Chapter Text
He was standing on a patch of dry earth, the soil bumpy and irregular under his brown workman boots.
Dean was in a place he had never been, though found himself recognising it anyway. He was in the labyrinth, that was for sure, but as the labyrinth had been before, when it had not been a maze at all.
Ahead of him were two figures, thin and sickly-looking, with black eyes and snarling faces. They were walking slowly, cornering something into a corner. Their gangling forms obscured Dean’s vision as to what they were approaching. He crept forwards, slowly, half-scared they would hear his footsteps and attack—though Dean knew that was impossible. This had all happened a long, long time ago. Dean was not a part of this memory. He was an observer, a voyeur, his only purpose to let these events unfold before his eyes.
“We can smell you,” one of the demons said, taking in a long, wheezing breath. “Fresh from the top-side.”
His companion cackled like an animal.
“New ones always smell the sweetest,” she said, her voice haggard and coarse like a witch from a fairy story.
“Especially you, pretty girl,” the first demon said. “I like your hair. S’like fire. Come closer to me. I’ll look after you.”
“She won’t be going anywhere with you.”
It was Castiel’s voice, undoubtedly.
Dean was close enough, now. There before him were the unmistakable figures of the king and his sister, the woman who had sent him to this vivid, smoky place. Dean could not take his eyes off of Castiel. Although he was the same age as the Castiel Dean knew now, he appeared leagues younger, almost unrecognisably so. He had the same black hair, the same piercing blue eyes, but there was something about him that was different, irrevocably so. It made Dean hungry. His fingers ached to touch him, to run his hand through Castiel’s hair. He raised his hand, he almost did, but in that moment Castiel’s eyes almost seem to flicker to his. Dean jumped, and his hand fell away.
“Is that so?” the demon said, his black lips curved into a smile. “I can make her. I can make her do anything I want.”
Castiel’s eyes hardened, and Dean was reminded of the man he was now.
“I’ll kill you first,” he said.
The demons laughed, then, a cold, grating cry.
“Did you hear that, Lawrence?” the demon woman guffawed. “New fish forgets where he lives now.” She approached him, put a clawed finger against his cheek. Castiel shook her off with disgust, but the demon only laughed. “This isn’t the world you came from, pretty boy. The rules aren’t the same. No one can die here, so snivelling souls like you need to get used to that idea before it destroys you.”
“Our advice?” the male demon said. “Get yourself Tainted as soon as possible. The advantages of being a demon are many. King Lucifer rewards those that bend the knee.”
The woman looked hungrily from Anna to Castiel.
“We can help you if you like,” she offered.
“We don’t want your help,” said Anna, her red hair flaming under the half-light of Lucifer’s world.
With that, the demon woman struck Anna hard across the face, making her fall into Castiel’s arms.
“Ungrateful little bitch!”
Castiel rose to face her, put a hand around her throat and squeezed.
“Touch my sister again…” he said darkly, tightening his grip, “and I will teach you just how cruel immortality can be.”
The woman dragged his hands away, gagged, and clutched at her bruised throat.
“Get your filthy soul hands off me!”
Castiel took a step forwards. He looked possessed. Even though he could not kill them, they knew he could do much worse.
The demon woman took a hold of her companion and started to drag him away.
“Let’s go, Lawrence. Now!”
The two scarpered, but not before the male demon turned back to snarl at Castiel and Anna once more.
“Keep that up,” he shouted, “and you’ll be a demon before you know it!”
The scene disappeared in a haze of black smoke.
Dean rubbed his eyes, when his hands fell away he realised he was standing in the small hovel that had belonged to Chuck and Becky. He saw the couple, then, standing in a corner of the room, and a pain twinged at his heart. Castiel and Anna were there as well, and the four of them were talking in hushed voices. They had all been friends, Dean realised. He didn’t know how that made him feel.
Dean stepped closer in order to better hear their conversation.
“Picking fights with demons isn’t the best way to spend your time, you know,” Chuck whispered tensely.
“As opposed to what, Chuck,” challenged Castiel, “hiding as they pillage and steal from us? I won’t live like that. Someone needs to stand up to them. To Lucifer.”
Chuck shook his head dejectedly.
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
Castiel shot his friend a dark look.
“Do you have to be like that?" he asked through gritted teeth.
