#spn constantine

but then he became an absolute BAMF third lead so completely essential to the success of the show that every single time they tried to kill him off they were forced to bring him back until he dragged the show along with him for twelve fucking years and they were stuck with the costume choice they’d made because it became so iconic 

It’s just so funny and I love him for that. 

John and Castiel entered the torture room soaked in blood, demon's blood. It has been a long way down to Alastair's den, and they'd to carve their road through a lot of demons. It hadn't been easy at all.

Pushing open the heavy doors they were paralyzed by the scene before them. Feathers. Copper feathers everywhere on the floor.

Castiel barely whispered a frightened “No...”, knowing perfectly what just happened while John looked up to see...

His angel hunged like a broken puppet, naked, bloody, his hair sticking to his forehead, eyes closed. In his back, one pair of wing hung loosely on the ground. The feathers should have been grey once, but they were red now.

The most horrible thing was the second pair of wings. All the bones were broken, twisted, torn apart, the skin was ripped and there were just a few feathers remaining on it.

There was no one else in the room. Castiel ran toward his brother, looking for a way to free his wrists.

John followed quickly, his hands catching Mael's face.

“Mael! Marl wake up! Can you hear me!”

John felt a horrible panic growing in his chest. What the hell have they done to him?

He barely heard Castiel speak.

“We have to be quick, Alastair could come back anytime. He must have been called to look after the mess we left behind us.”

In the quiet place inside Samael’s head a voice was calling to him. John’s voice.

Finally his angel opened his eyes and looked at him.

“Mael! Mael it's me. It's John. It's ok now.”

The answer wasn't what he had expected.

“Come on Alastair. It doesn't work anymore. Do your job and don't talk.”

Castiel froze for a second, his hands still on the screws. He looked at John who was looking for some help in the other angel's eyes.

“He thinks you're not real...”

“Thanks Sherlock! I didn't noticed it! Mael! Mael I swear it's me.”

“Yes... You already said it. Shut up now please... End your work.”

How broken his voice sounded. It was the worst thing John had ever heard.

He caught Samael's body when Castiel finally released him from the rack and softly laid him on the floor, holding his head on his knees, brushing his hair away.

He wanted to fix him. To fix him quick. The sight of his angel in this state was just breaking his heart. He wanted to scream, he wanted to break Hell. And now, he wanted Alastair dead. A hate stronger than anything was thundering in his chest as he kept running his fingers through his angel's hair, taking away the few feathers caught in the sticky blood soaked locks.

“Did Alastair ever took my face brother?” Cas asked, searching for Samael's eyes.

The broken angel frowned as his eyes met Cas' blue gaze. It was comforting. This blue... Such a pure and holy blue.

“No... Castiel? What... ”

Then he tensed, looking up at John. He slowly reached a hand toward his human's face, his fingers barely brushing his skin. He could touch him. He could feel his soul. It was him. Finally... It was him.

John grabbed this hand, squeezing it to assure his angel he was real.

The second after, Samael was panicking.

“No... No! John go away! Now! You have to... Leave me here! You can't be here, you must not be here! Run! Now! Leave me here please please please...”

His voice broke as a tear ran on his bloody face.

“No way. You're coming with us. You're delirious Mael. It's okay. I'm gonna fix you. I promise. It's gonna be okay.”

Samael whined softly “No no no please...”

Castiel looked at him.

“We are going to take care of you brother. It's over now. It's over. John, hold him tight, we're going back.”

John obeyed, wrapping his arms around his angel as Castiel caught him. And they flew away.

As they were flying away, John caught sight of a figure below. Alastair was looking up at them. And he was smiling.

The second after, John collapsed on Midnight’s floor, his angel in his arms, his head aching awfully.

He managed to whisper.

“How long were we...?”

He barely had time to hear the old magician answer.

“Two minutes.”

After a year or two, ten or twenty, even an eternity or two later and nothing had changed.

Well, Alastair's little games had changed.

The demon had taken John's face so many time that it'd never worked the same again.

