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tikificTitle: Here My Dear (Blood on the Tracks, Chapter 6 of 7)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Crowley, Bobby, Gabriel
Warnings: Cursing, some violence, Dean being dickish, appetizing descriptions of Greek food.
Word Count: 40,000, more or less
Summary: Crowley is annoyed by casual footwear; the gang reunites for a big, big boom.
Notes: This started out in a brave attempt to stick to post Season 7 canon, but utterly failed. Sorry, I just love some of these characters too damn much. This timeline skips around a bit, as I was trying to be clever, or maybe The End!Cas slipped me something, I don’t know. Anyway, lots of exposition in this one. Also, there’s a coda after Chapter 7, so those of you who are religious about waiting for stories to be finished might wanna wait. It didn’t feel big enough to warrant its own chapter, but there was still a bit of story left knocking on my window.
Weeks, months, years, and maybe even decades ago….
Auctions, thought Crowley, were almost never as dramatic as the ones you saw in the movies. For one thing, nobody got dressed to the nines for these things, especially in Los Angeles. Here it was strictly T shirts and flip flops, and you probably ought be grateful they just didn’t all show up clad in their footie pyjamas.
Not that Crowley would get caught dead wearing flip flops, mind you. He had opted for his customary black suit, but had made the concession to go tieless. Didn’t want to look like a prat. He sat somewhat uncomfortably in his folding chair – the event wasn’t even being held in a real auditorium, just a hotel ballroom that had been outfitted for the occasion – and pretended to browse through the glossy printed catalog while he eyed other bidders entering the arena. His biggest competition, he knew, wasn’t going to come from the floor, but from the phone bidders. He looked over at the row of card tables with phones strung out on them. He shook his head. Priceless pieces up today, many of them going for more money than a typical human would see in a lifetime, yet it was folding chairs and Styrofoam coffee cups and those cursed flip flops.
“Quite a crowd today, huh?” Crowley looked to his right side, and crushed a deep sigh. A flip flop-clad LA beastie was sitting two chairs down from him. The simpleton stuck his pricey sunglasses up on top of his head and crossed his legs in a manner that said, “I’ve got a red Ferrari parked in my garage that I never actually drive as I never learned manual shifting.”
“Yes, it is, indeed, a crowd,” agreed Crowley, viewing the patches of empty seats and wondering how his new companion would look with his flip flops set afire.
Crowley’s glanced to his left, hoping for a distraction.
He found one.
Those were not flip flops. Rather, they were shoes crafted by some pricey designer, whose name was on the tip of Crowley’s tongue. But what mattered was not the idiot cobbler, but rather the feet within the shoes, as they were attached to a pair of legs that went up and up and up to a body that could only have been crafted by God Himself, and maybe after a few shots of a fine whiskey has loosened up the fusty old bastard.
Goddess. Or demon.
Who was she? What was she?
Crowley didn’t give a shit. From this day on, and forevermore, she was his.
“Ooo, I’d tap that,” mused Flip Flop. Crowley quietly snapped his fingers, and the man let out a gurgle. He was, sadly, swallowing his own tongue.
Crowley turned his attention back to the woman of his dreams as Flip Flop stumbled off to the the bathroom, or wherever the fuck he was going off to collapse. She was surrounded by an entourage of some kind, but who cared, really. They were a bit better dressed than the rest of the tatty LA crowd. A woman with standards! Crowley approved.
She pointed a well-manicured hand down a nearly empty row just two ahead of where Crowley was sitting. Good. He would be able to make some observations of her behavior now whilst he planned their life together. She settled her utterly perfect ass into a folding chair and gave a flick of her lustrous coppery brown hair. She was one of those women, Crowley noted, who always seemed to have a wind machine trailing around just in back of them. He imagined the look of her, on his arm. Mmmm, yes.
Crowley had just gotten around to arranging appropriate schooling for their future grandchildren (their children, of course, having been paired off in arranged marriages) when the auctioneer finally stepped up and called them to attention. Said auctioneer was, sadly, another disappointment, as he spoke clearly and not really terribly rapidly at all. He had, in fact, a slight American Southern accent. A drawling auctioneer! Well, it stood to reason.
The first few lots were crap, of course, as they always were: bits from somebody’s attic. There was sheet music for a composer’s minor film, a mask from a horror movie few had seen, autographed posters of somewhat dubious provenance.
And then it was time. Lot 240c. Screen used laboratory coat as worn by Bernhardt Culpeper in the 1938 film classic, “Bride of the Demon.” There were three known versions of this coat, two of which were ensconced safely in the Mallet Films archive. This was the third, which had been gifted to a drinking buddy of Culpeper’s (actually, one of his many male lovers, but Crowley wasn’t one to parse) who left it in his attic, where, following his death, it was discovered quite by chance by the new owners of his house.
Crowley had super slow-motioned through his Blu Ray copy of Bride of the Demon now many dozens of times, and had concluded with a great deal of certainty that this was the coat – missing for many years – which Culpeper had worn when bringing his monster woman – now Dame Dorothy Weathermere, in a very early role – to life.
There was an early flurry of bidding, but when too many zeroes became stuck to the high bid, the pace slackened.
Crowley pounced. He raised up the flimsy circle of cardboard containing his bidder number so the auctioneer could see it.
He waited. Slience. Could it be this easy?
No, a phone bid. Damn you, Peter Fucking Jackson, thought Crowley.
With nary a second to consider, he raised his number once again to counter-bid.
He lowered his number. He was being watched. He saw only a profile, but what a lovely profile it was, one dark eye glancing coolly at him.
Crowley’s heart threatened to leap out of his chest, but he mastered himself.
Another phone bid. Crowley’s paper number shot up. Not going to be outbid by a fucking New Zealander. Uppity colonials!
Crowley let himself glance ahead again. She had now shifted in her seat, so she could watch him. He saw the rise and fall of her perfect chest. She had two fingers resting on her heart.
The phone bidder upped the price. Damn! This was higher than Crowley had expected to go.
He steeled himself. He glanced up again. She was watching. This time, he did not drop his eyes, but looking straight at her, he raised his paper number. She appeared to sigh, and he was certain she was now smiling, ever so slightly.
Phone bidder again. Fucking Peter Jackson and his fucking Hobbits, fucking everything up!
She had turned some more, draped a perfect, silky skinned arm over the back of her chair, playfully twirling the slightest bit of copper hair.
Crowley glared straight at the bitch and raised his number.
The audience was now openly gasping and chattering.
A longer pause. The audience craned their necks at the bank of telephones.
Crowley locked eyes with the woman, glaring as if she were the one outbidding him. Her smile had turned to a smirk. He noticed she wore heavy mascara, making her look ever so slightly cross-eyed. This, of course, only added to the mystique.
One more phone bid.
Crowley’s paper sign shot up.
She licked her lips, tilting her head back slightly.
The room waited in silent anticipation.
Another phone bid. The number was outrageous. No sane man would pay that much for a fucking laboratory coat.
