Seven Hells, Part 11 of ?
Jan. 27th, 2013 03:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 11 of ?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Garth, Kevin, Linda Tran, Benny, Crowley, Meg, Inias, Naomi, Metatron, Odin, Kali
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Spoilers up to 8.08, and then we skip merrily off into an AU and never return. There are OCs here: some I’ve invented, some I’ve ripped off from various religious mythologies, and some I’ve rebooted from the SPN canon. Also, no beta, so if you relish searching desperately for typos over all else, this might be the fic for you.
Word Count: 90,000 (individual chapters are around 5,000)
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas, along with a weird alliance of pagan lords of the underworld, battle with Crowley over the Word of God. But the boys soon discover there is another, more malignant threat looming in the shadows (I mean, seriously, isn't there always).
Notes: This is an AU storyline, which fundamentally diverges from what they’re currently doing on the show. Because I said so.
“Angels?” said Dean disbelievingly. “Angels got your ass out of Purgatory?”
Cas slid over to give Dean room to sit down on the bed next to him. Odin and Sam crowded around nearby.
Cas nodded to Dean. He still looked pale and unwell, although he swore he felt fine. “They had.... They had a kind of … leash on me. It’s difficult to explain.” He put his hand up to his neck, as if it were a real leash. “In my grace. That's why.... That's why I've been having problems.”
“So, you basically took your sword and sliced off the leash?” Dean guessed, mining the gesture of a slashing sword with great gusto.
Cas shuddered. “Yes. I cut into … my grace.”
“That would explain why his magic looked damaged,” said Odin.
Dean looked imploringly at Odin. “How can we … put a Band Aid on his grace though?”
“Me, I have no damned idea, but we got someone who might know better.” He nodded towards the woman who had just appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, Cas, this is-” Dean began.
“Metatron,” whispered Cas, his eyes going wide. Dean scrambled towards the edge of the bed.
“Don't get up on my account,” she told Dean, sauntering over to where Cas was sitting on the bed, propped up by an endless pile of pillows. She took his chin in her hands and gave him a full-force Cas-style stare down. Cas blinked, but didn’t protest. After an uncomfortably long time, she released his face and nodded with satisfaction. “Good. You're definitely healing up.”
“Metatron. What can we do for him?” asked Dean.
“Nothing. I can’t heal angel sword wounds. No angel can. Fortunately, time will take care of it,” she told Dean confidently. “His vessel might need to eat and sleep for a while. Don’t worry, soldier,” she said, patting Cas on the shoulder, “we'll get you back on your feet soon. Back in the ranks!”
“I’m not certain I want to be back in the ranks,” Cas confessed, hugging his knees. Dean’s Metallica T-shirt hung all the way over one shoulder, making him look small and thin against the pillows.
“Uh, Metatron, this is probably a really rude question, but are you guys related?” asked Sam, pointing between her and Cas. It was clear when they were side by side that both shared the same dark hair and bright blue eyes.
“All angels of the Lord are my brothers and sisters,” said Metatron. She raised an eyebrow. “Much as I hate to admit it, in certain cases. But you're referring our human vessels, aren't you? I would have to look up the bloodlines, but it's possible. There are not a lot of humans who can contain a lower ranked angel, much less a being like me. She might have been a great aunt or a second cousin twice removed. This particular gal was a minor Hollywood starlet,” she said, hooking a thumb towards her vessel.
“I thought I'd seen you in the movies!” said Dean.
Metatron rolled her eyes. “Doubtful. Unless you spotted her standing behind a potted plant. Anyway, I believe she was originally from the American Midwest. Overdose,” Metatron concluded sadly. “She had engaged in sexual relations with a producer hoping to finally score that big role. But then it went to someone named Joan Blondell instead. She should have smitten the un-righteous bastard, but being a human woman, took her own life instead.”
“Wait. So she was already dead when you occupied her?” asked Sam.
“Dying. And her last thoughts weren't for friends or family, it was a wish that she would never age. So....” Metatron spread her hands. “Archangel over crow's feet, I guess. It's a little tight-fitting.”
“It's a damned fine vessel if you ask me,” snorted Odin.
“Please. You don't know what you're dealing with.”
“Maybe I'd like to try.”
Metatron raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“OK, you two, get a room,” said Dean. Odin roared with laughter and Metatron looked slightly bemused.
“Now,” Metatron told Cas. “Castiel. If you're feeling up to it, need a full report. What the angels said. Everything they did.”
“You can pull it out of me, Metatron,” said Cas, pointing to his own head.
“I don’t go in for tricks when I can help it,” she said, shaking her head and beginning to pace the room. “Also, I want them to hear it as well. In your own words. And take your time.” Odin leaned back against the wall, and Sam settled his lanky frame into an easy chair, but Metatron kept to her feet, pacing the room, back straight, arms wrapped behind her. Dean draped a protective arm over Cas’s shoulders and watched her. He knew angels were supposed to be soldiers, but with a lot of them he got more the impression of conniving bureaucrats or sleazy used car salesmen. Metatron, though, really came off like a general. He thought of how she might have interacted with some of the angels he had known, and cracked a small smile.
“What?” asked Cas.
“Oh, uh. I was just thinking. Would have been … interesting to see you around Zachariah, Metatron.”
“Zachariah is a complete asshole,” said Metatron, not slowing her pace.
“Was a complete asshole,” Dean corrected.
“We lose him in the apocalypse too?” she asked.
“Kind of. I killed him. Stabbed him in the face.” Dean made a very satisfying stabbity motion.
“No fucking shit?” asked Metatron. Cas nodded solemnly, and Odin once again roared with laughter. “I like you, Dean Winchester. Castiel. Go ahead.”
“I was drawn into several encounters with an angel who called herself Naomi. Uh, I didn’t know her.”
“Naomi?” Metatron shook her head. “No idea. But I didn’t know all of the lower ranks. Continue.”
“So she wasn’t a big wheel?” asked Dean.
Metatron shook her head. “Not while I was around heaven, but it’s been a while. Continue.”
“I noticed that she would become … agitated after our visits to Valhalla. Evidently, they could no longer perceive me when I was up here.”
“That makes sense,” said Odin. “Metatron has this place locked up tight.”
“Angels wouldn't be able to see you – or me – when you're up here,” Metatron told them.
“Asgard is angel-proof?” asked Dean.
“As far as I can make it so, yes,” said Metatron. “No unwanted feathery pests get past my warding sigils. But go ahead, Castiel. Did you encounter any other personnel besides Naomi?”
“She was the only one I ever saw. But the room had a one-way mirror. I could sense … a presence. On the other side. But it was vague.”
“Cas,” Dean asked. “Was it like the green room? The place Zach took me?”
Cas looked lost in thought for a moment. “No, nothing at all like that.”
“The … green room?” asked Metatron.
“Back when Michael was trying to convince me to serve as his vessel….”
“He was going to take a living being as a vessel?” Metatron marched over to the side of the bed to stand near – perhaps a bit too near – Dean. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you afterwards? Your mind would be turned to oatmeal! Oatmeal! In the best case scenario!”
Dean, who was accustomed to penetrating angel stares, merely stared back. “Well, he tried. I said no. But anyway, he brought me to this crazy room that looked like an Italian whorehouse.”
Sam smirked. “I didn’t find it that unappealing, Dean,” Cas protested.
Metatron nodded. “Ah, that figures. He took you inside his mind. Zachariah never had any taste.”
“What was your room like, Castiel?” asked Odin.
“It was just white. White walls. Very light. Like a human office. Very nondescript.”
“Oh brother,” said Metatron, her brow wrinkling.
“What?” asked Odin.
“Later. Continue, Castiel.”
“I was pulled up there on a number of occasions. Always against my will. And after I was returned, my memory of the place was somehow … blocked, until the next encounter.”
“That’s a lot of pull. Messing with a seraph like that,” said Metatron.
Cas was staring intently at the end of the bed. Dean, beside him, tried to think up the most creative and possibly bloody ways to murder Naomi. Cas spoke again, his voice shaky. “Naomi said that angels had rescued me from Purgatory. They sent an incursion of my brothers after me. And lost many lives.” The last was barely a whisper.
“WHAT?” Metatron had ceased her pacing and stood stock still in the middle of the floor. “They told you what?”