Chuck looked defensive.
“Like what?”
“So… cowardly.”
Chuck laughed quickly, shooting a quick glance at his wife.
“Call me coward all you want, Castiel,” he said, his tone patient, “I’m just doing what’s best for Becky. For all of us. I protect her in my own way, same as you do Anna.”
Castiel’s sister scowled slightly.
“I don’t need protecting,” she said. “Castiel’s right, though, someone needs to stand up to him.”
Chuck merely shrugged.
“Lucifer’s been king for as long as I have been here, longer than any of us even know. Do you really think someone hasn’t tried before? Tried and succeeded?”
Castiel smiled, then, a wicked tint in his eye.
“They weren’t me, though, were they?”
Castiel, Chuck and the others disappeared into a silvery haze. Once Dean’s vision had cleared, he realised he was standing in the middle of a great room, decorated in splendour, surrounded by men and women dressed in silk and jewels. Castiel was there, his head bowed, and up ahead of him, sat on a thorned throne, was a man Dean could only assume was the old king himself. He was a well-built, handsome man, with blond hair and blue eyes almost as piercing as Castiel’s. He wore a crown above his head, and he was watching Castiel with a curious, amused expression. Dean realised then, with a sharp twinge to his chest, that Azazel was standing in the room as well. He, too, was watching Castiel, except there was a dark, starved look in his yellow eyes.
“Castiel,” the king addressed. “Thank you for coming to my home.”
Castiel looked at him fearlessly, but remained somber where he stood.
“You sent for me?”
Lucifer sighed, rearranging his crown so it sat higher on his head.
“Castiel,” he said, with a hint of tiredness. “I have been watching you for some time now. You don’t like my demons, do you?”
“I have nothing against them,” Castiel replied apathetically. “They’re only following orders.”
Lucifer nodded, and smiled.
“So… the problem you have is with me?”
“It is.”
Azazel’s eyes were glittering, liquifying, as he studied Castiel’s aweless form.
“Would you care to elaborate?”
Castiel shrugged slightly.
“I suppose you could say I don’t like the way you run things.”
Lucifer nodded.
“And would you do things differently, if you were in my place?”
“I would, your Majesty.”
They stared at each other, now, testing both their daring. Lucifer looked away first.
“It’s not easy being king, you know,” he said. “I had to fight to get where I am. I had to make sacrifices. Have you had to make sacrifices?”
Castiel shook his head.
“Not yet. But I’m willing.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Lucifer, and his patience, his amusement, had disappeared. “You have a sister, don’t you?”
Castiel’s eyes hardened for the first time. Dean saw his fists clench beside him, and the hunger in Azazel’s face seemed to grow even more.
“Don’t involve Anna in this,” Castiel warned darkly. “You don’t have the right.”
“Oh, but I do,” Lucifer countered. “I’m the king. You know, I had a brother once. He was the sacrifice I had to make in order to rule. I look at you and I see promise, I really do, but I don’t think you have it in you to do that to Anna if she was the one who stood in your way.”
The tension in the room had ascended, shrouded the room in a dark mist that threatened to consume everything inside. Dean held his breath, aching to catch every word until he was devoured by it as well.
“Why have you summoned me?” Castiel asked in the darkness.
Lucifer shifted, his body imposing, willowy against the fog.
“I know what you’re planning to do. You’re rallying the souls of my Land in order to overthrow me. I’m going to tell you this now, Castiel, because, believe it or not, I care for my people even if they do not care for me: stop this foolishness. A million souls could rise against me, and a million would be repelled. Stop now, before the sacrifices that are made are not of your own volition, before people like Anna are hurt beyond saving. Do you understand me?”
Castiel said nothing. He simply stared at the king, until both their forms were masked in shadow, and Dean was shifted once more.
Castiel was standing over a nameless figure, a weapon in his hand that dripped dark with blood. The demon below him was wailing feebly, grasping his fingers through the soil, desperate for release, aching an escape.
“What did you do to him?!”
Chuck had grasped Castiel by the shoulders, shaking him furiously. Castiel only smiled.
“I taught him a lesson.”
Chuck closed his eyes.
“Are you mad?” he whispered tensely. “Carry on down this road and you will Taint yourself!”
