopped?" Uriel snarled, his massive hands clenching at his sides; beside him, Hester nodded slightly, glaring across the flames.

Sighing tiredly as he came to stand between his two subordinates, Castiel murmured, "He's not filth, Uriel. You would do well to remember that."

Waving the hand that wasn't encumbered by his weapon, the other angel spit, "Bah! You think the same. That's why you waited for a bit here. You want him to suffer for what he's done, same as I."

Castiel bit the inside of his cheek but said nothing. To his right, Hester wasn't so quiet.

"Why even save him now? He's started the Apocalypse; doesn't he deserve what he gets here?"

Answering without thinking, Castiel responded, "All of us deserve no less than Hell, Hester; you know that. God's love and the Christ's sacrifice give salvation to those He so deems."

Rolling her eyes at the familiar words, Hester went back to pacing along the edges of the craggy ground, her steps light and sure. Castiel watched her for a moment while he remembered Raziel's warning, the censure in the words tempered by time.

You must not allow him to come to harm.

Abruptly, he realized the condemnation hadn't been towards him, but rather towards those that were more than willing to bring that harm to the poor man's doorstep. Feeling a welling of shame in his soul, Castiel straightened and curled his wings around him for a moment, cloaking himself in grace.

"You two stay here and guard the rear flank. I'll be back when I have him," Castiel ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

There was a cold chill in the air as he took off, and he halfway thought that leaving the two unpredictable angels alone together wasn't his best idea. But then he realized he had more important matters at hand, and he pushed his soldiers from his mind. Instead, he focused on flying as true as he could, avoiding the rising flares of fire and lava where they bubbled, his dry feathers torn and burned but still capable.

When he landed on the other side, he saw rows upon rows of metal cages, all holding some shrieking soul or another. He walked between the cages carefully, his wings folded tight against his back, and he took out whatever few demons were stupid enough to attack him. The view of the cages disgusted him, and he realized once again just how far his brother Lucifer had fallen. In some cages, hellhounds were eating people alive. In others, far more nightmarish creatures were slithering along the ground and through the bars, tormenting people, poisoning them, hurting them, destroying them. These souls cried out for him, gnawed and bloody fingers reaching out pitifully, their eyes black and hearts shriveled by the pain.

Forcing himself to ignore them, Castiel continued on his quest, eyes tracking the area, passing over hundreds of thousands of souls in his search. He searched for years, the screams of the endlessly dying dead echoing within him ceaselessly, and he found himself uneasy in fading hope. It was nearing what felt like a decade when he finally felt a tugging at his essence. It wasn't the will of God pulling at him but was instead the draw of righteousness and destiny. At the same time, the small trickle of demons became an overbearing flood, all of them out for his life.

Anticipation and duty flared through him and he whirled through the waves of claws and teeth, white light flaring from his free hand to blow away a few of the more determined attackers. He fought his way across the barren wasteland, leaving black blood on blacker earth, ash falling like snow. He lost track of the pull, the pain, the burn.

Until that's all that was left.

He was surrounded by corpses, ones he'd taken down and ones that had been there before. Frowning, Castiel dropped to a crouch next to the death and ran a hand over the empty husk of a soul, the body flayed with a practiced hand and drained of all semblance of life. Unsure as to whether or not the thing was actually dead or simply enduring another form of torture, he stood and looked around again. That's when he noticed something off to the side that he hadn't noticed before.

Mounted on a chunk of rock right next to the fiery pit, the flames making the metal glow red, was a rack.

And it was occupied.

Sword up and ready, Castiel stalked towards it carefully, flinching when he got close enough to smell burning flesh and boiling blood. The tug drew his feet to the front of the rack, and he stared at the creature upon it. Sections of skin and muscle were simply missing, pulsating gashes of meat hemorrhaging blood. It looked like the angel had interrupted some specific lesson, because the man had been in the process of getting his torso taken apart piece by piece. He realized that the white marks on the floor near where he stood were ribs that had been, no doubt, slowly and painfully removed. In fact, the man's entire chest cavity was laid open, and Castiel swallowed as he watched the soul's heart pump inside his body, perfectly visible.

Raising his eyes from the gore to the man's face, he was unsurprised to see hazed and half-lidded black eyes looking back at him, and he sighed silently as his grip tightened on his sword. The man was on the rack being punished for something, but the strength of the pull at his essence was too strong to lie: this was his goal, his target, the righteous man.

The righteous man with black eyes and blood on his hands.

Defeat momentarily overwhelmed Castiel, and he remembered Raziel's words again, clinging to them. He knew that his orders had granted him permission to kill the man if he had turned; God's plans allowed for the possibility. And the death Castiel could offer him would be permanent. For whatever good or bad he had done in life or death, it would be over, forever. The Lord would rather destroy the soul than risk such a force be used by Lilith and, eventually, Lucifer.

So Castiel raised a quick prayer for the fallen angels who'd died in their siege at the same time as he raised his sword to the soul's throat.