After Lucifer's little speech, the angel had been less reactive. He still refused Alastair’s proposition to take up the knife himself, refused to talk or acknowledge any of the demon’s tricks.. He just screamed. Screamed until his vessel's voice break, until his true voice break.

His body had been torn apart, so many times. His grace had been riped so many times, he'd lost count.

The only thing Samael wanted was to die before John could find a way to come here.

Sometimes he would whisper prayers for hours.

“Please Father, kill me before he knows what has happened. Before he finds out where I am. Before he comes here.”

But his Father never answered.

Sometimes he did his best to make Alastair fly off the handle, hoping he would finaly kill him. But Alastair just laughed and whispered.

“No no no little angel. You have to live.”

Samael wondered sometimes how his vessel could contain so much blood. He had bled gallons.Though he couldn’t have had a single drop left in his body he could taste the bitter sting of it in his mouth every time Alastair buried his hands in the angel’s entrails.

And he kept praying, in silence. Praying for his human to be saved, praying to fall into sleep and never wake up again.

He had created a little place in his head. Somewhere safe, somewhere he could go when Alastair was away. In this place, John was safe, John wasn't a seal. In this place, Heaven wasn't broken, angels weren't fighting and there was no Alastair.

------------------

This day, Alastair came to him with no tools. That fact in itself was way more omnious than when he had his scalpels and tongues.

“Hello hello sunshine. How are you today? Sorry, I've been soooo busy lately. I've neglected you.”

He sucked a breath through his teeth, coming close to the angel, his hand grabbing his jaw.

“But I'm back for you angel. We're going to have fun today, believe me. There is this thing I've always wanted to do.”

Samael gave him a blank look, his head too heavy to think, his eyes too burned by tears to see properly.

He caught a sight of the demon moving around him, he felt the rack shaking and clanking a bit under Alastair's hands.

After a moment, Samael was hanging, his wrists still screwed on the rack.

He yelled with all his voice and all his pain.

The demon broke one of his four wings. Oh no... No Father not this... Please.

He saw a feather falling in front of his face and the pain again. And again and again. Alastair was pulling out his feathers one by one.

Samael was horrified. A demon was plucking him. One feather after another. It was the most blasphemous thing he had ever felt, he had ever seen. It was so painfull.

Alastair began to sing softly, breaking Samael’s bones one by one.

“One little angel all dressed in white Trying to get to Heaven In the end of a kite. But the kite sting broke, and down he fell. Instead of going to Heaven he went down to Hell.”

And again, and again, and again. This song echoed in his ears along with the crack under his wings under the demon's hands. It was wrong, it was the worst kind of humiliation, the worst kind of blasphemy. It hurt so much.

“John... Are you sure?”

“No Midnite, I'm not. But I have to. So please, be quick okay?”

The black guy turned his glance toward the guy in his trench-coat.

“And you're gonna let him do this?”

“We have to. I'm going with him.”

Once again, John was sitting on a chair in Midnite’s basement. The chair.

“You both know it's gonna be close to a NDE. John may just die and never come back.”

Castiel looked at the magician. His blue eyes were determined.

“That will not happen. I'm here. I'm going to follow him. And when we come back everything is going to be fine. I promise.”

“Come on Midnite, it's faster like this. Mister poker face here says it'll be easier to “ride my soul as it takes the dive” than find a door. So do it!”

Midnite sighed softly and came closer, a syringe carefully held in his fingers.

“If you say so.”

He crouched in front of John, tightly strapped to the chair and looked up at Castiel.

“So... Real angel hm? I guess you can honor your words. Bring John back okay.”

Castiel simply nodded and putt a hand on John's shoulder.

“I'll bring them back. I promise you Midnite.”

As the needle slid into John's arm a slow fire spread through his veins, his head became dizzy, his body heavy. He heard a flutter. Just like 'Mael's.

When he opened his eyes again, he was deep down into the Pit, an angel by his side.Castiel was terrified, his bright blue eyes sweeping the ruin of Hell around him though he tried to stand upright with purpose.