Crowley’s paper number was already raised. Both of her hands were on the back of the chair now, gripping it tightly.
Going once….
Going twice….
The audience – the jaded LA audience – actually leapt to their feet in applause as the gavel came down.
Crowley remained seated, as did his new companion. His hand reached to his throat, grasping to loosen the tie that wasn’t there. And then he was politely tapped on the shoulder, and he was getting up, being urged to come somewhere, sign some papers.
How the fuck was he going to afford this shit, anyway? Crowley scratched the back of his neck. He looked around, one more glance back.
A pair of mocking eyes were following him out of the room.
The present day....
“Cas?”
Sam was pretty certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. He had thought at first it was Dean coming into the dungeon: some guy in jeans and flannel coming striding up. But the figure seemed to have … he had a strange light around him.
Sam could see Crowley had wrested himself up to a sitting position.
“Hello, Sam. Hello, Crowley. We are going. Now.”
Castiel took out a funny looking key: it resembled one you’d get at a service station to unlock the Men’s room. It had a funny, kind of klunky key ring. And it didn’t match the keyhole on Sam’s cell, but oddly, Cas inserted it and unlocked it.
Sam was out almost before the door opened. He was not inclined to question angel magic. Cas similarly unlocked Crowley’s cell.
“I apologize, but I fear I am not at present ambulatory,” said Crowley. Cas was there in a flash, with Crowley in his arms. “Well, this will work,” said Crowley. “Going to carry me over the threshold now, love?”
“What do you think you are doing, you foul sinner!” intoned Raguel, who was now suddenly down in the dungeon as well, wearing the lab coat, which was looking much the worse for wear.
“Oh, you’re getting it sweaty,” grumbled Crowley.
“Fuck you sideways, brother,” said Castiel mildly. And then he touched a finger to Sam’s forehead, and he, Sam and Crowley were gone.
Dean, who had been sitting in his car by the side of the road for a few tense minutes, looked up now to the familiar rustle of wings see Castiel appear beside him.
“Cas, where the fuck did you just go? I was-“
Cas hooked a thumb towards the back seat.
“Sam! Oh, and Crowley,” said Dean.
“Dean!” yelled Sam.
“Well, this back seat is rather capacious, isn't it?” grunted Crowley.
“I did not want to risk transporting us directly back to Bobby’s, in case we were being followed,” Cas explained. “I do not think Raguel was able to trace me, as I did not use angel voices to navigate. However, I suggest you convey us out of here, post haste, Dean.”
“I’m on it,” said Dean, revving the car and peeling out as if the devil himself were after them. It was actually an archangel, but still….
“Gabriel, will you please put everything the fuck back where it belongs!”
“But the cars look better sorted by color combination!” said Gabriel.
Bobby gazed in horror at his now rainbow-hued wrecking yard. “Nobody sane is gonna get within a mile of this place. Gabe, this is a salvage yard, not a damn angel playground!”
“I’m bored! When is Sam coming back?” whined Gabriel.
“Gabe, put everything the fuck back before I get out the deep fryer and the holy oil!”
“Hey, look!” said Gabriel as a very familiar Impala rumbled up.
Bobby sighed and approached the car. “Well, look at this! At least I didn’t lose anybody this time,” said the old hunter as a number of beings struggled out of the car, Castiel stepping back to give Crowley support. “And I got some extras! Good, I think we’re done now. And I’d be especially grateful if someone could divest me of….” Gabriel suddenly gleefully bounded into a very surprised Sam’s arms. Bobby sighed. “I got one angel too many round these parts.”
“Were you followed, Gabriel?” asked Castiel, as an annoyed-looking Sam let the archangel drop to the ground.
“You’re welcome, little brother,” sniffed Gabriel.
“We are grateful for your timely intervention,” Castiel told him.
“Timely intervention! I saved your worthless, bony, malakh ass!” raved Gabriel. “And why the hell are you palling around with a demon?” he added, eyeing Crowley. “Ewwwww!”
“The Trickster,” said Crowley. “How terribly charming. I had heard your elder brother turned you into a Seraphic blob of goo.”
“I’m not a Seraph!” protested Gabriel.
“Will the supernatural beings, feathered or horned, kindly QUIT YOUR BELLYACHING!” bellowed Bobby. “We got a sitchiation here!”
“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” The group of male beings turned immediately to the sound of a female voice.
“Minnie!” said Dean to the curly-haired female figure holding a long staff.
“Well, hello, pretty lady,” said Bobby, striding forward and doffing his cap. “Welcome to Singer Salvage.”
“Oh, are you Mr. Singer! Charmed,” said Minnie, smiling and repositioning her staff so she could shake his hand.
“Bobby,” said Bobby.
“He takes his cap off?” Dean whispered to Sam.
“Yeah,” said Sam, looking puzzled.
“Minerva! May I ask, what the fuck!” said Crowley.
“Crowley?” said Minnie. “Oh, so you got rescued? What happened to your crazy archangel. Wait!” she asked rounding on Gabriel, who had just appeared in back of her. “Are you him?”
“That is not Raguel, but rather my brother, Gabriel,” Castiel reassured her.
“The archangel, Gabriel,” said Gabriel, flexing his biceps.
“Huh. You’re shorter than I expected,” said Minnie, to Gabriel’s obvious dismay, and Castiel’s obvious amusement.
“We were just gonna tell Bobby what you told us,” Dean told her.
“You got blood on your caduceus, dear,” said Bobby, squinting at the end of Minnie’s staff.
“You got a lot of nerve, talking about a lady’s caduceus,” laughed Gabriel, although no one laughed with him.
“Well, I got more, uh, information, I guess. But I parked him a short distance off,” she said, pointing with her staff. “I don’t think he’s, uh, safe?”
“Is he not wearing a condom?” asked Gabriel.
Minnie frowned at the trickster, and then gestured for everyone follow her. There was a body lying in the middle of the salvage yard. “OK, maybe everybody stay back here for a minute? But the angel guys follow me?” Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a puzzled glance. Cas handed Crowley off to lean on Sam for support, and then he and his brother followed the goddess closer to the body.
Castiel said, “Oh!” and immediately squatted down nearby, placing a hand on the figure’s forehead.
“Jahi’s been sending demons after me,” Minnie explained. “But this guy … something seemed off about him. Luckily I saw him before he saw me. Get a load of that aura! He’s radiating power.”
“What’s up with him, Cas?” asked Dean.
“This dude’s hopped up on angel steroids!” shouted Gabriel.
“He is demon possessed,” said Castiel. “But also appears to have ingested someone’s angelic grace.”
“I thought you guys had to be real careful picking a vessel? How is he still even … in one piece?” asked Sam.
“That’s one good fucking question!” said Gabriel.
“I got the fixings to get the demon out,” suggested Bobby. “If we need a quick exorcism.”
“I think the demon is the only thing holding him together right now!” said Gabriel.