Castiel looked stricken. “What’s the matter?” asked Dean.
Metatron actually snorted. “Naomi is full of shit. Sending a company of angels to Purgatory? I would have sensed that! That’s cow manure. Oh, and how the bloody hell did you get yourself stranded in Purgatory, kid? You know damn well there’s Leviathan there!”
“It was my fault…” said Dean.
“No, it was my fault, Dean,” Cas told him. “It was my mess.”
“Metatron?” Sam ventured, as the archangel was looking awfully smite-y. “Maybe we should catch you up on some of this stuff … later?”
“Yeah, good idea,” she said. “I think I’m gonna need a drink. And another cigar. So, what were your orders?”
Cas frowned. “Nothing in particular. I was simply to report back about the Winchesters.”
“You think they were nosing around after those tablets, Mets?” asked Odin.
“That’d be my guess,” said Metatron.
“But who are they?” asked Sam, throwing up his hands. “You said you didn’t even know Naomi, right Cas?”
“The man behind the curtain?” asked Dean.
“It wasn't a curtain, Dean,” said Cas primly. “It was a one-way mirror.”
“Metaphor, Cas.”
“Oh!”
“I have an idea, gentlemen. And it’s not good news,” said Metatron.
“Who?” asked Odin.
“Someone with the raw power to drag his skinny ass out of Purgatory? And then bind up a seraph so he doesn’t know which way is up?” She shook her head. “Gotta be one of us old-timers.”
“There aren’t a lot of you left,” said Dean.
“No thanks to you,” she said, grinning at Dean. But then her expression grew more serious. “Based on the layout of the room: minimalist, cold. And the exercise of sheer power, I think it could only be one person.”
“And that’d be…” said Odin.
“My brother. The guy who’s been on my tail since I skipped town. Azrael.”
“Uhhhhh, the angel of death?” squeaked Sam. He hadn’t meant his voice to climb quite that high.
“Well. This is going to be fun!” said Odin, rubbing his hands together.
Metatron shot Odin a glare and then strode over to stand beside Castiel. “You,” she ordered, giving him a poke in the chest. “Eat something. You look like warmed-over shit. Odin?” she added, inclining her head and marching out of the room at double-time. Odin hurried after her. “We'll need to let Hel know. And that jackass, Hades....” Her voice drifted out as they hastened away.
Sam jumped up. “I’m gonna-“ he said, pointing to the doorway.
“Yeah. Go ahead,” Dean told him. “Follow that archangel.”
Sam disappeared out the door after Odin and Metatron.
“You okay, buddy?” Dean asked Cas. “You want something to eat?”
“I'm not hungry, Dean.”
“Not even for a cheeseburger? With bacon?”
Castiel raised an eyebrow. Dean slid off the bed and went to the door, where he talked with one of the guards. “On its way,” he announced as he walked back. “Now, we gotta talk about something else. If you're still up for it?”
Cas frowned, and Dean climbed back on the bed beside him. “Sam and I – we haven't had a chance to tell Odin yet, but we ran into an old friend of yours. Inias.”
“He's alive?” Cas sat up, looking so hopeful Dean nearly cried.
“Yeah. He's okay. But he's in hiding. I guess there's been some kind of … crackdown in Heaven?”
Cas looked pained. “What kind of crackdown?”
“There's some new shadowy douche bags who've taken over upper management. If Metatron is right, maybe it’s Azrael. Anyway, they're trying to root out angels who are still sympathetic to you.”
Cas sighed and slumped. “That should be easy enough. I can’t think of many angels who would be sympathetic.”
“Dude, I think you underestimate yourself. It’s not just one person, or even a handful, it’s evidently a whole movement. You changed things. Hey, Cas. You remember an angel named Samandriel?”
Cas smiled faintly. “Yes. He was one of the younger ones. How do you know him?”
Dean stretched out his legs, and Cas, under the covers, did the same. “He came to talk to me, after I got out of Purgatory. He was wondering where you were. He said there were a lot of people there who still remembered you. And thought you meant well. Hey! Hey! You all right? Should I get Metatron?” He leaned over to take a slumping Cas in his arms.
Cas looked around at him, his eyes full of tears. “I’m all right, Dean. I think… I think I need a moment.”
Dean hesitated. “Cas. It’s okay. I’ll…. I’ll watch over you.”
And that did it. Whether he wanted it or not, Dean now had an angel sobbing on his shoulder. Dean awkwardly reached over to rub Cas gently on the back. “Okay. It’s okay. Wow. Hey. We’re lucky this isn’t Doctor Who I guess.”
The waterworks subsided somewhat as Cas pulled back, eyes and nose dripping. “What?”
“Uh, it’s a TV show. With weeping angels? It’s a long story.”
Cas wiped his eyes on the hem of his T-shirt. “Perhaps.... Perhaps I will try to watch it. While I am recovering.”
There was a knock on the door, and Dean went to retrieve a tray of burgers. They ate and talked for a while, until Sam came back to the room, lugging his laptop. “Hey, I didn’t know there was food!”
“We could probably call out for some organic non-toxic fair trade rabbit chow for you,” said Dean as Sam jammed a cheeseburger into his mouth.
“I’m starving,” Sam muttered, collapsing into a chair and unfolding the laptop. “Valhalla has got unbelievable free wireless.” He looked up from surfing and chowing down. “You feeling better, Cas? You look better.”
“Do I?” asked Cas, looking himself up and down curiously.
“See?” said Dean. “Bacon cheeseburgers heal grace. It’s a known medical fact. So, what’s up with the God Squad?”
“Odin and Metatron, they’re gonna spread the word about the return of Azrael,” said Sam.
“For whatever good that will do,” muttered Dean, remembering Lucifer turning pagan gods to chunky soup with a snap of his fingers.
“Oh, crap!” said Sam, pointing to his laptop screen.
“What now?” sighed Dean.
“Check this out,” said Sam, rearranging the burger and the computer so he could stand up and haul the lot over to Cas’s bed. “So, these guys wearing crummy suits-”
“Oh no,” groaned Dean.
“....show up at a high school football game in the middle of halftime. They announce, 'The wages of sin is death.' And then an entire stadium full of people … is obliterated.”
Dean grabbed the laptop and, as Cas peered over his shoulder, clicked through the images. The devastation was unimaginable, like a small caliber nuke had gone off. Dean shook his head. “Shit. Shit. There's nothing left but a crater.”
“Azrael,” said Cas, his eyes going wide.
“Looks like, Cas,” said Sam.
“This is my doing, Sam.” Cas looked wretched. “I escaped them. This must be … a reaction. Of some kind.”
Dean shifted on the bed to face Cas. “Okay, Cas, stop that. Now. We don’t even know for sure it is the angels.”
Dean felt Cas’s eyes boring into him. “Dean. Who else would it be? You said you saw angels for yourself when you retrieved the ghost tablet!”
“We did, but…. Look. It could be anything. Maybe another of Crowley's tricks! Namtar says he's got Leviathan down there. God knows what else he's got up his oily Eurotrash sleeve.”
“How will we be able to tell?” asked Cas.
Dean squared his shoulders. “Sam and I will go down and nose around.”
Dean was taken aback by the vehemence of Cas's reaction. “No! It's too dangerous! I need to go with you.”
“Cas! We’ll be all right. Swear to god.” Dean crossed his heart. “Don't get your feathers ruffled. Look, we’ll get Odin to send somebody along to act as bodyguard, we’ll just keep a low profile.”
Cas glared, pavonine blue eyes blazing. “You? The Winchesters? A low profile?”
Sam laughed aloud. “Don’t be so damned skeptical!” pleaded Dean.
“This is bracing!” said Yamaraja, as his two yappy little dogs barked around his heels.
The Hindu Lord of Hell had somehow turned his skin from blue to more of a flesh color, and had exchanged his flowing saffron robes for a somewhat old-fashioned business suit. And his little dogs now appeared to only have one pair of eyes each, though they were still damned annoying.
They were standing in the middle of a shallowe crater, Sam, Dean, and Yamaraja, surveying the devastated area that until recently was a small town high school football stadium. Now, not even ants crawled along the cracked, dry ground.
