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All he needed was five minutes. That's what he told Bobby in the hallway. Five minutes, and he'd get the coordinates to Eve's hideout. Maybe even more if he got lucky.
Castiel wasn't one for interrogations, especially since he'd usually have threats to back up his actions... but, as the hunter said, he was out of power. A dead battery. His grace was chained away begging to be used. So, yes, conventional methods were not in his wheelhouse of expertise but were still a house nonetheless, one he would come to learn with ease.
Now was not that time.
The Jefferson Starship never gave them its—his name, leaving him to either keep that slot a blank or squeeze it out of him and use it to his advantage for later. Since Bobby’s methods seemed to work so well, he feared he’d have to be more…aggressive.
Castiel wished Dean was with him, give him pointers, and show the ropes on Torture 101, but he was unavailable at the moment. Not heeding the warning and leaving with those two boys traumatized from the massacre. And it wasn’t like Bobby was in any shape to help, given he was only human.
”Gonna do anything feathers? Or are you going to mope around now that you know you’ve been beaten?“ the Starship scoffed, practically spitting on his grave with disdain. Castiel scowled at the crude remark, not taking it to heart; though he could feel his anger flare up beneath his cool exterior. "Tell you what, if you let me go, I'll blow over this whole ordeal and tell the Great Mother of All to spare you." It was a feeble attempt. Cas already knew that he was strapped down and left with no room to fly out, but he wasn't desperate enough. It was all just a plea game, a game in which he didn't, wouldn't lose.
And the hunter was pressuring him, so he might as well give a little show to prove he wasn't all useless. Or what did Dean call him? A baby in a trench coat?
Castiel lifted his foot forward, graciously hiding the blade tucked underneath his coat, leaning in. Inhaling the cocktail aroma of whiskey and rotting flesh. Interesting as it was, he wondered if all the humans converted to monsters would have the same inevitable fate as that boy they'd found at that house. With several abominations among him.
The angel tilted his head, "No," He deadpanned, and before the monster even knew what hit him, Cas' blade pressed against his shirt. Red gushing as the Starship stifled a muted cry of agony, momentarily spiraling into maniacal laughter. Completely unphased by the fatal wound, the pain seemed more of an antagonizing scheme rather than genuine. He let the serrated blade drive in further, twisting it enough to exhaust a real scree from his lips. Bitten back by glazed eyes and a bleeding lip, "Tell me where Eve is." He growled, ocean eyes narrowing into sharp daggers. Unmoving with one hand restraining the monster's opposite shoulder.
The monster let the pained equivalent of a snort, rolling his head back as if high. "Oh... like I'd tell you?" Another jab to his fleeting pride.
The knife, bloodied and stained in crimson twisted one last time. Squelching with the twisting of organs. Ripping the blade out in a single, effortless motion, Castiel fixed himself upright again, "I don't think you have a choice." He parried, glaring at him with a sour look on his face. A dark frown threatened his lips.
"Sure I do!" The Starship laughed, grinning wildly, swinging in his bindings. "It's you who should be running with your tail between your legs, remember? You have no power here, and as long as She's here, you're nothing but an ant." He leaned forward, blood dribbling from his lips, old and new. "We run this town, whether you like it or not." The words dragged on like a squealing car with the brakes cut off. Rolling through one ear and tumbling out the other. There was a haunting truth to the monster's words, but he'd never come to admit it. He might be handcuffed, surrounded, and kicked down, but he's sure as hell not weak.
That finally sent the angel over the edge. His right arm flew forward, pinning him with his firearm, adjusting his posture at the neck, assured he heard a rib snap like a twig under the weight. "Tell me where the hell Eve is!"
The Jefferson Starship's eyes flew up in surprise, "Profanity? Well, Heaven wouldn't b—"
"Enough!" The angel let the blade spin in his grip, dancing inside the demon's lower left ribcage. "Tell me. Where. Is. Eve?" The threat left his lips like dripping honey laced with poison. Maybe it was the fact he wasn't acting very angelic in the moment, but it was dire times... and he left his resume with the assholes up in Heaven. He simply didn't care.
Eve was a bigger threat, and he had larger fish to fry rather than worry about what Heaven's garrison thought about his actions. Cas knew that, acknowledged it, and let it slide rent-free in his mind.
The monster coughed up a wad of blood, spitting it in the angel's face. Or at least attempted to. It landed in a wet spray across his rumpled shirt and trench coat, adding to the already drying spots. "Go to Hell." he snarled, muffled gurgle-cackling filling the room up. The air was tense, thick enough to cut with a knife, with his blade.
Just get the coordinates. He reminded himself, and took a step back; centering himself with a heavy breath cut short from the wretched stench of decay and metal. Castiel spoke calmly, lowering his head to meet the Starship's gaze. "Tell me where Eve is, and I'll let you go." He'd seen Dean do this before, give the enemy an ultimatum. Let it fall into the false accusation that he was sparing him, (Being an Angel of the Lord after all) showing mercy for his oh-so-poor soul. It was all a trick.
He wasn't going to see the night of day ever again, waiting like a caged lion. Pacing, inching closer, patiently urging him to just take the damn bait and run with it. He let the offer hang like freshly strewn meat...
"Fine." he begrudgingly concluded, pride flickering out. The monster tried to shrug off the chains to no avail, "Grant's Pass, Oregon..." His head dipped down, and looked to Castiel, as if waiting for the chains to spontaneous disappear.
"Thank you." Cas replied flatly, and in one fatal swoop, beheaded the monster with the perched machete on one of the tables.
The head bobbled, snapping veins and the brainstem sliced in half— the face was stuck in a permanent state of shocked agony.
Grants Pass, Oregon. He repeated mentally, like a piano stuck on a chord. Turning, he sat the sword down, clattering on the table beside him, and strode out to find Bobby. Not minding to close the door behind him.