“I believe Gabriel is right!” said Castiel. “If you attempt to exorcise him….”
“Blooey!” said Gabriel.
“Great. Dude turns to holy Jiffy Pop,” muttered Dean.
“Shit, what do we do?” asked Bobby.
“You don’t have anything to get grace out of a person?” Sam asked Bobby.
“I ain’t never had this problem before,” said Bobby.
“Whoa!” said Gabriel, as suddenly he, Cas and Minnie all took a big step back from the demon.
“Bobby,” said Castiel, who was abruptly in front of the hunter, most definitely invading his personal space, gripping his shoulders. “Is there … an old mine, a deep lake…. Something like that nearby?”
The unconscious figure had started to glow, a weird purplish color.
“I gotcha,” said Bobby, who closed his eyes a moment. “Old copper mine. Two miles. Due north,” he pointed.
“Gabriel!” shouted Cas.
There was the sound of wings, and Gabriel and the unconscious demon suddenly disappeared. Everyone watched the sky nervously for a moment.
A full minute ticked by. Maybe two. And then the ground shook, knocking Crowley and all the humans from their feet. There was a muffled boom.
Castiel pointed to the north, where there was a strange, purple-colored glow above the horizon. “Gabriel?” he whispered.
“Dang, I cut that close!” yelled Gabriel from atop the Impala.
“Gabriel, get the fuck down, you’ll get footprints,” warned Dean.
“Yeah, you’re fucking welcome. Again!” said Gabriel, whose hair was still smoking.
“Come on, everybody, inside!” said Bobby as Minnie helped him up to his feet. “I gotta show you something. I think it’s pretty damned important.”
“Can I just stay out here in the fields?” asked Crowley, who was still lying on his back.
“Absolutely not!” said Bobby. “I need you front and center, demon!”
“But I re-injured whatever I broke before,” sighed Crowley, rubbing his painful ribs.
“You want me to get the salt gun?” barked Bobby.
“Bobby’s in a bad mood. He threatened me with holy oil,” said Gabriel, helping Crowley to his feet.
“You fucked up my damned wrecking yard, you nut ball!” growled Bobby.
“Hey, it is looking kind of rainbow bright around here,” grinned Dean.
“Get the fuck inside before I start knocking heads!” said Bobby. He turned and then courteously offered an elbow to Minnie, who grinned and took it, causing Sam and Dean to exchange another glance.
“Bobby needs to watch his blood pressure,” said Crowley.
“I tell ya,” agreed Gabriel.
They assembled in Bobby’s main downstairs room: three humans, two angels, a demon and a goddess.
“While you boys were away, I started looking into this,” said Bobby, pulling out a laptop computer. There appeared the talking head of a news reporter, discussing a nuclear plant meltdown in remote Russia.
“Bilibinskaya,” nodded Sam. “Chernobyl-nick they're calling it.”
“Biblio-what? What does this have to do with a fritzy nuke?” asked Dean. “Don't the Russians just generally suck at building power plants?”
“The town – the say the whole village is uninhabitable, Dean” said Sam.
“Probably the entire district,” said Crowley. “Not that anyone ever gave a shit about Chukotka.”
“How do you know the area?” asked Bobby, who turned towards Crowley.
“I had my damned tungsten mine there,” groused the demon, who was sitting on the couch, holding his side.
“Who the hell has a tungsten mine?” asked Dean.
“I do! Or, I did. Until the meltdown,” grumbled Crowley.
“Ain't a meltdown, Crowley,” said Bobby. “Least I don't think so. Especially after seeing your ex's boy go kaboom out there.”
“Wait. It wasn’t a meltdown?” said Sam.
Bobby frowned. “I heard from some hunters in the area: the EMF readings were off the charts. And the other thing: witnesses in Alaska say it looked like Northern Lights, only it was purple. Now maybe it's just me, but the aurora is usually green.”
Crowley suddenly sat forward. “Jahi. She said she was going to burn each and every one of my possessions. She picked that city deliberately! To destroy my mine! The insufferable bitch!”
“Jahi is supplying the extracted grace to demon possessed humans?” said Castiel.
“Like a human letter bomb,” said Dean.
“Crude. But effective,” sighed Crowley, burying his face in his hands. “That's my girl.” He held his rib cage and moaned.
“You know, I got something for that!” said Minnie, sitting down beside him and poking at his ribs.
“So, Crowley,” said Sam, “what are you hiding from her?”
“What?” asked Crowley, who suddenly sat up and acted offended. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“When Jahi was talking to you,” said Sam. “Back when Raguel had us.”
“I would hardly term that screeching to be talking,” muttered Crowley, who was looking awfully nervous.
“Crowley! Are you holding something back from Jahi?” asked Minnie who sat back and crossed her arms.
“Of course not,” muttered Crowley.
“Jahi said you had something of hers!” insisted Sam. “I was listening pretty closely! She was gonna cut my heart out!”
“Repair your own fucking ribs. liar!' said Minnie, who stood up and glowered at Crowley.
“Jahi's a lying cunt! You know that!” Crowley told her.
“A box!” said Gabriel. “She had a box.”
Crowley turned around, and then grimaced and gripped his ribs. The archangel was suddenly sitting on the back of the couch, craning his neck at Crowley.
“Mind reading is … really rude, angel!” scolded the demon. “You know that.”
“That would typically be the case, Crowley. However, your thoughts of Jahi are not well concealed,” said Castiel, who had a far off look in his eyes.
“What's the matter, Cas?” asked Dean.
“I did not think that particular sexual position was anatomically possible,” marveled Cas.
“She is a demon of lasciviousness,” grinned Crowley.
“Wait,” Dean asked Gabriel, “when you said a box, you meant that kinda box?”
Gabriel laughed so hard he fell off the back of Bobby's couch.
“Will you idjit angels concentrate!” yelled Bobby. “We got the potential of angel nukes now. Cas! Gabriel!”
Crowley sighed. “All right. No need to pry at my subconscious. I don't know what it is. And I don't know where it is. Now, isn't that helpful?”
“You wanna clarify?” asked Bobby.
Crowley looked around a living room of scowling faces, plus Gabriel, who had just popped his head back over the couch back, who shrugged. “I've probably done worse, brother,” Gabriel told him.
“After this, we should have a drink,” Crowley told him. He drew breath. “Jahi had … a lockbox,” he told them, holding his hands to mime something that seemed about the size of a shoebox.
“Like the curse boxes I make?” asked Bobby.
“Something like a human curse box. Entry is … difficult. It's customarily a combination of clever spells. And they are often … larger on the inside than outside. So there is no telling what might be within.”
“You figure it's some kinda magical object?” asked Bobby.
“A weapon would be useful!” said Dean.
“I quite literally have no idea,” Crowley confessed. “But it was apparent that what lay inside was precious to her. Therefore, when the troubles began, and there were … disagreements regarding joint property matters, I took it and secreted it away for safekeeping.”