The words did not faze Castiel. He looked down at the bloodied creature with a knowing look on his face.
“Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”
The smaller man rubbed his eyes and sighed loudly. When he looked back at Castiel, he looked older.
“What’s happened to you?” he asked dejectedly. “I thought you wanted to save us.”
With that, Castiel put two hands on his friend’s face.
“I do, Chuck, my friend,” he said excitedly, “I do! I don’t expect you to understand; all I ask is that you trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”
Chuck did not speak at first. He looked into the man’s eyes, lovingly, patiently, shrouded with fear.
“Of course I do,” he replied finally, and the scene disappeared once more.
Dean was standing in the courtroom he had been inside once before, only the building was not as he had left it. It was standing tall, perhaps newly built—the walls were high and painted black, the rows of chairs empty apart from a black bench, placed high in the centre of the room. It was Death, the creature Dean had had to fight in order to collect Tess’s blood. His blind eyes stared down at Castiel, who was standing in the middle behind a mounted perch, his hands bound together with metal shackles. Death had a smile on his face, cherishing the moment.
“My name is Death,” he recited grandly. “You are here, not to die, but to be reborn… transformed into something more than what you are. Your king welcomes you, but the question remains: what have you done to taint your soul forever? Step on to the circle, Tainted. Let us see you for what you have become.”
Castiel dragged his feet on to the roost. He was clothed in nothing more than dirtied cloth trousers. His feet were bare, as was his chest. He was covered in a layer of grime and blood.
His approach of the circle shifted Death’s gaze again. His white eyes shone brilliantly as he realised who he was about to judge.
“You are Castiel,” he said slowly, deliciously. “Ah… the king told me to expect you.”
“Did he?”
Death let out a quick laugh.
“You’re the fool soul behind this so-called resistance. A waste of your time, really, for now that you’re in my grasp, Lucifer has already won.”
Castiel raised his head to meet Death’s glare, his eyes flickering with tenacity.
“Has he?” Castiel said mockingly. “I’m not so sure.”
Death sighed; his expression hardening.
“You’re boring me, Castiel. Demons are bound to the king by ancient magic. Once you’re transformed, you will have no choice but to serve him.”
Castiel shifted, the shackles around his wrists clanging together restlessly. The sound echoed, and carried high up into the depths of the ceiling. It distracted Death a moment, but the voice of his young prisoner beckoned him back to certainty.
“Like you?”
The question puzzled him, and Death raised his thin black brows.
“Excuse me?”
“Like the way you serve him, Death?” Castiel almost smiled. “I know you have been here longer than any of us, before Lucifer, even. How does it feel to be his pet, doing his bidding for him in this nice little courtroom of yours?”
Death’s skeletal fingers compressed into a fist. He bashed his hand against the bench, and the noise resounded in a boom that shook the floor.
“I am nobody’s pet!” he roared. “I am my own master!”
His outburst did not seem to faze Castiel. He simply stared up at him, half amused, half smiling.
“If I were king, you would be,” he said suggestively. “It’s time there was a change, wouldn’t you agree? Surely you’re tired of the… repetition.”
Death’s anger began to reside. He pulled his long body forwards so he was leaning against the bench, watching Castiel closer.
“Go on.”
“Lucifer has a brother,” Castiel said plainly. “He wanted me to think he’s dead, that he does not exist here, but he does. He has to. Tell me where he is.”
“And why should the location of the king’s brother be of use to anyone?”
“I have a plan. And it involves him.”
Death was sceptic. He shifted back in his seat, his eagerness dampening.
“That’s not enough for me to commit treason, Castiel.”
The prisoner grit his teeth, and his face scrunched together like Dean used to do when he didn’t get his way. It made Dean realise just how young Castiel had been once, before this place had completely poisoned his mind.
“What happened to you?” he hissed angrily. “An ancient being, afraid to break the rules? You’re pathetic.”
“Careful, Castiel,” Death said slowly, his anger returning like the bubbling of lava before it erupted.
“Help me,” demanded Castiel then, not unkindly. “Tell me where he is. Once I am king you will be free. I give you my word.”
