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“Wake him up,” Lady Toni Bevell ordered. “I’m not through with him.”

Ketch rolled his eyes at being ordered around by her. It made him want to kill her, but he had those thoughts often: when she got too close to him, when she rose above him in the ranks, when she reminded him of their failed relationship. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and he wanted to see how pretty she’d look with a bloody gash in her throat.

But that wasn’t the job, at least not for now.

They’d gotten into the American Men of Letters bunker, and had found the angel, but no Winchesters.

Ketch had his methods, his ways of making people talk, and he was quite versed in angel lore, and how to hurt them. He’d been working at Castiel for two hours, and the angel, even with his Grace, had passed out. Perhaps the potion he’d injected him with had been too potent.

The angel was tied to a chair in the library with rope interwoven with fibers from a Judas Tree, looking ever so handsome as he bled from multiple wounds on his face and his torso. Ketch had ripped open his shirt to get to his skin, and it was quite marvelous. The rope weakened him, made him less, and took in his powers to restrain him with. He always enjoyed leeching power from an angel, and Castiel was no different. Ketch wondered when touching his wings would prove useful for this interrogation. Oh, how he yearned to feel the soft feathers beneath his fingers, to rip at them, to see the tears in the angel’s blue eyes.

Annoyed with Toni, and annoyed that Castiel had passed out and robbed them of his beautiful whimpers and cries, he went over to the angel, grabbed his head, and promptly began smacking it against the table to wake him up.

The pain brought him back to them, and drool pooled under his mouth as he lay against the wood. His eyes were unfocused, and he was groaning.

“I won’t ask again,” Toni said, stepping forward, arms crossed.

Ketch knew it was his turn to step aside, to let her talk, so he did, and he watched her as he did so, imagining his hands around her throat.

“Where’s Dean?”

“I won’t betray him,” Castiel got out. He tried forcing himself back up, but Ketch, now behind him, grabbed his head and slammed it back against the wood. “I… I won’t let you get him.”

“Angel, we can do this the hard way if you so choose,” Ketch threatened.

Castiel growled at him, trying to lift his head up. There were tiny tremors traveling through his body, the potion fully taking effect as pain bled into his nerves.

Ketch smiled, leaned down and whispered in his ear, “With that potion I injected you with, everything I do will hurt so much more. Now, come on. I don’t want to hurt Dean like I’m hurting you. I just want to talk to him, show him I can… be a friend.”

The last words he’d spoken were lower, implying more, and he grinned at how that must hurt the angel. It seemingly did because he started struggling. Ketch wasn’t sure if he would do anything to Dean, but god, the man was infuriating and beautiful. Give him some scotch with a little bit of ketamine, and then—

“Ketch, don’t harass him,” Toni ordered. “We need him to work with us.”

“I’ll never work with you,” Castiel growled. He whimpered as Ketch pressed him harder against the table. Still, he went on, “You want Dean? Go look for him in Hell!”

Ketch tsked and brought a hand to his torso, where he’d opened up multiple wounds. He dug his fingers in, making the angel let out a startled scream.

“Oh, that’s not very nice,” Ketch commented. “Do I need to teach you your manners, angel?”

My name is Castiel.

Ketch growled, red beginning to cloud his vision, his heart beating fiercely, and he dug his fingers in more. His hand ached with the force he put into his work, with trying to burrow and rip. He hadn’t picked a very fleshy part of Cas to tear into, and was finding muscle.

His screams grew louder, and he reveled in it, but still his vision beat that bright red. He’d show him to listen to him, he’d bend him to his will, he’d see just how irresistible he looked stripped of power and dignity.

“Ketch, that’s enough!”

Toni came over to grab his hand, and he backhanded her across the face.

She drew her gun on him.

Ketch removed his hand, and breathed, the heavy metallic scent of blood deliciously filling into his nostrils. Vision clearing, he looked down and saw that the angel was unconscious again.

He grabbed his hair, ready to slam his head into the table once more for Toni, but she didn’t lower the gun.

“Now, now, let’s not do this here, not while we have company.”

“You hurt him when I tell you to,” she got out, voice hard. “Understand? You do not touch him or speak to him without my express command. We need him to find Dean, and you’re not working. You’re playing.”

“I always did think people should enjoy what they do for work,” he argued.

She motioned with her gun for him to back away, and he did so, raising his dripping red hands to show he was compliant.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked.

Toni lowered the gun, and went to the chair she’d left an open bag lying in. She rummaged through it a bit, movements precise, and graceful. Ketch licked his lips as he watched her, and he wished he had a knife in his hand.

When she rose she had another syringe, this one filled with an amber liquid.

“He stays unconscious,” she told him. “I go into his mind, do what I do best.”

“He won’t give up Dean in his head just because you’re there.”

“No, but I think he’d like if we gave him Dean, let him , and then we can break him.”

Ketch almost purred with contentment, already in his mind picturing what she’d give Castiel: Dean, and the ability to fuck him in his head, to live a dream they knew he wanted. It was obvious, was written in his words, his eyes, and even his body language. So they’d give him that and they’d use it. He lifted Castiel’s head up, and stroked his hand across his jaw, and down over his neck, stubble scratching against his fingers.

“Lady Bevell, how naughty.”

“Save it. You know my methods, and you enjoyed them yourself from time to time.” She came close, close enough for him to breathe in her scent: the warmth of her, and the honeysuckle perfume she always wore. It brought him back to the days where they’d roll around in between the sheets, wrestling each other, trying to get the upper hand. “And now it’s his turn for a taste,” she murmured, holding the syringe to the angel’s neck in quite a seductive way. “Do you like him?”

Caught off guard, Ketch frowned, and his gaze drew back to him. He looked so peaceful in unconsciousness, eyes closed, mouth soft and surely pliant, face free of creases or worry lines. He could have been sleeping except for the wounds marring his face; the blood, the swelling, the bruises.


“It’s alright. I know you like your toys. How about we go in together, hmm? Of course, you won’t be able to do anything unless I allow it. I have unbridled control over the mind.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“How would you like to play Dean?”

Ketch stared down at the angel, eyes big, heat traveling down into his pelvis. So the bitch was giving him an opportunity to work with her, to give her what she wanted along with what he wanted.

Clever. Very clever. She knew he’d act as an obedient dog if she held such power over him. It was like she was tugging him around by his cock.

Castiel moaned, limbs tensing in their attempt to stir. He was beginning to wake up again. They couldn’t have that.

Ketch gently moved the syringe aside, and put a hand around his throat, grip tight, watching as the angel’s eyelids fluttered, as he gasped for breath. With his Grace getting drained he was far more susceptible to human agonies, and the lack of air rendered him back into a state of unconsciousness.

Then he grabbed Toni’s hand, and had her slowly slide the syringe into Castiel’s exposed neck.

“I think it’d be delightful.”