“You concealed assets! You lying motherfucker!” growled Minnie.
“I did not technically lie, Minerva,” said Crowley. “I had no idea it was assets! For all I know, it could be something else! Her grandmother's sampler, perhaps.”
“Yeah, I'm so sure a lust demon keeps a memory quilt in her fucking lockbox!” raved Minnie.
“Crowley, where did you put the damned thing?” sighed Bobby.
“Well, that at least will be easy. I used my magical compass to select a spot.”
“Wait. The one I used to find Cas and Raguel?” asked Dean.
“Yes, it is not only good for location, but also for concealment. I set it to a random location and sent the box there. And then loaned it to Fenriz as a supposed payment for a debt.” Crowley grinned at his own cleverness. “So, if you wish to retrieve it, we have only to use the compass....” Here he turned to Dean. Who was looking around in confusion.
“Yeah. Fenriz's compass whatchajiggie. About that....” said Dean.
“Dean?” asked Crowley, who began to rise off the couch, clutched his side, and collapsed back.
“I was saving Cas!” said Dean. “And we got angel-ed away! I dunno what the hell happened to it! I think it fell out of my pocket.”
“Oh, that's just perfect!” wailed Crowley. “So now as well as my ex-wife planning my downfall, Fenriz will definitely slay me.”
“Nothing you don't derserve, liar!” Minnie told him.
“Oh, spare me, Minerva! It's not as if you have never been ... misled before.”
“Crowley,” said Sam. “Here’s a big question. So, where all are your assets located? I mean, besides a remote Russian village?”
“Oh,” said Crowley. “Well. Uh. No place important. I mean, especially important.”
“Where?” asked Bobby, nodding at Sam. The others in the room began to catch on as well. “Crowley, are they all remote like that Russian town?”
“Er. You know,” said Crowley.
“Crowley, for fuck's sake....” said Dean.
“The outskirts of Paris. St. Petersburg. London. San Francisco....” said Crowley.
“Shit,” said Sam.
“And how many angels has Raguel ripped? How many vials of grace are we talking here?” asked Bobby.
Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other, and then both appeared to lose focus.
“At least twenty....” said Castiel.
“Almost thirty,” said Gabriel one second later.
“Between twenty and thirty, Bobby,” Castiel told him.
“I ain't gonna ask how you boys did that,” said Bobby, shaking his head at more angel weirdness. “So, we got two dozen demon letter bombs poised to go blooey at major cities where Crowley has his crap….”
“It is most assuredly not crap!” protested Crowley.
“And we got one lost curse box,” said Bobby. “We gotta locate that puppy, it’s our only bargaining chip.”
“And we need to figure out how to head off Raguel, before he kills more angels,” added Sam, to nods from Castiel and Gabriel.
“Look,” said Minnie. “I'm overdue talking to my friend, Artie. I really think she could help with the demon lockbox situation.”
“The original hunter you told us about?” asked Dean. And then, more eagerly, “She's a chick?”
“Yeah, idjit. You don't even know about Artemis?” asked Bobby.
Dean grinned. Instead of Chuck Norris, he was now picturing Angelina Jolie, only hotter.
“Yeah, she's been outta the business for a while,” Minnie told them, “but that bitch can hunt down anything.” She had out her cell phone and was madly texting.
“You've done this before, haven't you, Minerva?” asked Crowley.
“I handle a lot of divorces, kiddo,” she told him. “You have something of hers, by the way? Something personal? That might help.”
Crowley sighed and dug into a jacket pocket. He extracted a wallet, and pried into one of the folds. He extracted something, which he held carefully between two fingers. Minnie frowned and held out a hand. It was a lock of copper hair, held by a tiny ribbon.
“What?” asked Crowley.
Minnie shook her head and placed the hair in a pocket.
“I think I got an idea about our friend, Raggy,” said Gabriel. “That Fenriz dude you mentioned,” he asked Crowley, as he was now suddenly sitting on the crouch next to him. “That the bad boy with the strip club?”
“The same,” said Crowley.
“You know him, Gabriel?” asked Dean.
“He's known in the, er, adult film industry,” grinned the archangel. “His sex workers are sex slaves. Kind of a creep.”
“He is loathsome,” agreed Crowley.
“Your kinda guy,” sniffed Bobby.
“You still got that bottle of grace, Bobby boy?” asked Gabriel. Bobby nodded and went to somewhere in the clutter that was his house, and extracted a vial from the mess. He tossed it to Gabriel.
“Aw, shit,” said Gabriel, who shook his head and looked sad.
“What's the matter?” asked Dean.
“The brother from whom that was taken,” said Castiel. “He is no longer alive.”
“You fellows can tell?” asked Bobby.
“Angels are strange creatures,” Minnie whispered to Bobby.
“You got that right,” said Bobby.
“So, I don't feel a twinge doing what I plan to do,” said Gabriel. “But I'll need your help, sunshine,” he told Crowley. “Hey, whaddya say, we team up, angel and demon, just like a bad Dan Brown novel?”
“Isn't that redundant?” groused Crowley. “In addition, I have what I believe to be at least one broken rib.”
“Oh, yeah, forgot about that,” said Gabriel, who leapt to his feet. “Angel healing magic!” he shouted, putting a hand on Crowley's head. There was a slight glow about the demon, and then he stood up, gingerly feeling his sides.
“I could have done that,” said Castiel.
“But you didn't,” said Crowley.
“No. I didn't,” said Castiel, a slight smile tracing his features.
“So, what exactly are you planning on doing?” asked Bobby.
“I think I can get Raguel and Fenriz off our backs. All in one brilliant stroke. Because I am brilliant. SHAZAM!” he shouted, and disappeared.
There was a beat.
“Whoops!” Gabriel said, suddenly reappearing. He grabbed Crowley by the shoulder. “Shazam!” he shouted again, and this time, they both disappeared.
“Angels,” sighed Bobby. “No offense, kid,” he told Castiel, who was frowning after Gabriel.
“My brother has ever been a bit … eccentric,” said the angel.
“I'm going to see Artie,” said Minnie, pocketing her phone. “Any of you guys wanna come with?”
“Oh hell yeah!” said Dean, his head reeling with visions of Angelina Jolie, lips at full pout, cocking the giant salt ammo-loaded gun on her hip.
“Why don't you boys go along, I'll mind the fort,” Bobby proposed, nodding at Minnie.
“Be careful,” she warned Bobby, who smiled back.
“Hey. Why should he be careful! We're the ones going into the firing line!” Dean told Sam.
“We're going to Beverly Hills,” Minnie laughed, as Dean blushed slightly.
“I can convey us,” offered Castiel.
“Can you manage it with the angel voices still out, dude?” asked Dean.
Castiel removed something from the pocket of his slightly outsized jeans. “Yes, I believe I can,” he said, holding the key with the compass keychain.