The scene disappeared once more. Once Dean’s eyes had adjusted, he realised he was standing in a dark place, its walls made up of rock and winding plants, the leaves turned brittle and brown with age. Castiel was there, unclothed, his skin clean but scarred. He was just as beautiful as he had been on the edge of that forest, when he had kissed Dean, when he had run his hands through his hair. He was doing that now, only, to a different man. Jealousy pummelled through Dean like a spike to his chest, alighting the shame that was already inside him.
“I love you,” Castiel was whispering, amidst desperate caresses. “God, I love you. Kiss me,” he demanded. “Open your mouth.”
The man moaned. It was not a voice Dean recognised, and although he stepped closer, the lover remained shrouded in darkness.
“Castiel…”
“I love you,” said the king. “I love you so much, it consumes me.”
“I know,” recalled the man. “I love you, too.”
Dean’s throat tightened as he tried to swallow. He hated seeing this. He wanted to disappear back into the darkness, so the sight of Castiel’s naked, wanting form could not torture him anymore.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Castiel whispered regretfully. He stood up, walked towards his pile of clothes and began to dress. A hand emerged from the darkness, then a figure. He hugged Castiel, and muffled into the nape of his neck.
“Then stay,” his lover said.
Castiel turned around, and placed his hands around the dark man’s face.
“You know I can’t,” he said softly. “I have to look after Anna, especially now, with every single one of his demons after us. Nowhere’s safe any more.” His hands fell away, and his face dropped. His whole body seemed to fall away until he was almost nothing.
“God, I’m tired,” he said in the darkness, and began to walk away.
But the figure refused to let him go.
“When will you next visit me?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Castiel said sadly. “Not for a while. It’s getting harder and harder for me to leave.”
‘Castiel, wait.”
The king was disappearing, but the voice made him stop once more.
“If it were safer, would you come back?”
Castiel stared at his lover sorrowfully, his eyes full of love and pain and heartbreak. Had he looked at Dean like that, when he had left through the white door?
“Of course I would, you know that,” he said achingly. “But your brother is winning. I don’t know how much fight I have left in me.”
“You can’t give up,” the figure said, going to him. “Not now. You know, I can’t remember the last time he visited me. He said he would. Every day. I haven’t seen him in years. You were the first person I saw in a millennia.”
“And to think, all because I got lost.”
They kissed, long and slow. Dean looked away.
“I’m so glad you found me,” the man said finally. “I thought I loved my brother, but that was because I had no one else to compare him to. Truth is, he never loved me. Once our destinies became clear he threw me away like I was nothing. But you—I won’t give you up. I won’t let you lose.”
Castiel looked at him strangely.
“What do you mean?”
“The magic he used to bind me here?” the man said, excitement edging in his voice. “I could teach you it.”
“You mean…”
“Yes. There is a way to defeat Lucifer. I can show you. Once it is done, will you set me free?”
Castiel smiled through a sigh, closed his eyes and kissed his lover again in a way that made Dean’s heart ache in his chest.
“Of course,” he said between kisses. “Of course. We can finally be together. I can finally look upon your face in daylight. Your sweet face…”
Both their forms became obscured by smoke. The darkness and the stone walls disappeared to reveal the tower Dean had found mere minutes ago. Anna was there, her face stricken with tears. Castiel stood by the door, looking back at her with a guilt that failed to seem genuine.
“Castiel!” Anna screamed. “Castiel, don’t you leave me here!”
“It’s for your own protection, Anna, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’ll only be a short while. There are still demons loyal to Lucifer, and they will use you to punish me for trapping him. I can’t risk that happening.”
Anna screamed in frustration, her fists curled up in balls as if ready to strike him. Castiel sighed and walked towards her, enveloping her crying face in his hands.
“Sweet sister,” he whispered. “Trust me. I will visit you, every day, and as soon as I am able I will let you out of here. You do believe me, don’t you?”
Anna had stopped crying. She took his hands in his, and Castiel smiled, because he thought she was forgiving him. Anna’s face hardened, however, and she pushed Castiel’s hands away.
“Maybe I did,” she said darkly, her voice full of hatred, “but not anymore.”
The scene shifted. They were stood in the throne room, only it was no longer Lucifer sitting on the thorned seat. Castiel was in it, dressed beautifully, his face set in a way that made him appear untouchable.
His servant, the man Dean recognised as the demon who had accompanied the king to Sam’s nursery, came walking in confidently.
“My lord,” he addressed, “you have a visitor.”