“You know, it used to be my longstanding custom to spend one day a year walking among mortal men,” Yamaraja told them. “I’ve discarded the custom, I think, to my peril.”
“There’s nothing left alive here anyway,” said Sam. He kicked at the dry ground, and then squatted down. “Hey, does this look like salt?” he asked, sifting some clear crystals in his hand.
“I'm not volunteering to taste,” Dean grumbled.
“Seems biblical thought,” Sam mused, standing and wiping his hand on a pantleg. “Didn't they always stop and salt the earth after they smote some poor bastard?”
“This was all supposed to be the result of a gas leak?” asked Dean. “I mean, seriously?”
Sam shook his head. “Well, they’ve been doing some fracking nearby.”
“I’m sorry?” said Yamaraja, smiling in a bemused manner.
“WHAT?” asked Dean.
Sam looked pained. “Um, you know, hydrofracturinig. Basically they dig a well and use high pressure deep below the surface of the earth to release natural gas. But it causes a lot of problems.” He shrugged. “Environmental devastation. People have tap water that lights on fire, that kind of thing.”
“Flaming tap water? It actually sounds kinda cool,” mused Dean.
“Indeed. Why didn’t I think of this,” said Yamaraja.
Sam sighed at the sheer ecological ignorance of his companions. “Well, anyway, they’re speculating that a bunch of gas migrated to the surface and was ignited somehow.”
Dean looked skeptical. “This happened because the marching band crashed too many cymbals? That sounds a little far-fetched.”
“Well, looks like we’re not gonna get anything here anyway,” said Sam. “There’s nothing left.”
“Nothing visible to the human eye, perhaps,” smiled Yamaraja. He hunkered down and gave his little dogs a command in Hindi. They scampered off and … disappeared. That is, one moment they were visible, and then next, they were not.
“Uh, where did the weird ass doggies go?” asked Dean.
“I asked them to go between worlds, to see what might be there. Ah!” With the sound of high-pitched yapping, the dogs returned. One of them carried something in its mouth.
“A feather?” asked Dean as Yamaraja held it up. He reached out to touch it, but then drew his hand away. “Ouch!” There was a drop of blood on his fingers from where the feather had sliced it. “That is one nasty feather,” he commented, sucking on his finger.
“What the hell?” asked Sam. “Is that from what I think it's from?”
“Indeed. This feather I think, gentlemen, is not from any bird,” said Yamaraja, raising an eyebrow. “Now, it seems we have method and opportunity taken care of, but what of motive? How I love whodunnits!”
As it turned out, the local sheriff didn’t think much of whodunnits. He wasn’t actually the sheriff, as the real sheriff, as well as his deputy, had been at the big game, as had just about anyone else who mattered in the town.
“All I know is what you know,” he sighed. Dean felt sorry for him. They guy didn’t look like he was more than twenty-five. “The kids were tweeting or twittering or whatever it is they do, and one of the local TV stations had a feed. Then the Mormon missionaries or whatever the hell they were showed up at halftime, and boom!”
“You don’t mind if we ask around?” said Dean.
“You can ask, Agent Hetfield, but I don’t think you’re gonna get many answers.”
“Are they close-mouthed with strangers?” asked Sam.
“No, Agent Hammett, you see, the lawyers beat you here. Everybody who’s going for the class action, they told ‘em to keep their mouths shut. Uh, are those your dogs?”
“Agent Ulrich couldn’t get a, uh, pet sitter on such short notice,” said Dean, picking up one of Yama’s dogs, which was trailing a Sun Devils banner.
“The home team is the Sun Devils?” asked Sam, grabbing the somewhat shredded, drool-soaked banner.
“Oh, no! That was the away team. We’re the Demons,” the sheriff told them, pointing to another banner up on the wall. “It’s an annual thing, the game. It was an annual thing. We called it the yearly Hell Match. As a joke, of course.”
Dean looked questioningly at Sam. “Thanks, sheriff. I think we’re done here for now,” Sam told the guy.
“What’s the deal, Sammy?” Dean asked as they and the dogs emerged from the sheriff’s offices.
“Look around the town. All you see are banners for Demons, or Demons versus Devils. I mean, I know that’s taking things pretty literally, but we’re talking a bunch of angels here.”
Dean headed into Cas's room in Valhalla, only to see the space beside him on the bed was already occupied … by Metatron.
Both angels were gazing with intense concentration at a television set someone had set up in the room.
“She is in love with Dr. Sexy, but he has spurned her for another,” Cas was explaining.
“So why didn't she smite him if he dishonored her?” asked an incredulous Metatron.
“Humans don't usually smite each other a whole lot,” grinned Dean.
“Hello, Dean! I was trying to help Metatron get caught up on the current season of Dr. Sexy MD,” Cas told Dean.
“I find this show perplexing,” said the archangel. “Humans are entertained by lying, deception and heartache?”
“You'd be surprised,” laughed Dean. “But you said your vessel was an actress. Have you seen any of her movies?”
Metatron nodded. “I tried watching one. It was also very curious. They had painted her skin brown, and she wore fruit as a headdress and did a dance and sang a song in very poorly enunciated Spanish.”
“She was probably gonna compete with whatsername, Carmen Miranda?”
Both Cas and Metatron looked puzzled. “Who?”
Dean chuckled. “She, uh, danced. And wore fruit on her head. Look, it actually didn't make a lot of sense. Even to us.”
Metatron looked thoughtful and hopped up off the bed. “So, this is your intended?” she asked Cas, indicating Dean.
Cas blushed. “Uh. No. I mean, yes.”
But Metatron had already grabbed Dean by the collar and yanked him down to her eye level where, almost nose to nose, she stared into his eyes.
“Uh, Metatron. A little … uncomfortable,” Dean sputtered. She had an iron grip. And a fairly piercing stare.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, she released his collar, and Dean stumbled back a pace. She turned to Cas. “A good soul, this one. Full of self-doubt, but so is any man worth his salt. And a noble heart,” she added, giving Dean’s chest a poke.
“Ow,” said Dean.
“That’s something you can’t fake. Well, I will leave you two. I will be back to watch some more Dr. Sexy MD in the future, however.”
“Yeah. I'll … see you later,” said Cas, watching her go. “Mets.” His lips twitched into a smile.
Dean stepped over and made sure the door was shut, and then hopped on the bed, grabbed Cas by the shoulders and pulled him into a long kiss.
“Damn, I missed this,” sighed Dean, who squirmed into the same place Metatron had been sitting, albeit a lot closer to Cas. “Hey, we brought up some of your books.” He pointed vaguely to the nightstand and kissed Cas again.
“Yes, thank you, Dean.” Cas reached over Dean to pick up The Psychopathy Checklist.
“You still doing your research?” asked Dean, who seemed a bit miffed to be ignored over a book.
Cas's eyes darted up at Dean. “Crowley called me a monster. He said we were both monsters.”
“Oh, hey. You know that's not true,” Dean told him.
“He was correct. In a way. However, I have found some of the worst monsters are actually human.”
“Can't disagree with you there. Oh, hey, nice flowers!” said Dean, who had just noticed a huge bouquet of flowers set in a vase. Dean hopped off the bed and approached the dresser where they were sitting. He squinted at the card. “From Bibi, huh?”
Cas pointed an uncertain finger at the flowers. He seemed suddenly contrite. “I am unfamiliar with human customs, Dean. I hope I have not misunderstood Bibi's intentions towards me?”
Dean laughed, realizing Cas’s conclusions. “It's cool, Cas. People get flowers for other people when they're sick. It's what you do. For friends.”
“Oh. I am not accustomed to having … friends,” said Cas.
Dean smiled sadly. “Well, like it or not, you do now.” He peered at Cas. “Hey, speaking of friends, there's something I gotta ask about your new bestie, Metatron.”
“What would you like to know, Dean?”
“She seems like a tough chick.”
“She was one of the most glorious of all the warriors of God!” said Cas proudly, his eyes shining.
Dean leaned back against the big, heavy antique dresser and crossed his arms. “Well, yeah. And she doesn't seem like she'd be afraid of much. So, why has she been up here hiding out from Azrael?”
“Metatron would never hide from a foe, Dean,” said Cas, who radiated great offense.
“Well then, why doesn't she just go kick his ass?”