And then Cas aimed what a very stunned Dean Winchester would believe for the rest of his life could not possibly be a wink right at Dean, and they all disappeared to the soft beating of angel wings.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Cas; Sam, Crowley, Bobby, Gabriel
Warnings: Cursing, some violence, Dean being dickish, appetizing descriptions of Greek food.
Word Count: 40,000, more or less
Summary: Crowley is annoyed by casual footwear; the gang reunites for a big, big boom.
Notes: This started out in a brave attempt to stick to post Season 7 canon, but utterly failed. Sorry, I just love some of these characters too damn much. This timeline skips around a bit, as I was trying to be clever, or maybe The End!Cas slipped me something, I don’t know. Anyway, lots of exposition in this one. Also, there’s a coda after Chapter 7, so those of you who are religious about waiting for stories to be finished might wanna wait. It didn’t feel big enough to warrant its own chapter, but there was still a bit of story left knocking on my window.
Weeks, months, years, and maybe even decades ago….
Auctions, thought Crowley, were almost never as dramatic as the ones you saw in the movies. For one thing, nobody got dressed to the nines for these things, especially in Los Angeles. Here it was strictly T shirts and flip flops, and you probably ought be grateful they just didn’t all show up clad in their footie pyjamas.
Not that Crowley would get caught dead wearing flip flops, mind you. He had opted for his customary black suit, but had made the concession to go tieless. Didn’t want to look like a prat. He sat somewhat uncomfortably in his folding chair – the event wasn’t even being held in a real auditorium, just a hotel ballroom that had been outfitted for the occasion – and pretended to browse through the glossy printed catalog while he eyed other bidders entering the arena. His biggest competition, he knew, wasn’t going to come from the floor, but from the phone bidders. He looked over at the row of card tables with phones strung out on them. He shook his head. Priceless pieces up today, many of them going for more money than a typical human would see in a lifetime, yet it was folding chairs and Styrofoam coffee cups and those cursed flip flops.
“Quite a crowd today, huh?” Crowley looked to his right side, and crushed a deep sigh. A flip flop-clad LA beastie was sitting two chairs down from him. The simpleton stuck his pricey sunglasses up on top of his head and crossed his legs in a manner that said, “I’ve got a red Ferrari parked in my garage that I never actually drive as I never learned manual shifting.”
“Yes, it is, indeed, a crowd,” agreed Crowley, viewing the patches of empty seats and wondering how his new companion would look with his flip flops set afire.
Crowley’s glanced to his left, hoping for a distraction.
He found one.
Those were not flip flops. Rather, they were shoes crafted by some pricey designer, whose name was on the tip of Crowley’s tongue. But what mattered was not the idiot cobbler, but rather the feet within the shoes, as they were attached to a pair of legs that went up and up and up to a body that could only have been crafted by God Himself, and maybe after a few shots of a fine whiskey has loosened up the fusty old bastard.
Goddess. Or demon.
Who was she? What was she?
Crowley didn’t give a shit. From this day on, and forevermore, she was his.
“Ooo, I’d tap that,” mused Flip Flop. Crowley quietly snapped his fingers, and the man let out a gurgle. He was, sadly, swallowing his own tongue.
Crowley turned his attention back to the woman of his dreams as Flip Flop stumbled off to the the bathroom, or wherever the fuck he was going off to collapse. She was surrounded by an entourage of some kind, but who cared, really. They were a bit better dressed than the rest of the tatty LA crowd. A woman with standards! Crowley approved.
She pointed a well-manicured hand down a nearly empty row just two ahead of where Crowley was sitting. Good. He would be able to make some observations of her behavior now whilst he planned their life together. She settled her utterly perfect ass into a folding chair and gave a flick of her lustrous coppery brown hair. She was one of those women, Crowley noted, who always seemed to have a wind machine trailing around just in back of them. He imagined the look of her, on his arm. Mmmm, yes.
Crowley had just gotten around to arranging appropriate schooling for their future grandchildren (their children, of course, having been paired off in arranged marriages) when the auctioneer finally stepped up and called them to attention. Said auctioneer was, sadly, another disappointment, as he spoke clearly and not really terribly rapidly at all. He had, in fact, a slight American Southern accent. A drawling auctioneer! Well, it stood to reason.
The first few lots were crap, of course, as they always were: bits from somebody’s attic. There was sheet music for a composer’s minor film, a mask from a horror movie few had seen, autographed posters of somewhat dubious provenance.
And then it was time. Lot 240c. Screen used laboratory coat as worn by Bernhardt Culpeper in the 1938 film classic, “Bride of the Demon.” There were three known versions of this coat, two of which were ensconced safely in the Mallet Films archive. This was the third, which had been gifted to a drinking buddy of Culpeper’s (actually, one of his many male lovers, but Crowley wasn’t one to parse) who left it in his attic, where, following his death, it was discovered quite by chance by the new owners of his house.
Crowley had super slow-motioned through his Blu Ray copy of Bride of the Demon now many dozens of times, and had concluded with a great deal of certainty that this was the coat – missing for many years – which Culpeper had worn when bringing his monster woman – now Dame Dorothy Weathermere, in a very early role – to life.
There was an early flurry of bidding, but when too many zeroes became stuck to the high bid, the pace slackened.
Crowley pounced. He raised up the flimsy circle of cardboard containing his bidder number so the auctioneer could see it.
He waited. Slience. Could it be this easy?
No, a phone bid. Damn you, Peter Fucking Jackson, thought Crowley.
With nary a second to consider, he raised his number once again to counter-bid.
He lowered his number. He was being watched. He saw only a profile, but what a lovely profile it was, one dark eye glancing coolly at him.
Crowley’s heart threatened to leap out of his chest, but he mastered himself.
Another phone bid. Crowley’s paper number shot up. Not going to be outbid by a fucking New Zealander. Uppity colonials!
Crowley let himself glance ahead again. She had now shifted in her seat, so she could watch him. He saw the rise and fall of her perfect chest. She had two fingers resting on her heart.
The phone bidder upped the price. Damn! This was higher than Crowley had expected to go.
He steeled himself. He glanced up again. She was watching. This time, he did not drop his eyes, but looking straight at her, he raised his paper number. She appeared to sigh, and he was certain she was now smiling, ever so slightly.
Phone bidder again. Fucking Peter Jackson and his fucking Hobbits, fucking everything up!
She had turned some more, draped a perfect, silky skinned arm over the back of her chair, playfully twirling the slightest bit of copper hair.
Crowley glared straight at the bitch and raised his number.
The audience was now openly gasping and chattering.
A longer pause. The audience craned their necks at the bank of telephones.
Crowley locked eyes with the woman, glaring as if she were the one outbidding him. Her smile had turned to a smirk. He noticed she wore heavy mascara, making her look ever so slightly cross-eyed. This, of course, only added to the mystique.
One more phone bid.
Crowley’s paper sign shot up.
She licked her lips, tilting her head back slightly.
The room waited in silent anticipation.
Another phone bid. The number was outrageous. No sane man would pay that much for a fucking laboratory coat.