The door opened to reveal the small, disheveled appearance of the Prophet. He seemed so out of place, his clothes dirty and ragged, his face unshaven and glistening with sweat. Castiel did not notice. He arose from his throne, strode towards him, and clasped him in a warm, long hug.
“Chuck!” he cried warmly, finally breaking their embrace. “My old friend, come in. I’ve missed you. You don’t visit me as you used to. How’s Becky?”
He spoke quickly, excitedly, his eyes shining in delight. Chuck winced.
“She’s… fine,” he said in a quiet voice.
The king finally noticed his discontented expression. He looked at his friend seriously.
“What’s wrong, Chuck?”
Chuck met his gaze, a look of fear embedding in every wrinkle, every strand of hair.
“I had another prophecy.”
Castiel froze. He put a hand on Chuck and led him quickly to his throne.
“You did?” he asked urgently. “Tell me.”
Once they had sat down, Chuck winced again.
“It involves the boy,” he said with difficulty. “Dean.”
“What of him?” All playfulness in Castiel’s voice had disappeared.
“This plan you have…” Chuck began, his fingers grasped together nervously, “to bring the brothers here before they are meant to...”
“Yes. Yes,” Castiel hurried him. “Tell me.”
Chuck stared at him, apologetic, but resolute.
“It’s not going to work.”
“What?”
Chuck found his courage, and spoke louder.
“If you bring them here, if you have Dean journey through your labyrinth, he will win. Not only that: but you will die.”
Castiel screamed. Chuck fell out of his chair, and scrambled to his feet. Castiel was approaching him slowly, murder in his eyes.
“I came here to warn you!” Chuck yelled, pleading and desperate. “The mother still lives. Spare her, and all will be as it should!”
“I should have known you would try something like this,” Castiel said then. “I’ve known for a while.”
“Known what?”
“That you’re working against me! You haven’t been a friend to me in years. I chose to ignore it because I loved you like my own blood, but I can’t ignore it any more.”
“Like your own blood, Castiel?” Chuck screamed, no longer afraid. “Like Anna? Where is she, Castiel? What have you done with her?!”
Castiel stopped, stricken by a name he would not have heard uttered for many years.
“Get out,” he said calmly. “Get out and never return.”
The demons in the room began to close in on Chuck, their weapons ready in case he tried to attack.
“You have become exactly like Lucifer,: Chuck said, unnoticed to the swarm. “In fact, you’re worse.”
“Another word, and I’ll send you—”
“To the Pool?” he said, almost laughing. “Do it. I’m not afraid.”
The demons were so close, they could almost touch him.
Castiel could do it. He wanted to; Dean could see it in his eyes.
“Get out,” was all he said, and the room disappeared.
When Dean realised where he was next, he couldn’t breathe.
He was watching himself, only the boy in front of him seemed like someone he had known long ago, but had forgotten.
He was in the yard—the old yard—he had a baseball glove on his right hand. He was grinning goofily, and laughing at someone further away.
“Dean, go long!”
It was his dad’s voice. Dean turned his head, the form of John filling his vision and leaving him close to breathless. He looked like a stranger, too, with his beard freshly shaved, his clothes clean, smiling from ear to ear. This hurt more. This hurt more than anything else.
His father threw a white ball that was in his hand. It raced through the air, missing Dean’s outstretched hand by a metre. It landed at the front of the lawn and rolled quickly into the side of the house, the force making it bounce back on to the grass.
Dean turned to look at it, then looked back at John and burst out laughing.
“What was that?” he shouted, but John shrugged.
“Not my fault you can’t catch.”
“Oh, you’re funny.”
The back door opened.
It was Mary, his mother—an angel in a white dress. She was holding a younger Sammy to her breast. He was smiling soundlessly from against her, his tiny fingers entwined in a lock of her hair.
“What’s funny, darling?” she asked Dean’s memory. His past self beamed at her, as did Dean now.
“Just dad’s pitching skills, that’s all,” he spoke cheerfully.
John huffed, walking from his spot at the back towards his wife.
“Hey,” he said in mock offence, “I was baseball captain in high school, you know.”
“Why?” Dean jibed. “Were you the only student with hands?”
Mary and John laughed, but Mary gave her son a stern look once they had settled.