Cas looked stricken. “Dean, don't you realize.... That would be … very bad.” It came out barely above a whisper.
“Bad how?”
Cas took a breath. “You recall the fight between Michael and Lucifer? Two archangels? The harm to humanity … could be immense.”
“I thought Mike versus Lucy was the heavyweight championship?”
Cas shook his head. “As I told you Dean, I am a monster. And so is Metatron. You regard us with a minimum of reverence, which is something I find appealing about you. But remember what we are. I am not human, Dean. Nor will I ever be. I was created as a soldier of the Lord.”
Dean drew closer. He put a hand on his friend’s face. “But you’re more than that, Cas. We know that.”
“Perhaps you are right. But both of these archangels, Metatron and Azrael, are older than Michael and Lucifer. And potentially a lot more powerful. Remember, this was when my Father was still attempting to create something stronger than the Leviathan. These beings do not do anything halfway. If Metatron were to fight Azrael, the collateral damage … could be devastating.”
“You mean like half of humanity devastating?”
“I mean the end of life on earth,” said Cas. “That is why she is hidden up here, and why she has warded Valhalla extensive against angel spying. It's why Naomi couldn't see me, when I traveled up here with you.”
“The end of life on earth, huh?” Dean didn't have long to ponder this because just then, there was a knock at the door. It burst open, and a very small figure charged across the room and started to climb onto the bed.
“Hey, guys, hope we're here at a good time?” said Namtar just as little Ninazu used his wings to propel himself the rest of the way onto the bed. He wriggled in beside Cas and then opened his coloring book.
“No, it's all right,” grinned Dean.
“The kid wouldn't stop jabbering about Castiel, so I thought I'd bring him by.”
“Yeah, he's a real chatterbox,” said Dean, watching as Ninazu silently colored in his Transformers book alongside Cas.
Namtar leaned over to whisper to Dean. “I told him Cas had a broken wing. I hope that was okay? I didn't really know how to explain about his grace being messed up.”
“I’m sure it’s okay.”
“Anyways, we brought this.” He held up boxed sets of Doctor Who DVDs. “Sometimes they’re a little scary for my bro, but I think he’ll be all right if we all watch them together?”
“I hope we're not coming at a bad time?” said Bibi, who had also just shown up in the doorway along with Ruth.
“I think the more the merrier,” laughed Dean as Ruth, who was back to wearing her usual black outfit with combat boots, stopped to peck him on the cheek and then plopped herself down on the bed next to Ninazu, who proudly showed off his coloring book.
“Bibi?” said Cas.
“So sorry it's taken me this long to get up here, mate,” said Bibi, reaching out to shake his hand. “My life's gone ever so slightly pear-shaped.”
“I appreciated the flowers, Bibi,” said Cas, gesturing over to the bouquet. Cas glanced at Dean. “That was a … friendly gesture.”
“You like? These are bamboo orchids. From my homeland. Very rare up here: they only bloom in summer.”
“We were going to watch Doctor Who with Cas,” Namtar announced.
“Oi!” said Bibi, grabbing the DVDs. “Look at this Ruthie! I told you I'd get you hooked on this. It's brilliant.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “This is your British TV, right? But the special effects are so bad!”
“It's part of the charm, love.”
Dean held out a hand for the DVDs. “Do you have Blink in here? Cas needs to see that one.”
“Oh, yeah. Ruthie, you'll like Martha. She's aces.”
“Well well! Do we need more chairs in here?” called Odin from the doorway.
“We’re gonna watch Doctor Who, Uncle Odin,” said Namtar.
“This is quite a mob. Maybe we should take this down the hall then,” said Odin, peering at the video boxes.
“Hey, stand down, soldier! I didn’t give you permission to get out of bed!” Metatron yelled at Castiel, who was taking this chance to get up on his feet and stretch his vessel.
In the end, after some confusion and a little shouting, everyone, including Sam, who had been down the hall soaking in the free wifi like the terrible geek he was, managed to decamp to a nice cosy room with a roaring fire going in the fireplace and a large flat screen TV. Cas was still wearing Dean’s borrowed pajamas, but had wrapped himself up in his trench coat, and everyone else had arranged themselves to grant him and Dean a place on the small couch right in the center, where Cas quite contentedly laid his head on Dean’s shoulder. It made Dean nervous at first, but he soon got caught up in the trials and tribulations that were the lot of an eccentric timelord.
At some point, when things had gone a little scary, Ninazu had scrambled up next to Dean and Cas, and then when it got even more scary, he had somehow wriggled in, cat-like, between the two of them. Some time later, he had snuggled himself inside of Cas’s coat, and fallen fast asleep there.
“Aw, looks like someone’s had enough,” said Ruth.
Sam, who had been stretched out on the floor near the hearth, leaning against one of Odin’s monstrous wolves, had been dozing off himself. He shook himself awake.
“We better get you home, eh, little guy?” said Namtar, picking up his brother. He nodded to Odin, and then disappeared.
“Yeah, us too. We still gotta plan the engagement party,” said Ruth. She stood and extended a hand to help Bibi up. “Oh, quit making a face. It’s mostly your relatives.”
“You damn well better invite me too,” said Odin. Ruth grinned and blew a kiss, and Bibi shook his head, and then they too were gone.
“I don’t understand,” said Metatron. “What are the Doctor’s academic qualifications?”
“I believe the appellation is more like a name,” said Cas cautiously. “Like … a joke?”
Metatron frowned at him for a moment, and then began speaking in rapid Enochian. Cas furrowed his brow, and then the conversation zinged back and forth a few rounds.
“Oh,” said Metatron, chuckling. “I think it’s funnier in Enochian.”
“Everything is funnier in Enochian,” Cas said sadly.
“Can I just spend the night down here?” asked Sam, who still had not picked himself up off the floor. Wolves made excellent pillows he found.
“You boys wanna spend the night?” asked Odin.
“We’re not gonna impose because my brother’s a lazy bitch,” grumbled Dean.
“It’s really no problem! We have plenty of room.”
“You look … tired, Dean,” said Cas, pulling his trench coat tighter around his shoulders.
“You want us to stay?” Dean asked him.
“In separate rooms!” announced Metatron, who was quite suddenly standing between them.
“Mets!” said Odin. “Don't meddle!”
“He’s not well enough for conjugal visits!” declared Metatron as Cas blushed beet red.
“I’ll put Dean in the room next door,” said Odin.
“That will be satisfactory.” Metatron nodded and left the room.
“It’s got a connecting balcony,” Odin whispered to Dean.
Dean found himself sneaking along the balcony a little while later, hoping he wouldn’t get smited. Or smitten? Or whatever the hell it was archangels did to people who messed with recovering soldiers.
“I missed this,” he said, sliding into bed next to Cas, who was awake, of course, reading a book.
“I missed watching over you while you sleep.” Cas ran a long finger down the side of his face. He set his book aside.
“That sounds a little weird, but I’ll take it.”
“Dean, my wings: would you take a look at them?”
“Your wings? Oh, you mean your back.”
Cas was already pulling his T-shirt over his head.
“Look,” said Dean, “that’s the least of our worries right now. Oh! Hey, do you have a light?”
Cas twitched a finger, and the overhead light snapped on.
Dean stared at the tattoo on Cas’s back. “Wow. I didn’t think this could look any more badass.” The wing designs had become mottled with red and yellow and orange. They now appeared to be aflame. “Your wings are … on fire. It’s amazing.”
“I think it pulled me back. When I was with Naomi. I think you pulled me back.”
“I can’t take-“ Dean began, but Cas had stopped him with a kiss.
“You saved me,” Cas muttered to him.
“Hey. Don't. You saved yourself.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you. After you…. I … I really don’t know.”
Dean found he had really had enough of weeping angels for the day. “Okay, okay. We’re not gonna get morbid here. Cas. Remember? Like we said, after Purgatory, no more bullshit. Hell, you’re the one who seems to have picked up a talent for dying recently!” He held Cas’s face in his hands. “We’re together. Right now. Because Odin let me sneak in and hopefully we’re not gonna get interrupted by an overprotective archangel.”
“We’re here now,” Cas repeated, looking at Dean as if he meant to inscribe him in his memory.