Crowley’s paper number was already raised. Both of her hands were on the back of the chair now, gripping it tightly.
Going once….
Going twice….
The audience – the jaded LA audience – actually leapt to their feet in applause as the gavel came down.
Crowley remained seated, as did his new companion. His hand reached to his throat, grasping to loosen the tie that wasn’t there. And then he was politely tapped on the shoulder, and he was getting up, being urged to come somewhere, sign some papers.
How the fuck was he going to afford this shit, anyway? Crowley scratched the back of his neck. He looked around, one more glance back.
A pair of mocking eyes were following him out of the room.
The present day....
“Cas?”
Sam was pretty certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. He had thought at first it was Dean coming into the dungeon: some guy in jeans and flannel coming striding up. But the figure seemed to have … he had a strange light around him.
Sam could see Crowley had wrested himself up to a sitting position.
“Hello, Sam. Hello, Crowley. We are going. Now.”
Castiel took out a funny looking key: it resembled one you’d get at a service station to unlock the Men’s room. It had a funny, kind of klunky key ring. And it didn’t match the keyhole on Sam’s cell, but oddly, Cas inserted it and unlocked it.
Sam was out almost before the door opened. He was not inclined to question angel magic. Cas similarly unlocked Crowley’s cell.
“I apologize, but I fear I am not at present ambulatory,” said Crowley. Cas was there in a flash, with Crowley in his arms. “Well, this will work,” said Crowley. “Going to carry me over the threshold now, love?”
“What do you think you are doing, you foul sinner!” intoned Raguel, who was now suddenly down in the dungeon as well, wearing the lab coat, which was looking much the worse for wear.
“Oh, you’re getting it sweaty,” grumbled Crowley.
“Fuck you sideways, brother,” said Castiel mildly. And then he touched a finger to Sam’s forehead, and he, Sam and Crowley were gone.
Dean, who had been sitting in his car by the side of the road for a few tense minutes, looked up now to the familiar rustle of wings see Castiel appear beside him.
“Cas, where the fuck did you just go? I was-“
Cas hooked a thumb towards the back seat.
“Sam! Oh, and Crowley,” said Dean.
“Dean!” yelled Sam.
“Well, this back seat is rather capacious, isn't it?” grunted Crowley.
“I did not want to risk transporting us directly back to Bobby’s, in case we were being followed,” Cas explained. “I do not think Raguel was able to trace me, as I did not use angel voices to navigate. However, I suggest you convey us out of here, post haste, Dean.”
“I’m on it,” said Dean, revving the car and peeling out as if the devil himself were after them. It was actually an archangel, but still….
“Gabriel, will you please put everything the fuck back where it belongs!”
“But the cars look better sorted by color combination!” said Gabriel.
Bobby gazed in horror at his now rainbow-hued wrecking yard. “Nobody sane is gonna get within a mile of this place. Gabe, this is a salvage yard, not a damn angel playground!”
“I’m bored! When is Sam coming back?” whined Gabriel.
“Gabe, put everything the fuck back before I get out the deep fryer and the holy oil!”
“Hey, look!” said Gabriel as a very familiar Impala rumbled up.
Bobby sighed and approached the car. “Well, look at this! At least I didn’t lose anybody this time,” said the old hunter as a number of beings struggled out of the car, Castiel stepping back to give Crowley support. “And I got some extras! Good, I think we’re done now. And I’d be especially grateful if someone could divest me of….” Gabriel suddenly gleefully bounded into a very surprised Sam’s arms. Bobby sighed. “I got one angel too many round these parts.”
“Were you followed, Gabriel?” asked Castiel, as an annoyed-looking Sam let the archangel drop to the ground.
“You’re welcome, little brother,” sniffed Gabriel.
“We are grateful for your timely intervention,” Castiel told him.
“Timely intervention! I saved your worthless, bony, malakh ass!” raved Gabriel. “And why the hell are you palling around with a demon?” he added, eyeing Crowley. “Ewwwww!”
“The Trickster,” said Crowley. “How terribly charming. I had heard your elder brother turned you into a Seraphic blob of goo.”
“I’m not a Seraph!” protested Gabriel.
“Will the supernatural beings, feathered or horned, kindly QUIT YOUR BELLYACHING!” bellowed Bobby. “We got a sitchiation here!”
“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” The group of male beings turned immediately to the sound of a female voice.
“Minnie!” said Dean to the curly-haired female figure holding a long staff.
“Well, hello, pretty lady,” said Bobby, striding forward and doffing his cap. “Welcome to Singer Salvage.”
“Oh, are you Mr. Singer! Charmed,” said Minnie, smiling and repositioning her staff so she could shake his hand.
“Bobby,” said Bobby.
“He takes his cap off?” Dean whispered to Sam.
“Yeah,” said Sam, looking puzzled.
“Minerva! May I ask, what the fuck!” said Crowley.
“Crowley?” said Minnie. “Oh, so you got rescued? What happened to your crazy archangel. Wait!” she asked rounding on Gabriel, who had just appeared in back of her. “Are you him?”
“That is not Raguel, but rather my brother, Gabriel,” Castiel reassured her.
“The archangel, Gabriel,” said Gabriel, flexing his biceps.
“Huh. You’re shorter than I expected,” said Minnie, to Gabriel’s obvious dismay, and Castiel’s obvious amusement.
“We were just gonna tell Bobby what you told us,” Dean told her.
“You got blood on your caduceus, dear,” said Bobby, squinting at the end of Minnie’s staff.
“You got a lot of nerve, talking about a lady’s caduceus,” laughed Gabriel, although no one laughed with him.
“Well, I got more, uh, information, I guess. But I parked him a short distance off,” she said, pointing with her staff. “I don’t think he’s, uh, safe?”
“Is he not wearing a condom?” asked Gabriel.
Minnie frowned at the trickster, and then gestured for everyone follow her. There was a body lying in the middle of the salvage yard. “OK, maybe everybody stay back here for a minute? But the angel guys follow me?” Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a puzzled glance. Cas handed Crowley off to lean on Sam for support, and then he and his brother followed the goddess closer to the body.
Castiel said, “Oh!” and immediately squatted down nearby, placing a hand on the figure’s forehead.
“Jahi’s been sending demons after me,” Minnie explained. “But this guy … something seemed off about him. Luckily I saw him before he saw me. Get a load of that aura! He’s radiating power.”
“What’s up with him, Cas?” asked Dean.
“This dude’s hopped up on angel steroids!” shouted Gabriel.
“He is demon possessed,” said Castiel. “But also appears to have ingested someone’s angelic grace.”
“I thought you guys had to be real careful picking a vessel? How is he still even … in one piece?” asked Sam.
“That’s one good fucking question!” said Gabriel.
“I got the fixings to get the demon out,” suggested Bobby. “If we need a quick exorcism.”
“I think the demon is the only thing holding him together right now!” said Gabriel.
“I believe Gabriel is right!” said Castiel. “If you attempt to exorcise him….”
