Your eyes open to a low, humming light. You’re on your back on a hard surface. To your left, a wall of thick, riveted metal bars. Beyond them, in an identical cell, lies Castiel.

He’s on his side, facing you. His trench coat is gone, his shirt torn and stained. Around his neck is a collar, its surface etched with glowing, shifting sigils that pulse with a sickly green light. His eyes are closed.

From your right comes a sound—small, hitching sobs.

Behind Cas, something moves. Not him. Something large and pale, draped over the floor of his cell like a fallen curtain. Feathers. Two massive, ragged wings, bound tightly together at the joints with thick, dark straps. They twitch, a pained, involuntary spasm.