"Behind."

Blinking, the angel followed the man's whispered word and his own instincts, dropping and whirling, sinking his sword into the gut of a demon that had managed to sneak up on him. The creature dropped, sizzling where the silver edge had cut through it, and Castiel turned back to the rack, eyes wide. The man hadn't moved, didn't seem happy or sad about neither the demon's death nor Castiel's lack thereof.

Instead, he just looked...hollow.

Taking another step towards the rack, Castiel gestured towards the filleted souls on the ground around them and his voice was hard as he asked, "Did you do this?"

Those black eyes glanced around, unconcerned, and his own gaze barely stopped when it cross the gaping hole in his own chest.

"Yeah. A few times."

Castiel's fingers itched to kill the man.

"Why?"

Again, there was no affect as the black eyes latched onto the angel's backlit blue orbs while he responded, "It's my job."

Overwhelming pity crashed through Castiel and he let his wings fall from their fighting stance to fold against his back. He listened to the sizzle of metal on skin, the flaring fire beside them drying out his wings even more. He stepped back from the rack, putting a few feet of distance between him and the man, his right hand twitching against the sword he held.

"What're you gonna do?"

It seemed the soul would never stop surprising him.

"I'm thinking I should kill you now," Castiel responded honestly, and the first bit of feeling flared to life in the man's features.

Shrinking back as much as the chains and hooks weaved through his flesh would allow, he asked lowly, "Kill me? Like, dead for good, no more coming back whole and ready to be slaughtered again?"

Castiel shook his head, answering, "The last bit of grace our Lord to give for a soul that has given all it has already." Frowning at the way the man's eyes flickered a bit, deep green orbs overtaking the demonized charcoal, the angel asked, "Why are you afraid? This should be a release."

The green stayed, the very human emotions of guilt and agony visible in their depths, and he began adamantly shaking his head.

"No, that's not an option. You figure out something else," he snarled, sweat and tears slipping down his face.

Perplexed and intrigued, Castiel leaned forward and asked, "Why wouldn't you want out of this? What reason would you have to stay?"

The black flickered back for a second, the pain on the man's face fading as it did. The angel realized abruptly that the shift was an adaption, the only one the soul could make in the face of overwhelming terror and evil. Still, he waited for an answer that finally came when the green appeared once more.

"I can't leave my brother. Not like that. Not with everything..."

Castiel forced his features to stay impassive; he'd been briefed on the brother's abilities and his newest habit of blood drinking and demon killing. He knew his superiors were planning something with that – he even had an inkling that Raziel and Nitish were in on it – but as far as he knew, the boy was just about as far gone dark side as his brother with the black eyes was.

"Your brother already thinks you're gone," he said softly, trying to sooth the harsh sting of the words.

Abrupt knowledge hit the soul and he gave Castiel a desperate look.

"You're an angel. You've gotta protect him, please! If you've gotta kill me, I'll let you, I'll go quietly, but only if you promise to take care of him," he begged, tears spilling faster from his jade eyes, his voice rough from years of similar bartering.

Incredulous, Castiel stayed the hand that had already begun raising his sword.

"You'd offer me your soul in exchange for your brother's safety? That's the same weakness that got you into this situation in the first place," he cautioned.

The man shook his head, frustrated, dying again, blood spilling from his mouth as he tried to speak around the pain that was choking him.

"Not a weakness. He's my brother. Please, it's all I can do anymore."

The black flickered again as crimson flowed faster, and Castiel stood still for only a second before he made his decision. His arm lifted the sword and it swung in a perfect arc, catching the man's wrist...

Right at the shackle.

A few more passes of his blade left the chains hanging free from the rack, the tormented man curled in a miserable ball in a puddle of his own innards. Castiel watched him for a moment, indecision gone, choice made, and he finally knelt down next to the soul. He placed a warm hand on the man's shoulder and rolled him onto his back, wincing when he realized that he was almost already gone, barely hanging on to his sanity, his humanity, and his life. His head rolled but two forest-green eyes stared at him, glazed and empty.

A low howl echoed behind him and he looked over his shoulder, growling as he took in the sight of thousands of demons and hellhounds tearing towards his position. He still had a minute, though, so he took it. Castiel reached down to grip the man's upper arm, his palm burning white as he sent a silent pulse to the rest of the garrison.

I have him. Everyone fall back. I'm making my own exit.

With a gentle tug, he raised the man to standing, his sword disappearing in a swirl of power, and he opened his wings to their full span, his essence enveloping the two of them. He watched as the man's wounds closed and the blood disappeared from his skin. The remaining blackness in his eyes fell away and he slumped against the angel, shaking with relief and sobs as forty years of agony receded to nothingness. Castiel wrapped his arms and his wings around the man, the purity and goodness of the Lord emanating from him as he tried to fill all the dark places of the soul with light and warmth.

There was a muffled voice from the depths of the creature nestled in his wings, and he froze when he heard it.

"Thank you."