“Yeah. I’m here now, in a really big bed, with a half-naked angel.” Dean grinned. And then tried to lose himself in the moment.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Garth, Kevin, Linda Tran, Benny, Crowley, Meg, Inias, Naomi, Metatron, Odin, Kali
Warnings: Cursing. Sexual situations. Spoilers up to 8.08, and then we skip merrily off into an AU and never return. There are OCs here: some I’ve invented, some I’ve ripped off from various religious mythologies, and some I’ve rebooted from the SPN canon. Also, no beta, so if you relish searching desperately for typos over all else, this might be the fic for you.
Word Count: 90,000 (individual chapters are around 5,000)
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas, along with a weird alliance of pagan lords of the underworld, battle with Crowley over the Word of God. But the boys soon discover there is another, more malignant threat looming in the shadows (I mean, seriously, isn't there always).
Notes: This is an AU storyline, which fundamentally diverges from what they’re currently doing on the show. Because I said so.
“Angels?” said Dean disbelievingly. “Angels got your ass out of Purgatory?”
Cas slid over to give Dean room to sit down on the bed next to him. Odin and Sam crowded around nearby.
Cas nodded to Dean. He still looked pale and unwell, although he swore he felt fine. “They had.... They had a kind of … leash on me. It’s difficult to explain.” He put his hand up to his neck, as if it were a real leash. “In my grace. That's why.... That's why I've been having problems.”
“So, you basically took your sword and sliced off the leash?” Dean guessed, mining the gesture of a slashing sword with great gusto.
Cas shuddered. “Yes. I cut into … my grace.”
“That would explain why his magic looked damaged,” said Odin.
Dean looked imploringly at Odin. “How can we … put a Band Aid on his grace though?”
“Me, I have no damned idea, but we got someone who might know better.” He nodded towards the woman who had just appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, Cas, this is-” Dean began.
“Metatron,” whispered Cas, his eyes going wide. Dean scrambled towards the edge of the bed.
“Don't get up on my account,” she told Dean, sauntering over to where Cas was sitting on the bed, propped up by an endless pile of pillows. She took his chin in her hands and gave him a full-force Cas-style stare down. Cas blinked, but didn’t protest. After an uncomfortably long time, she released his face and nodded with satisfaction. “Good. You're definitely healing up.”
“Metatron. What can we do for him?” asked Dean.
“Nothing. I can’t heal angel sword wounds. No angel can. Fortunately, time will take care of it,” she told Dean confidently. “His vessel might need to eat and sleep for a while. Don’t worry, soldier,” she said, patting Cas on the shoulder, “we'll get you back on your feet soon. Back in the ranks!”
“I’m not certain I want to be back in the ranks,” Cas confessed, hugging his knees. Dean’s Metallica T-shirt hung all the way over one shoulder, making him look small and thin against the pillows.
“Uh, Metatron, this is probably a really rude question, but are you guys related?” asked Sam, pointing between her and Cas. It was clear when they were side by side that both shared the same dark hair and bright blue eyes.
“All angels of the Lord are my brothers and sisters,” said Metatron. She raised an eyebrow. “Much as I hate to admit it, in certain cases. But you're referring our human vessels, aren't you? I would have to look up the bloodlines, but it's possible. There are not a lot of humans who can contain a lower ranked angel, much less a being like me. She might have been a great aunt or a second cousin twice removed. This particular gal was a minor Hollywood starlet,” she said, hooking a thumb towards her vessel.
“I thought I'd seen you in the movies!” said Dean.
Metatron rolled her eyes. “Doubtful. Unless you spotted her standing behind a potted plant. Anyway, I believe she was originally from the American Midwest. Overdose,” Metatron concluded sadly. “She had engaged in sexual relations with a producer hoping to finally score that big role. But then it went to someone named Joan Blondell instead. She should have smitten the un-righteous bastard, but being a human woman, took her own life instead.”
“Wait. So she was already dead when you occupied her?” asked Sam.
“Dying. And her last thoughts weren't for friends or family, it was a wish that she would never age. So....” Metatron spread her hands. “Archangel over crow's feet, I guess. It's a little tight-fitting.”
“It's a damned fine vessel if you ask me,” snorted Odin.
“Please. You don't know what you're dealing with.”
“Maybe I'd like to try.”
Metatron raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“OK, you two, get a room,” said Dean. Odin roared with laughter and Metatron looked slightly bemused.
“Now,” Metatron told Cas. “Castiel. If you're feeling up to it, need a full report. What the angels said. Everything they did.”
“You can pull it out of me, Metatron,” said Cas, pointing to his own head.
“I don’t go in for tricks when I can help it,” she said, shaking her head and beginning to pace the room. “Also, I want them to hear it as well. In your own words. And take your time.” Odin leaned back against the wall, and Sam settled his lanky frame into an easy chair, but Metatron kept to her feet, pacing the room, back straight, arms wrapped behind her. Dean draped a protective arm over Cas’s shoulders and watched her. He knew angels were supposed to be soldiers, but with a lot of them he got more the impression of conniving bureaucrats or sleazy used car salesmen. Metatron, though, really came off like a general. He thought of how she might have interacted with some of the angels he had known, and cracked a small smile.
“What?” asked Cas.
“Oh, uh. I was just thinking. Would have been … interesting to see you around Zachariah, Metatron.”
“Zachariah is a complete asshole,” said Metatron, not slowing her pace.
“Was a complete asshole,” Dean corrected.
“We lose him in the apocalypse too?” she asked.
“Kind of. I killed him. Stabbed him in the face.” Dean made a very satisfying stabbity motion.
“No fucking shit?” asked Metatron. Cas nodded solemnly, and Odin once again roared with laughter. “I like you, Dean Winchester. Castiel. Go ahead.”
“I was drawn into several encounters with an angel who called herself Naomi. Uh, I didn’t know her.”
“Naomi?” Metatron shook her head. “No idea. But I didn’t know all of the lower ranks. Continue.”
“So she wasn’t a big wheel?” asked Dean.
Metatron shook her head. “Not while I was around heaven, but it’s been a while. Continue.”
“I noticed that she would become … agitated after our visits to Valhalla. Evidently, they could no longer perceive me when I was up here.”
“That makes sense,” said Odin. “Metatron has this place locked up tight.”
“Angels wouldn't be able to see you – or me – when you're up here,” Metatron told them.
“Asgard is angel-proof?” asked Dean.
“As far as I can make it so, yes,” said Metatron. “No unwanted feathery pests get past my warding sigils. But go ahead, Castiel. Did you encounter any other personnel besides Naomi?”
“She was the only one I ever saw. But the room had a one-way mirror. I could sense … a presence. On the other side. But it was vague.”
“Cas,” Dean asked. “Was it like the green room? The place Zach took me?”
Cas looked lost in thought for a moment. “No, nothing at all like that.”
“The … green room?” asked Metatron.
“Back when Michael was trying to convince me to serve as his vessel….”
“He was going to take a living being as a vessel?” Metatron marched over to the side of the bed to stand near – perhaps a bit too near – Dean. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you afterwards? Your mind would be turned to oatmeal! Oatmeal! In the best case scenario!”
Dean, who was accustomed to penetrating angel stares, merely stared back. “Well, he tried. I said no. But anyway, he brought me to this crazy room that looked like an Italian whorehouse.”
Sam smirked. “I didn’t find it that unappealing, Dean,” Cas protested.
Metatron nodded. “Ah, that figures. He took you inside his mind. Zachariah never had any taste.”
“What was your room like, Castiel?” asked Odin.
“It was just white. White walls. Very light. Like a human office. Very nondescript.”
“Oh brother,” said Metatron, her brow wrinkling.
“What?” asked Odin.
“Later. Continue, Castiel.”
“I was pulled up there on a number of occasions. Always against my will. And after I was returned, my memory of the place was somehow … blocked, until the next encounter.”
“That’s a lot of pull. Messing with a seraph like that,” said Metatron.
Cas was staring intently at the end of the bed. Dean, beside him, tried to think up the most creative and possibly bloody ways to murder Naomi. Cas spoke again, his voice shaky. “Naomi said that angels had rescued me from Purgatory. They sent an incursion of my brothers after me. And lost many lives.” The last was barely a whisper.
“WHAT?” Metatron had ceased her pacing and stood stock still in the middle of the floor. “They told you what?”