“Blooey!” said Gabriel.
“Great. Dude turns to holy Jiffy Pop,” muttered Dean.
“Shit, what do we do?” asked Bobby.
“You don’t have anything to get grace out of a person?” Sam asked Bobby.
“I ain’t never had this problem before,” said Bobby.
“Whoa!” said Gabriel, as suddenly he, Cas and Minnie all took a big step back from the demon.
“Bobby,” said Castiel, who was abruptly in front of the hunter, most definitely invading his personal space, gripping his shoulders. “Is there … an old mine, a deep lake…. Something like that nearby?”
The unconscious figure had started to glow, a weird purplish color.
“I gotcha,” said Bobby, who closed his eyes a moment. “Old copper mine. Two miles. Due north,” he pointed.
“Gabriel!” shouted Cas.
There was the sound of wings, and Gabriel and the unconscious demon suddenly disappeared. Everyone watched the sky nervously for a moment.
A full minute ticked by. Maybe two. And then the ground shook, knocking Crowley and all the humans from their feet. There was a muffled boom.
Castiel pointed to the north, where there was a strange, purple-colored glow above the horizon. “Gabriel?” he whispered.
“Dang, I cut that close!” yelled Gabriel from atop the Impala.
“Gabriel, get the fuck down, you’ll get footprints,” warned Dean.
“Yeah, you’re fucking welcome. Again!” said Gabriel, whose hair was still smoking.
“Come on, everybody, inside!” said Bobby as Minnie helped him up to his feet. “I gotta show you something. I think it’s pretty damned important.”
“Can I just stay out here in the fields?” asked Crowley, who was still lying on his back.
“Absolutely not!” said Bobby. “I need you front and center, demon!”
“But I re-injured whatever I broke before,” sighed Crowley, rubbing his painful ribs.
“You want me to get the salt gun?” barked Bobby.
“Bobby’s in a bad mood. He threatened me with holy oil,” said Gabriel, helping Crowley to his feet.
“You fucked up my damned wrecking yard, you nut ball!” growled Bobby.
“Hey, it is looking kind of rainbow bright around here,” grinned Dean.
“Get the fuck inside before I start knocking heads!” said Bobby. He turned and then courteously offered an elbow to Minnie, who grinned and took it, causing Sam and Dean to exchange another glance.
“Bobby needs to watch his blood pressure,” said Crowley.
“I tell ya,” agreed Gabriel.
They assembled in Bobby’s main downstairs room: three humans, two angels, a demon and a goddess.
“While you boys were away, I started looking into this,” said Bobby, pulling out a laptop computer. There appeared the talking head of a news reporter, discussing a nuclear plant meltdown in remote Russia.
“Bilibinskaya,” nodded Sam. “Chernobyl-nick they're calling it.”
“Biblio-what? What does this have to do with a fritzy nuke?” asked Dean. “Don't the Russians just generally suck at building power plants?”
“The town – the say the whole village is uninhabitable, Dean” said Sam.
“Probably the entire district,” said Crowley. “Not that anyone ever gave a shit about Chukotka.”
“How do you know the area?” asked Bobby, who turned towards Crowley.
“I had my damned tungsten mine there,” groused the demon, who was sitting on the couch, holding his side.
“Who the hell has a tungsten mine?” asked Dean.
“I do! Or, I did. Until the meltdown,” grumbled Crowley.
“Ain't a meltdown, Crowley,” said Bobby. “Least I don't think so. Especially after seeing your ex's boy go kaboom out there.”
“Wait. It wasn’t a meltdown?” said Sam.
Bobby frowned. “I heard from some hunters in the area: the EMF readings were off the charts. And the other thing: witnesses in Alaska say it looked like Northern Lights, only it was purple. Now maybe it's just me, but the aurora is usually green.”
Crowley suddenly sat forward. “Jahi. She said she was going to burn each and every one of my possessions. She picked that city deliberately! To destroy my mine! The insufferable bitch!”
“Jahi is supplying the extracted grace to demon possessed humans?” said Castiel.
“Like a human letter bomb,” said Dean.
“Crude. But effective,” sighed Crowley, burying his face in his hands. “That's my girl.” He held his rib cage and moaned.
“You know, I got something for that!” said Minnie, sitting down beside him and poking at his ribs.
“So, Crowley,” said Sam, “what are you hiding from her?”
“What?” asked Crowley, who suddenly sat up and acted offended. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“When Jahi was talking to you,” said Sam. “Back when Raguel had us.”
“I would hardly term that screeching to be talking,” muttered Crowley, who was looking awfully nervous.
“Crowley! Are you holding something back from Jahi?” asked Minnie who sat back and crossed her arms.
“Of course not,” muttered Crowley.
“Jahi said you had something of hers!” insisted Sam. “I was listening pretty closely! She was gonna cut my heart out!”
“Repair your own fucking ribs. liar!' said Minnie, who stood up and glowered at Crowley.
“Jahi's a lying cunt! You know that!” Crowley told her.
“A box!” said Gabriel. “She had a box.”
Crowley turned around, and then grimaced and gripped his ribs. The archangel was suddenly sitting on the back of the couch, craning his neck at Crowley.
“Mind reading is … really rude, angel!” scolded the demon. “You know that.”
“That would typically be the case, Crowley. However, your thoughts of Jahi are not well concealed,” said Castiel, who had a far off look in his eyes.
“What's the matter, Cas?” asked Dean.
“I did not think that particular sexual position was anatomically possible,” marveled Cas.
“She is a demon of lasciviousness,” grinned Crowley.
“Wait,” Dean asked Gabriel, “when you said a box, you meant that kinda box?”
Gabriel laughed so hard he fell off the back of Bobby's couch.
“Will you idjit angels concentrate!” yelled Bobby. “We got the potential of angel nukes now. Cas! Gabriel!”
Crowley sighed. “All right. No need to pry at my subconscious. I don't know what it is. And I don't know where it is. Now, isn't that helpful?”
“You wanna clarify?” asked Bobby.
Crowley looked around a living room of scowling faces, plus Gabriel, who had just popped his head back over the couch back, who shrugged. “I've probably done worse, brother,” Gabriel told him.
“After this, we should have a drink,” Crowley told him. He drew breath. “Jahi had … a lockbox,” he told them, holding his hands to mime something that seemed about the size of a shoebox.
“Like the curse boxes I make?” asked Bobby.
“Something like a human curse box. Entry is … difficult. It's customarily a combination of clever spells. And they are often … larger on the inside than outside. So there is no telling what might be within.”
“You figure it's some kinda magical object?” asked Bobby.
“A weapon would be useful!” said Dean.
“I quite literally have no idea,” Crowley confessed. “But it was apparent that what lay inside was precious to her. Therefore, when the troubles began, and there were … disagreements regarding joint property matters, I took it and secreted it away for safekeeping.”
“You concealed assets! You lying motherfucker!” growled Minnie.
