Smoke

Bela stood near Dean’s throne, tempted to admire the rows of demons on their knees. Whatever else she had to say about Dean, he knew how to play a room. And there was none of that sense he’d had in his younger days, back when they’d both been human, that he might shed the role at any time with a quip and a wink. No. Now, he was committed.

She pushed down on that wriggling element of hope that this was all a ploy, that she’d see Hannah again. She couldn’t afford to think that way, even if she kept it to herself. Playing the role was important for her, too. If this did turn out to be Dean taking the throne, for real, and keeping it, then at least Bela had a place. A respected place, as far as it went.

She’d already been able to use her influence to settle a few debts from the past years, and she’d done it out in the open, with Dean’s full support.

Castiel had looked less impressed.

Then again, Castiel looked to be one step from panic. Bela knew enough, from her painstaking research, to know that Dean had essentially trapped Castiel on that stone seat. She didn’t think Dean would leave the angel there for good, some living statue celebrating Dean’s power, but in theory it was something he could do. And if Dean Winchester, breaker of bonds and denier of destiny, was willing to lock his own lover in place like that, there was no telling what else he’d do. Maybe, in his demonic state, he would place sigils to demand Castiel’s obedience.

It was ironic, that bit of lore. Angelic, but an angel couldn’t enact it. Something about needing to come from free will in order to override it.

She wasn’t sure how she’d feel about it, if Dean broke Castiel, kept him as some sort of trophy. The seraph was similar enough to Hannah that Bela felt…something.

She snapped back to the scene in front of her as Dean waved and the demons bowed, rose and vanished, leaving the huge chamber almost empty.

“So far, so good,” Dean said, possibly to himself.

The fingers of his right hand tapped at an arm of the throne, a staccato rhythm which almost resolved itself into something Bela knew. Almost. Dean shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. He buzzed with energy, with drive. Bela saw his smoke billow and coil.

“You know,” Dean said, to the four other demons still present, “I was promised adoration. My richest dreams. But I just feel not everyone’s on board. You getting that?”

He stopped in front of a demon who’d taken a middle-aged businessman as a host, acting for all the world as though this guy’s opinion mattered. The demon nodded, not quite managing to hide the twitch at being singled out by this new king.

“Sure you do,” Dean said. “It’s a sour note in a chord. Can’t stand that. There’s someone here who’s not thrilled to see me take my crown.”

Spinning, Dean turned his back on the demon and faced Castiel. The angel was already watching him. He was always watching Dean, Bela had noticed, even before this. Now, it was with a greater degree of wariness.

“What say you, Castiel, Angel of the Lord? You think there could be someone who wants me toppled from my thrown? Thrown from it.”

And Dean grinned, posing with his arms out as though he expected anyone to laugh at that. Of course, within seconds the four demons behind him did laugh, and Bela forced herself not to murder them on the spot. She could see the way Dean’s eyes slid to her, checking her reaction. She met his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

Dean didn’t need her to be a sycophant. He had enough of those already. She didn’t really believe he wanted that from Castiel, either. No. If Dean wasn’t playing at this, he would want to break the angel, not have him faking.

“Awfully quiet there, Cas,” Dean said, snapping his eyes back to the still figure before him.

Castiel gripped the arms of the stone seat, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. Bela could almost see his wings, flexing and settling, flexing again. She could almost see the bonds that held him in place. Since he’d sat in the chair, Dean hadn’t let him leave it.

“What would you have me say?” Castiel asked, his tone managing to be civil. Subservient, almost.

“Only what you want to, Cas,” Dean said, sauntering closer and leaning forward, a hand on either one of Castiel’s wrists. “You’ve tried your hand at leading minions. What do you think I should do to dig out the dissenters? Go on. You’ve got to have some ideas.”

“They’ll come to you,” Castiel said, and the way he had to look up at Dean from so close made him look even more trapped. “You shouldn’t waste your time hunting them.”

“But I like hunting,” Dean said. “Love it. Live for it. So I’m going to have to ignore you, there, Angel.”

Bela watched in something approaching genuine awe as Dean ordered the demons waiting on him to fetch hell hounds, to summon a group of demons they felt could be trusted. She nodded, even bowed, when she was ordered to stay and wait on the Queen. She noted the quirk of Dean’s mouth as he said that, and filed it away to think about later.