Castiel looked stricken. “What’s the matter?” asked Dean.
Metatron actually snorted. “Naomi is full of shit. Sending a company of angels to Purgatory? I would have sensed that! That’s cow manure. Oh, and how the bloody hell did you get yourself stranded in Purgatory, kid? You know damn well there’s Leviathan there!”
“It was my fault…” said Dean.
“No, it was my fault, Dean,” Cas told him. “It was my mess.”
“Metatron?” Sam ventured, as the archangel was looking awfully smite-y. “Maybe we should catch you up on some of this stuff … later?”
“Yeah, good idea,” she said. “I think I’m gonna need a drink. And another cigar. So, what were your orders?”
Cas frowned. “Nothing in particular. I was simply to report back about the Winchesters.”
“You think they were nosing around after those tablets, Mets?” asked Odin.
“That’d be my guess,” said Metatron.
“But who are they?” asked Sam, throwing up his hands. “You said you didn’t even know Naomi, right Cas?”
“The man behind the curtain?” asked Dean.
“It wasn't a curtain, Dean,” said Cas primly. “It was a one-way mirror.”
“Metaphor, Cas.”
“Oh!”
“I have an idea, gentlemen. And it’s not good news,” said Metatron.
“Who?” asked Odin.
“Someone with the raw power to drag his skinny ass out of Purgatory? And then bind up a seraph so he doesn’t know which way is up?” She shook her head. “Gotta be one of us old-timers.”
“There aren’t a lot of you left,” said Dean.
“No thanks to you,” she said, grinning at Dean. But then her expression grew more serious. “Based on the layout of the room: minimalist, cold. And the exercise of sheer power, I think it could only be one person.”
“And that’d be…” said Odin.
“My brother. The guy who’s been on my tail since I skipped town. Azrael.”
“Uhhhhh, the angel of death?” squeaked Sam. He hadn’t meant his voice to climb quite that high.
“Well. This is going to be fun!” said Odin, rubbing his hands together.
Metatron shot Odin a glare and then strode over to stand beside Castiel. “You,” she ordered, giving him a poke in the chest. “Eat something. You look like warmed-over shit. Odin?” she added, inclining her head and marching out of the room at double-time. Odin hurried after her. “We'll need to let Hel know. And that jackass, Hades....” Her voice drifted out as they hastened away.
Sam jumped up. “I’m gonna-“ he said, pointing to the doorway.
“Yeah. Go ahead,” Dean told him. “Follow that archangel.”
Sam disappeared out the door after Odin and Metatron.
“You okay, buddy?” Dean asked Cas. “You want something to eat?”
“I'm not hungry, Dean.”
“Not even for a cheeseburger? With bacon?”
Castiel raised an eyebrow. Dean slid off the bed and went to the door, where he talked with one of the guards. “On its way,” he announced as he walked back. “Now, we gotta talk about something else. If you're still up for it?”
Cas frowned, and Dean climbed back on the bed beside him. “Sam and I – we haven't had a chance to tell Odin yet, but we ran into an old friend of yours. Inias.”
“He's alive?” Cas sat up, looking so hopeful Dean nearly cried.
“Yeah. He's okay. But he's in hiding. I guess there's been some kind of … crackdown in Heaven?”
Cas looked pained. “What kind of crackdown?”
“There's some new shadowy douche bags who've taken over upper management. If Metatron is right, maybe it’s Azrael. Anyway, they're trying to root out angels who are still sympathetic to you.”
Cas sighed and slumped. “That should be easy enough. I can’t think of many angels who would be sympathetic.”
“Dude, I think you underestimate yourself. It’s not just one person, or even a handful, it’s evidently a whole movement. You changed things. Hey, Cas. You remember an angel named Samandriel?”
Cas smiled faintly. “Yes. He was one of the younger ones. How do you know him?”
Dean stretched out his legs, and Cas, under the covers, did the same. “He came to talk to me, after I got out of Purgatory. He was wondering where you were. He said there were a lot of people there who still remembered you. And thought you meant well. Hey! Hey! You all right? Should I get Metatron?” He leaned over to take a slumping Cas in his arms.
Cas looked around at him, his eyes full of tears. “I’m all right, Dean. I think… I think I need a moment.”
Dean hesitated. “Cas. It’s okay. I’ll…. I’ll watch over you.”
And that did it. Whether he wanted it or not, Dean now had an angel sobbing on his shoulder. Dean awkwardly reached over to rub Cas gently on the back. “Okay. It’s okay. Wow. Hey. We’re lucky this isn’t Doctor Who I guess.”
The waterworks subsided somewhat as Cas pulled back, eyes and nose dripping. “What?”
“Uh, it’s a TV show. With weeping angels? It’s a long story.”
Cas wiped his eyes on the hem of his T-shirt. “Perhaps.... Perhaps I will try to watch it. While I am recovering.”
There was a knock on the door, and Dean went to retrieve a tray of burgers. They ate and talked for a while, until Sam came back to the room, lugging his laptop. “Hey, I didn’t know there was food!”
“We could probably call out for some organic non-toxic fair trade rabbit chow for you,” said Dean as Sam jammed a cheeseburger into his mouth.
“I’m starving,” Sam muttered, collapsing into a chair and unfolding the laptop. “Valhalla has got unbelievable free wireless.” He looked up from surfing and chowing down. “You feeling better, Cas? You look better.”
“Do I?” asked Cas, looking himself up and down curiously.
“See?” said Dean. “Bacon cheeseburgers heal grace. It’s a known medical fact. So, what’s up with the God Squad?”
“Odin and Metatron, they’re gonna spread the word about the return of Azrael,” said Sam.
“For whatever good that will do,” muttered Dean, remembering Lucifer turning pagan gods to chunky soup with a snap of his fingers.
“Oh, crap!” said Sam, pointing to his laptop screen.
“What now?” sighed Dean.
“Check this out,” said Sam, rearranging the burger and the computer so he could stand up and haul the lot over to Cas’s bed. “So, these guys wearing crummy suits-”
“Oh no,” groaned Dean.
“....show up at a high school football game in the middle of halftime. They announce, 'The wages of sin is death.' And then an entire stadium full of people … is obliterated.”
Dean grabbed the laptop and, as Cas peered over his shoulder, clicked through the images. The devastation was unimaginable, like a small caliber nuke had gone off. Dean shook his head. “Shit. Shit. There's nothing left but a crater.”
“Azrael,” said Cas, his eyes going wide.
“Looks like, Cas,” said Sam.
“This is my doing, Sam.” Cas looked wretched. “I escaped them. This must be … a reaction. Of some kind.”
Dean shifted on the bed to face Cas. “Okay, Cas, stop that. Now. We don’t even know for sure it is the angels.”
Dean felt Cas’s eyes boring into him. “Dean. Who else would it be? You said you saw angels for yourself when you retrieved the ghost tablet!”
“We did, but…. Look. It could be anything. Maybe another of Crowley's tricks! Namtar says he's got Leviathan down there. God knows what else he's got up his oily Eurotrash sleeve.”
“How will we be able to tell?” asked Cas.
Dean squared his shoulders. “Sam and I will go down and nose around.”
Dean was taken aback by the vehemence of Cas's reaction. “No! It's too dangerous! I need to go with you.”
“Cas! We’ll be all right. Swear to god.” Dean crossed his heart. “Don't get your feathers ruffled. Look, we’ll get Odin to send somebody along to act as bodyguard, we’ll just keep a low profile.”
Cas glared, pavonine blue eyes blazing. “You? The Winchesters? A low profile?”
Sam laughed aloud. “Don’t be so damned skeptical!” pleaded Dean.
“This is bracing!” said Yamaraja, as his two yappy little dogs barked around his heels.
The Hindu Lord of Hell had somehow turned his skin from blue to more of a flesh color, and had exchanged his flowing saffron robes for a somewhat old-fashioned business suit. And his little dogs now appeared to only have one pair of eyes each, though they were still damned annoying.
They were standing in the middle of a shallowe crater, Sam, Dean, and Yamaraja, surveying the devastated area that until recently was a small town high school football stadium. Now, not even ants crawled along the cracked, dry ground.
“You know, it used to be my longstanding custom to spend one day a year walking among mortal men,” Yamaraja told them. “I’ve discarded the custom, I think, to my peril.”