Smiling slightly, the angel opened his wings again and gripped the man's arms tight as he stared up at the massive cavern, the thought of the flight straight up through the levels of hell daunting. But then the soul leaning against him trembled again, consciousness beginning to desert him, and Castiel grit his teeth and prepared himself for the trial.

Shifting against him, the man finally lost his battle against the comfort that had so long been denied him as he whispered, "Sammy."

His wings ready as they were going to be, Castiel held the man close and promised, "I'll get you back to him, Dean. You'd just better be ready for the hell up there to match the hell down here."

Then, with the saliva of the hounds and the blades of the demons inches from him, he flapped his wings once, twice, and was gone.

When Dean crawled his way from his grave, a feat that few humans could perform, Castiel was right there, waiting for him, guarding him along the road to the fill station. He tried to talk to him, to reassure him that the world was still turning even though he could see that Dean was trying to separate reality from memory.

All he managed to do was break a few windows.

He was there when Bobby lunged for him with a silver knife in hand, and he slowed the man enough that the exhausted and drained hunter wasn't gutted by his old friend.

He was there when Sam tried the same tactic, though Dean was more ready for it this time and didn't need help from his hidden guardian. He stayed while the brothers talked, hating the lie that slipped from Dean's lips as easily has his blood so recently had.

"I don't remember a damn thing."

Because he saw the signs, the long stares into the mirrors, the reflexive swallowing of bile that always happened when the deceit spilled from him. Throughout it all, though, he realized that Dean's soul stayed relatively pure, burning bright in the dark aural night. That shocked him into leaving for a bit, returning to the sky, confusion warring within him.

He was standing in Heaven, his eyes on Earth below, when he felt a presence at his elbow. He knew it was Nitish without looking, but his own fatigue from the long rescue mission had dulled his sense of propriety, so he did nothing more than grunt a greeting. Fortunately, the archangel wasn't one for decorum, so he simply returned a similar greeting. They stood side by side for a few moments, silent in their retrospection, and Castiel finally broke the quiet.

"He doesn't realize how far Sam has fallen."

He knew he sounded like he wanted to cry; he did.

Nitish shook his head and said, "No, he doesn't. He will, though. It will get better, my friend. I promise."

Castiel said nothing for another moment before he added, "They've cast a summoning spell. The Lord wills I show myself and reveal the truth to Dean."

The archangel was no doubt unsurprised by the news, but he still gave the lower celestial a sharp look.

"You've not gone yet."

It wasn't a question.

"I don't know what to say. I know the Lord will guide me, but I saw this man when he was demonized, a slaughterer for Alastair, his pet, his pride. I saw his guts ripped open and every part of his heart. How do I look him in the eyes and see anything but the hell I know he endured?" Castiel murmured, and he turned to Nitish, the other being giving him a small but warm smile.

"What?" he asked, annoyed, but the older angel chuckled softly before saying, "Nothing, my friend. You're very empathetic towards humans, and it's something both Raziel and I cherish. I know you're struggling with this, but understand that when you saw those parts of him, you were there to see him choose. You were there to see him fight through half a lifetime of conditioning for someone that he had already sold his soul for. You saw the worst of him, and the best of him. Realize he's only human, Castiel. It's the best thing you can do for yourself. You may never understand any other aspect of him but that one fact."

Blinking, Castiel nodded, accepting the advice, mulling it as he tipped a goodbye with his head and disappeared towards the world laying below his feet. He let the pull on his soul guide him as he usually did, finding himself in front of a large barn in the middle of nowhere. He could feel the protective wards on the building and paid them no mind; they wouldn't even register on his radar if he'd been in his true form. So he walked in, endured the bullets, the knife, and the crowbar the older hunter swung at him. He endured the blatant suspicion the younger hunter threw his way. Out of all Dean remembered of Hell, he'd forgotten the angel.

Without knowing whether that was good or bad, Castiel felt a deep sadness as Dean snarled at him, "Why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

There were so many things he wanted to answer that with.

Because you are still righteous.

Because your brother needs you.

Because your guilt does not outweigh your worth.

Instead, he heard himself give a useless and meaningless phrase that he'd heard too many times, that Dean had more than obviously had a gut-full of. Feeling defeated, he decided to try a different tactic.

"What's the matter? You don't think you deserved to be saved?"

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he flinched internally when he saw the memories that Dean tried to deny play out behind too-bright eyes. Ten years of committing torture, of the worst kind of barbarianism even the angel could imagine, had burned all thoughts of forgiveness from the hunter's mind.

All he was looking for now was atonement.

The realization was an open door to Castiel, one he seized with both hands. He could give him the path to the atonement he sought, so long as the man was willing to trust him.

"Why'd you do it?"

Castiel leaned back for a moment and licked his lips slightly; he could do this. He knew what Dean needed, knew what would make the screams dim, the blood fade, the horror cut more shallowly.

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

A path to atonement for Dean, and Castiel would be his guardian angel. He would make sure of it.

End Blackened