“I did not technically lie, Minerva,” said Crowley. “I had no idea it was assets! For all I know, it could be something else! Her grandmother's sampler, perhaps.”
“Yeah, I'm so sure a lust demon keeps a memory quilt in her fucking lockbox!” raved Minnie.
“Crowley, where did you put the damned thing?” sighed Bobby.
“Well, that at least will be easy. I used my magical compass to select a spot.”
“Wait. The one I used to find Cas and Raguel?” asked Dean.
“Yes, it is not only good for location, but also for concealment. I set it to a random location and sent the box there. And then loaned it to Fenriz as a supposed payment for a debt.” Crowley grinned at his own cleverness. “So, if you wish to retrieve it, we have only to use the compass....” Here he turned to Dean. Who was looking around in confusion.
“Yeah. Fenriz's compass whatchajiggie. About that....” said Dean.
“Dean?” asked Crowley, who began to rise off the couch, clutched his side, and collapsed back.
“I was saving Cas!” said Dean. “And we got angel-ed away! I dunno what the hell happened to it! I think it fell out of my pocket.”
“Oh, that's just perfect!” wailed Crowley. “So now as well as my ex-wife planning my downfall, Fenriz will definitely slay me.”
“Nothing you don't derserve, liar!” Minnie told him.
“Oh, spare me, Minerva! It's not as if you have never been ... misled before.”
“Crowley,” said Sam. “Here’s a big question. So, where all are your assets located? I mean, besides a remote Russian village?”
“Oh,” said Crowley. “Well. Uh. No place important. I mean, especially important.”
“Where?” asked Bobby, nodding at Sam. The others in the room began to catch on as well. “Crowley, are they all remote like that Russian town?”
“Er. You know,” said Crowley.
“Crowley, for fuck's sake....” said Dean.
“The outskirts of Paris. St. Petersburg. London. San Francisco....” said Crowley.
“Shit,” said Sam.
“And how many angels has Raguel ripped? How many vials of grace are we talking here?” asked Bobby.
Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other, and then both appeared to lose focus.
“At least twenty....” said Castiel.
“Almost thirty,” said Gabriel one second later.
“Between twenty and thirty, Bobby,” Castiel told him.
“I ain't gonna ask how you boys did that,” said Bobby, shaking his head at more angel weirdness. “So, we got two dozen demon letter bombs poised to go blooey at major cities where Crowley has his crap….”
“It is most assuredly not crap!” protested Crowley.
“And we got one lost curse box,” said Bobby. “We gotta locate that puppy, it’s our only bargaining chip.”
“And we need to figure out how to head off Raguel, before he kills more angels,” added Sam, to nods from Castiel and Gabriel.
“Look,” said Minnie. “I'm overdue talking to my friend, Artie. I really think she could help with the demon lockbox situation.”
“The original hunter you told us about?” asked Dean. And then, more eagerly, “She's a chick?”
“Yeah, idjit. You don't even know about Artemis?” asked Bobby.
Dean grinned. Instead of Chuck Norris, he was now picturing Angelina Jolie, only hotter.
“Yeah, she's been outta the business for a while,” Minnie told them, “but that bitch can hunt down anything.” She had out her cell phone and was madly texting.
“You've done this before, haven't you, Minerva?” asked Crowley.
“I handle a lot of divorces, kiddo,” she told him. “You have something of hers, by the way? Something personal? That might help.”
Crowley sighed and dug into a jacket pocket. He extracted a wallet, and pried into one of the folds. He extracted something, which he held carefully between two fingers. Minnie frowned and held out a hand. It was a lock of copper hair, held by a tiny ribbon.
“What?” asked Crowley.
Minnie shook her head and placed the hair in a pocket.
“I think I got an idea about our friend, Raggy,” said Gabriel. “That Fenriz dude you mentioned,” he asked Crowley, as he was now suddenly sitting on the crouch next to him. “That the bad boy with the strip club?”
“The same,” said Crowley.
“You know him, Gabriel?” asked Dean.
“He's known in the, er, adult film industry,” grinned the archangel. “His sex workers are sex slaves. Kind of a creep.”
“He is loathsome,” agreed Crowley.
“Your kinda guy,” sniffed Bobby.
“You still got that bottle of grace, Bobby boy?” asked Gabriel. Bobby nodded and went to somewhere in the clutter that was his house, and extracted a vial from the mess. He tossed it to Gabriel.
“Aw, shit,” said Gabriel, who shook his head and looked sad.
“What's the matter?” asked Dean.
“The brother from whom that was taken,” said Castiel. “He is no longer alive.”
“You fellows can tell?” asked Bobby.
“Angels are strange creatures,” Minnie whispered to Bobby.
“You got that right,” said Bobby.
“So, I don't feel a twinge doing what I plan to do,” said Gabriel. “But I'll need your help, sunshine,” he told Crowley. “Hey, whaddya say, we team up, angel and demon, just like a bad Dan Brown novel?”
“Isn't that redundant?” groused Crowley. “In addition, I have what I believe to be at least one broken rib.”
“Oh, yeah, forgot about that,” said Gabriel, who leapt to his feet. “Angel healing magic!” he shouted, putting a hand on Crowley's head. There was a slight glow about the demon, and then he stood up, gingerly feeling his sides.
“I could have done that,” said Castiel.
“But you didn't,” said Crowley.
“No. I didn't,” said Castiel, a slight smile tracing his features.
“So, what exactly are you planning on doing?” asked Bobby.
“I think I can get Raguel and Fenriz off our backs. All in one brilliant stroke. Because I am brilliant. SHAZAM!” he shouted, and disappeared.
There was a beat.
“Whoops!” Gabriel said, suddenly reappearing. He grabbed Crowley by the shoulder. “Shazam!” he shouted again, and this time, they both disappeared.
“Angels,” sighed Bobby. “No offense, kid,” he told Castiel, who was frowning after Gabriel.
“My brother has ever been a bit … eccentric,” said the angel.
“I'm going to see Artie,” said Minnie, pocketing her phone. “Any of you guys wanna come with?”
“Oh hell yeah!” said Dean, his head reeling with visions of Angelina Jolie, lips at full pout, cocking the giant salt ammo-loaded gun on her hip.
“Why don't you boys go along, I'll mind the fort,” Bobby proposed, nodding at Minnie.
“Be careful,” she warned Bobby, who smiled back.
“Hey. Why should he be careful! We're the ones going into the firing line!” Dean told Sam.
“We're going to Beverly Hills,” Minnie laughed, as Dean blushed slightly.
“I can convey us,” offered Castiel.
“Can you manage it with the angel voices still out, dude?” asked Dean.
Castiel removed something from the pocket of his slightly outsized jeans. “Yes, I believe I can,” he said, holding the key with the compass keychain.
And then Cas aimed what a very stunned Dean Winchester would believe for the rest of his life could not possibly be a wink right at Dean, and they all disappeared to the soft beating of angel wings.