“There’s nothing left alive here anyway,” said Sam. He kicked at the dry ground, and then squatted down. “Hey, does this look like salt?” he asked, sifting some clear crystals in his hand.
“I'm not volunteering to taste,” Dean grumbled.
“Seems biblical thought,” Sam mused, standing and wiping his hand on a pantleg. “Didn't they always stop and salt the earth after they smote some poor bastard?”
“This was all supposed to be the result of a gas leak?” asked Dean. “I mean, seriously?”
Sam shook his head. “Well, they’ve been doing some fracking nearby.”
“I’m sorry?” said Yamaraja, smiling in a bemused manner.
“WHAT?” asked Dean.
Sam looked pained. “Um, you know, hydrofracturinig. Basically they dig a well and use high pressure deep below the surface of the earth to release natural gas. But it causes a lot of problems.” He shrugged. “Environmental devastation. People have tap water that lights on fire, that kind of thing.”
“Flaming tap water? It actually sounds kinda cool,” mused Dean.
“Indeed. Why didn’t I think of this,” said Yamaraja.
Sam sighed at the sheer ecological ignorance of his companions. “Well, anyway, they’re speculating that a bunch of gas migrated to the surface and was ignited somehow.”
Dean looked skeptical. “This happened because the marching band crashed too many cymbals? That sounds a little far-fetched.”
“Well, looks like we’re not gonna get anything here anyway,” said Sam. “There’s nothing left.”
“Nothing visible to the human eye, perhaps,” smiled Yamaraja. He hunkered down and gave his little dogs a command in Hindi. They scampered off and … disappeared. That is, one moment they were visible, and then next, they were not.
“Uh, where did the weird ass doggies go?” asked Dean.
“I asked them to go between worlds, to see what might be there. Ah!” With the sound of high-pitched yapping, the dogs returned. One of them carried something in its mouth.
“A feather?” asked Dean as Yamaraja held it up. He reached out to touch it, but then drew his hand away. “Ouch!” There was a drop of blood on his fingers from where the feather had sliced it. “That is one nasty feather,” he commented, sucking on his finger.
“What the hell?” asked Sam. “Is that from what I think it's from?”
“Indeed. This feather I think, gentlemen, is not from any bird,” said Yamaraja, raising an eyebrow. “Now, it seems we have method and opportunity taken care of, but what of motive? How I love whodunnits!”
As it turned out, the local sheriff didn’t think much of whodunnits. He wasn’t actually the sheriff, as the real sheriff, as well as his deputy, had been at the big game, as had just about anyone else who mattered in the town.
“All I know is what you know,” he sighed. Dean felt sorry for him. They guy didn’t look like he was more than twenty-five. “The kids were tweeting or twittering or whatever it is they do, and one of the local TV stations had a feed. Then the Mormon missionaries or whatever the hell they were showed up at halftime, and boom!”
“You don’t mind if we ask around?” said Dean.
“You can ask, Agent Hetfield, but I don’t think you’re gonna get many answers.”
“Are they close-mouthed with strangers?” asked Sam.
“No, Agent Hammett, you see, the lawyers beat you here. Everybody who’s going for the class action, they told ‘em to keep their mouths shut. Uh, are those your dogs?”
“Agent Ulrich couldn’t get a, uh, pet sitter on such short notice,” said Dean, picking up one of Yama’s dogs, which was trailing a Sun Devils banner.
“The home team is the Sun Devils?” asked Sam, grabbing the somewhat shredded, drool-soaked banner.
“Oh, no! That was the away team. We’re the Demons,” the sheriff told them, pointing to another banner up on the wall. “It’s an annual thing, the game. It was an annual thing. We called it the yearly Hell Match. As a joke, of course.”
Dean looked questioningly at Sam. “Thanks, sheriff. I think we’re done here for now,” Sam told the guy.
“What’s the deal, Sammy?” Dean asked as they and the dogs emerged from the sheriff’s offices.
“Look around the town. All you see are banners for Demons, or Demons versus Devils. I mean, I know that’s taking things pretty literally, but we’re talking a bunch of angels here.”
Dean headed into Cas's room in Valhalla, only to see the space beside him on the bed was already occupied … by Metatron.
Both angels were gazing with intense concentration at a television set someone had set up in the room.
“She is in love with Dr. Sexy, but he has spurned her for another,” Cas was explaining.
“So why didn't she smite him if he dishonored her?” asked an incredulous Metatron.
“Humans don't usually smite each other a whole lot,” grinned Dean.
“Hello, Dean! I was trying to help Metatron get caught up on the current season of Dr. Sexy MD,” Cas told Dean.
“I find this show perplexing,” said the archangel. “Humans are entertained by lying, deception and heartache?”
“You'd be surprised,” laughed Dean. “But you said your vessel was an actress. Have you seen any of her movies?”
Metatron nodded. “I tried watching one. It was also very curious. They had painted her skin brown, and she wore fruit as a headdress and did a dance and sang a song in very poorly enunciated Spanish.”
“She was probably gonna compete with whatsername, Carmen Miranda?”
Both Cas and Metatron looked puzzled. “Who?”
Dean chuckled. “She, uh, danced. And wore fruit on her head. Look, it actually didn't make a lot of sense. Even to us.”
Metatron looked thoughtful and hopped up off the bed. “So, this is your intended?” she asked Cas, indicating Dean.
Cas blushed. “Uh. No. I mean, yes.”
But Metatron had already grabbed Dean by the collar and yanked him down to her eye level where, almost nose to nose, she stared into his eyes.
“Uh, Metatron. A little … uncomfortable,” Dean sputtered. She had an iron grip. And a fairly piercing stare.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, she released his collar, and Dean stumbled back a pace. She turned to Cas. “A good soul, this one. Full of self-doubt, but so is any man worth his salt. And a noble heart,” she added, giving Dean’s chest a poke.
“Ow,” said Dean.
“That’s something you can’t fake. Well, I will leave you two. I will be back to watch some more Dr. Sexy MD in the future, however.”
“Yeah. I'll … see you later,” said Cas, watching her go. “Mets.” His lips twitched into a smile.
Dean stepped over and made sure the door was shut, and then hopped on the bed, grabbed Cas by the shoulders and pulled him into a long kiss.
“Damn, I missed this,” sighed Dean, who squirmed into the same place Metatron had been sitting, albeit a lot closer to Cas. “Hey, we brought up some of your books.” He pointed vaguely to the nightstand and kissed Cas again.
“Yes, thank you, Dean.” Cas reached over Dean to pick up The Psychopathy Checklist.
“You still doing your research?” asked Dean, who seemed a bit miffed to be ignored over a book.
Cas's eyes darted up at Dean. “Crowley called me a monster. He said we were both monsters.”
“Oh, hey. You know that's not true,” Dean told him.
“He was correct. In a way. However, I have found some of the worst monsters are actually human.”
“Can't disagree with you there. Oh, hey, nice flowers!” said Dean, who had just noticed a huge bouquet of flowers set in a vase. Dean hopped off the bed and approached the dresser where they were sitting. He squinted at the card. “From Bibi, huh?”
Cas pointed an uncertain finger at the flowers. He seemed suddenly contrite. “I am unfamiliar with human customs, Dean. I hope I have not misunderstood Bibi's intentions towards me?”
Dean laughed, realizing Cas’s conclusions. “It's cool, Cas. People get flowers for other people when they're sick. It's what you do. For friends.”
“Oh. I am not accustomed to having … friends,” said Cas.
Dean smiled sadly. “Well, like it or not, you do now.” He peered at Cas. “Hey, speaking of friends, there's something I gotta ask about your new bestie, Metatron.”
“What would you like to know, Dean?”
“She seems like a tough chick.”
“She was one of the most glorious of all the warriors of God!” said Cas proudly, his eyes shining.
Dean leaned back against the big, heavy antique dresser and crossed his arms. “Well, yeah. And she doesn't seem like she'd be afraid of much. So, why has she been up here hiding out from Azrael?”
“Metatron would never hide from a foe, Dean,” said Cas, who radiated great offense.
“Well then, why doesn't she just go kick his ass?”
Cas looked stricken. “Dean, don't you realize.... That would be … very bad.” It came out barely above a whisper.