Before long, she was alone with Castiel in an echoing chamber of sigil carved stone.

“How trapped are you?” she asked, once she’d swept the room, checking as well as she could for anything beyond the obvious level of observation.

Some of the sigils would alert whomever had most recently claimed the throne if their presence was needed, and Bela didn’t have the juice to break those. She did mask them. Just enough. With luck, Dean wouldn’t notice. Everything had to be buzzing and roaring in him now.

She stood a few body-lengths from Castiel, just in case an angry angel could do her harm here, even bound, and watched as his head came up, eyes blazing. Literally blazing.

“Castiel?”

He didn’t answer, but the way he gritted his teeth made her fall silent, watching. The chamber hummed, vibrations running through it, and Castiel strained, cords on his neck standing out. The bands Dean’s sigils had fastened around the angel sparked, making them visible in lines of white flame, and Bela saw them wrapped securely around Castiel’s wrist, around his neck and chest, around his thighs and ankles. Only his wings were free, and they blazed into reality, too, bursting black and shining into being.

They sparked with the same white fire as the bands, and with the same blue fire as his Grace, and she couldn’t tell what was natural and what was a result of Castiel fighting the sigils.

Each wing flapped, four of them, then two, then six, like Castiel couldn’t decide how many he should have.

The air in the chamber buffeted Bela, forcing her to work on her stance and raise a hand in front of her face to protect her eyes. She wanted to cover her ears, too, as the whining, screaming noise rose from something felt in her jaw and in her spine to something which might split her apart.

“Castiel!” she yelled. “Stop this! You’ll bring the place down on us!”

It cut off.

Silence dropped heavy and dull into the space, and she lowered her hand to see Castiel gasping, his head back against the seat and his wings, settled on just the one pair, draped along the floor. He was sweating.

“What was that?” she demanded, even though she knew.

Hannah could be still and patient and controlled, but she was a creature of flight and of fire and of action, and Castiel was stronger. He hadn’t been, when they’d carried him from that room with the collar around his neck, but he was now.

It must be painful to him, to be tied down like this.

Not that anyone would enjoy it, as such.

Crossing to him, she observed him closely for a few moments.

“Are you going to attack me?”

“No,” he said. Grated, really. His throat must be wrecked.

“Good. Then, hold still.”

Hesitantly, she set the back of her hand against his forehead. A pointless gesture in a lot of ways, but it made her feel more like she was trying something.

“You’re burning up,” she said.

“Yes. I need to get out of here.”

There was a panicked edge to his voice, and Bela felt something in her twist. She could imagine Hannah in this chair, all too easily. She could imagine how Hannah would feel about Castiel being trapped in this chair, as well.

“Dean wants you here,” she said, telling herself that Castiel couldn’t know where her loyalties lay, not unless she was sure of him. He could be testing her. “You want to please Dean, don’t do?”

If Castiel was testing Bela, he was doing a very good job of it. The look he shot her was poisonous.

“Dean needs to get out of here. He needs to finish this and leave. He doesn’t belong here.”

“It’s his throne,” Bela said, injecting every ounce of sincerity into the words that she could. “A king should be with his throne. And his Queen should be loyal.”

“He isn’t mean to rule Hell,” Castiel said. He must have damaged his vessel’s throat with the screaming just now. “I need to take him home. He needs to be home.”

“He is home,” Bela said, though she was starting to think Castiel meant what he said, that he wasn’t testing her and he wasn’t in on any plan of Dean’s to pretend this king thing was a good idea. She let herself feel fear, a pure shot of it, before clamping down. “If you love him, you’ll not try to take him from it. Not that you could.”

She moved just in time to avoid Castiel’s wings, which rose and beat the air with such power she fell from the draft of air. From the floor, she looked up and spat hair out of her face. Until she saw which way this was going, she wasn’t going to show her hand, however much it upset the angel.

“You can’t go against him,” she said, knowing she sounded gleeful. “You’re nothing but his plaything if that’s what he wants, and I’m not taking Dean’s toys from him. I’m not that stupid.”

She rose to her feet, brushing off the dust from the floor, and smiled.

“Now, is there anything I can get for you. My Queen?”