“Be nice to your father, Dean,” she said.
“Or what?”
“Or,” began John, “I’ll take away the Impala.”
“You can’t do that!” Dean laughed, playfully punching John on his shoulder.
“I can,” chuckled John, grabbing at Dean’s fist and wacking it away, “and I will.”
“Pfft,” dismissed Dean. “You wouldn’t dare. Would he, Sammy?”
Sammy gurgled. He reached a chubby finger over to Dean and poked him on the nose. Dean laughed, holding his face in mock pain.
John put his arm around Mary, stroking little Sammy behind his ear.
“He’s looking more and more like you every day,” Mary whispered to John, her voice full of love.
“But he’s got his mother’s eyes,” came John’s reply. “And beautiful eyes they are, too.”
Mary smiled. John took a hold of her chin and kissed her gently. The Dean in the memory turned his face and pretended to wretch.
“Gross,” he said.
“Gross, is it?” laughed John. “Come here, Mer, let’s really embarrass him.”
They began to kiss again, slower and more passionate. Dean scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head.
“You’re disgusting,” he laughed.
Dean’s eyes flickered to something in a tree branch. A snowy white barn owl was watching the family, its blue eyes striking against the darkness of the leaves.
Dean opened his eyes. He was back in Anna’s tower, the woman’s lips still on his.
He gasped, pulling away quickly. Anna smiled at him sadly, but remained where she stood.
He could not believe what he had seen. A window into Castiel’s soul, memories of a man he used to be, a man who shaped himself into a monster. The last memory played itself in his head, of Mary… of how beautiful she was.
“That was the last day of my mother’s life,” he said to Anna, his voice cracking. “Castiel killed her.”
“Another sacrifice he had to make in order to remain king.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
“He became everything he was fighting against,” Dean said then, watching the water in her eyes. “What happened to him?”
“His hunt for power destroyed him,” she said sorrowfully, “like power often does. And on that hunt he learnt a secret in the place you must go next.”
“What secret?”
“I don’t know,” Anna said, shaking her head. “But whatever it was, it was powerful enough to open a hole in the earth, and trap Lucifer deep within it.”
He debated her words. He turned to leave.
“You know, I could taste him on you.”
Dean’s steps faltered.
“I thought it was just a dream.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said kindly. “Don’t be ashamed,” Anna added, once she saw the expression on his face. “When Castiel wants something, he gets it. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
“No. You’re wrong. A part of me… a part of me knew what was going on, and I let it anyway. I think I wanted it to happen.”
“Castiel found ways to control you.”
Stop lying to yourself. Whatever spell you were cast under, you broke through it the moment he kissed you.
“No. He kissed me the first time, and I remembered. I remembered everything. What he did, what he took from me. I remembered, and I didn’t want him to stop.”
“Dean… if you’re having doubts about killing him…”
“No,” he shook his head. “Castiel is going to die. It’s the only way.”
Anna nodded solemnly, grimly.
“Go and get your weapon, then,” she said. “It’s time to end this.”
Castiel watched his crystal ball, his face blank.
The doors of the throne room flew open, the panting form of his servant stumbling through. Castiel turned his head, giving Crowley a quick look.
“My lord,” heaved Crowley, lumbering forwards. “Our scouts have spotted the prince making his way from your sister’s tower. He is going to the island. We can’t pretend any longer. The boy will make it to the gates. We have to be ready.”
Of course, Castiel already knew this. He looked at Crowley, who was staring at him frantically, his fat little body gasping for air. He could have laughed.
“What would you suggest we do?” he asked his servant dully.
Crowley spluttered, aghast at the king’s disinterest.
“Arm the soldiers,” he clamoured, “man the walls—anything! We can’t let him get to you!”
Castiel merely sighed, resting his chin against his fist and fixating on a single stone that lay amidst the wall.
“Go to Lilith,” he said after a moment, his tone void of anything. “She will know what to do.”
Crowley breathed in slowly, nodding his head.
“Yes,” he said, his fear alleviating just a little. “Yes, my liege. I will speak with her, and bring back news of her guidance.”
Castiel looked away, back on to the broken fragments of his crystal ball.
“Just go.”
Crowley scowled, turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he asked the king cruelly. “He undid you completely.”
Castiel couldn’t even bring himself to answer.