“Bad how?”
Cas took a breath. “You recall the fight between Michael and Lucifer? Two archangels? The harm to humanity … could be immense.”
“I thought Mike versus Lucy was the heavyweight championship?”
Cas shook his head. “As I told you Dean, I am a monster. And so is Metatron. You regard us with a minimum of reverence, which is something I find appealing about you. But remember what we are. I am not human, Dean. Nor will I ever be. I was created as a soldier of the Lord.”
Dean drew closer. He put a hand on his friend’s face. “But you’re more than that, Cas. We know that.”
“Perhaps you are right. But both of these archangels, Metatron and Azrael, are older than Michael and Lucifer. And potentially a lot more powerful. Remember, this was when my Father was still attempting to create something stronger than the Leviathan. These beings do not do anything halfway. If Metatron were to fight Azrael, the collateral damage … could be devastating.”
“You mean like half of humanity devastating?”
“I mean the end of life on earth,” said Cas. “That is why she is hidden up here, and why she has warded Valhalla extensive against angel spying. It's why Naomi couldn't see me, when I traveled up here with you.”
“The end of life on earth, huh?” Dean didn't have long to ponder this because just then, there was a knock at the door. It burst open, and a very small figure charged across the room and started to climb onto the bed.
“Hey, guys, hope we're here at a good time?” said Namtar just as little Ninazu used his wings to propel himself the rest of the way onto the bed. He wriggled in beside Cas and then opened his coloring book.
“No, it's all right,” grinned Dean.
“The kid wouldn't stop jabbering about Castiel, so I thought I'd bring him by.”
“Yeah, he's a real chatterbox,” said Dean, watching as Ninazu silently colored in his Transformers book alongside Cas.
Namtar leaned over to whisper to Dean. “I told him Cas had a broken wing. I hope that was okay? I didn't really know how to explain about his grace being messed up.”
“I’m sure it’s okay.”
“Anyways, we brought this.” He held up boxed sets of Doctor Who DVDs. “Sometimes they’re a little scary for my bro, but I think he’ll be all right if we all watch them together?”
“I hope we're not coming at a bad time?” said Bibi, who had also just shown up in the doorway along with Ruth.
“I think the more the merrier,” laughed Dean as Ruth, who was back to wearing her usual black outfit with combat boots, stopped to peck him on the cheek and then plopped herself down on the bed next to Ninazu, who proudly showed off his coloring book.
“Bibi?” said Cas.
“So sorry it's taken me this long to get up here, mate,” said Bibi, reaching out to shake his hand. “My life's gone ever so slightly pear-shaped.”
“I appreciated the flowers, Bibi,” said Cas, gesturing over to the bouquet. Cas glanced at Dean. “That was a … friendly gesture.”
“You like? These are bamboo orchids. From my homeland. Very rare up here: they only bloom in summer.”
“We were going to watch Doctor Who with Cas,” Namtar announced.
“Oi!” said Bibi, grabbing the DVDs. “Look at this Ruthie! I told you I'd get you hooked on this. It's brilliant.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “This is your British TV, right? But the special effects are so bad!”
“It's part of the charm, love.”
Dean held out a hand for the DVDs. “Do you have Blink in here? Cas needs to see that one.”
“Oh, yeah. Ruthie, you'll like Martha. She's aces.”
“Well well! Do we need more chairs in here?” called Odin from the doorway.
“We’re gonna watch Doctor Who, Uncle Odin,” said Namtar.
“This is quite a mob. Maybe we should take this down the hall then,” said Odin, peering at the video boxes.
“Hey, stand down, soldier! I didn’t give you permission to get out of bed!” Metatron yelled at Castiel, who was taking this chance to get up on his feet and stretch his vessel.
In the end, after some confusion and a little shouting, everyone, including Sam, who had been down the hall soaking in the free wifi like the terrible geek he was, managed to decamp to a nice cosy room with a roaring fire going in the fireplace and a large flat screen TV. Cas was still wearing Dean’s borrowed pajamas, but had wrapped himself up in his trench coat, and everyone else had arranged themselves to grant him and Dean a place on the small couch right in the center, where Cas quite contentedly laid his head on Dean’s shoulder. It made Dean nervous at first, but he soon got caught up in the trials and tribulations that were the lot of an eccentric timelord.
At some point, when things had gone a little scary, Ninazu had scrambled up next to Dean and Cas, and then when it got even more scary, he had somehow wriggled in, cat-like, between the two of them. Some time later, he had snuggled himself inside of Cas’s coat, and fallen fast asleep there.
“Aw, looks like someone’s had enough,” said Ruth.
Sam, who had been stretched out on the floor near the hearth, leaning against one of Odin’s monstrous wolves, had been dozing off himself. He shook himself awake.
“We better get you home, eh, little guy?” said Namtar, picking up his brother. He nodded to Odin, and then disappeared.
“Yeah, us too. We still gotta plan the engagement party,” said Ruth. She stood and extended a hand to help Bibi up. “Oh, quit making a face. It’s mostly your relatives.”
“You damn well better invite me too,” said Odin. Ruth grinned and blew a kiss, and Bibi shook his head, and then they too were gone.
“I don’t understand,” said Metatron. “What are the Doctor’s academic qualifications?”
“I believe the appellation is more like a name,” said Cas cautiously. “Like … a joke?”
Metatron frowned at him for a moment, and then began speaking in rapid Enochian. Cas furrowed his brow, and then the conversation zinged back and forth a few rounds.
“Oh,” said Metatron, chuckling. “I think it’s funnier in Enochian.”
“Everything is funnier in Enochian,” Cas said sadly.
“Can I just spend the night down here?” asked Sam, who still had not picked himself up off the floor. Wolves made excellent pillows he found.
“You boys wanna spend the night?” asked Odin.
“We’re not gonna impose because my brother’s a lazy bitch,” grumbled Dean.
“It’s really no problem! We have plenty of room.”
“You look … tired, Dean,” said Cas, pulling his trench coat tighter around his shoulders.
“You want us to stay?” Dean asked him.
“In separate rooms!” announced Metatron, who was quite suddenly standing between them.
“Mets!” said Odin. “Don't meddle!”
“He’s not well enough for conjugal visits!” declared Metatron as Cas blushed beet red.
“I’ll put Dean in the room next door,” said Odin.
“That will be satisfactory.” Metatron nodded and left the room.
“It’s got a connecting balcony,” Odin whispered to Dean.
Dean found himself sneaking along the balcony a little while later, hoping he wouldn’t get smited. Or smitten? Or whatever the hell it was archangels did to people who messed with recovering soldiers.
“I missed this,” he said, sliding into bed next to Cas, who was awake, of course, reading a book.
“I missed watching over you while you sleep.” Cas ran a long finger down the side of his face. He set his book aside.
“That sounds a little weird, but I’ll take it.”
“Dean, my wings: would you take a look at them?”
“Your wings? Oh, you mean your back.”
Cas was already pulling his T-shirt over his head.
“Look,” said Dean, “that’s the least of our worries right now. Oh! Hey, do you have a light?”
Cas twitched a finger, and the overhead light snapped on.
Dean stared at the tattoo on Cas’s back. “Wow. I didn’t think this could look any more badass.” The wing designs had become mottled with red and yellow and orange. They now appeared to be aflame. “Your wings are … on fire. It’s amazing.”
“I think it pulled me back. When I was with Naomi. I think you pulled me back.”
“I can’t take-“ Dean began, but Cas had stopped him with a kiss.
“You saved me,” Cas muttered to him.
“Hey. Don't. You saved yourself.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you. After you…. I … I really don’t know.”
Dean found he had really had enough of weeping angels for the day. “Okay, okay. We’re not gonna get morbid here. Cas. Remember? Like we said, after Purgatory, no more bullshit. Hell, you’re the one who seems to have picked up a talent for dying recently!” He held Cas’s face in his hands. “We’re together. Right now. Because Odin let me sneak in and hopefully we’re not gonna get interrupted by an overprotective archangel.”
“We’re here now,” Cas repeated, looking at Dean as if he meant to inscribe him in his memory.
“Yeah. I’m here now, in a really big bed, with a half-naked angel.” Dean grinned. And then tried to lose himself in the moment.
