Seven Hells, Part 14 of 16
Feb. 3rd, 2013 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 14 of 16
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 gallivant 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 freak over that, have you considered biofeedback.
Word Count: 100,000 (individual chapters are around 5,000)
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas, along with an 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, because isn't there always?
Notes: This is an AU storyline, which fundamentally diverges from whatever the heck they think they're doing on the show.
“Have I told you recently how much I hate you?” asked Crowley.
“Five minutes ago, I think,” Cas told him.
Meg and Inias had been bustling around, asking for (or in one party's case, demanding) various ingredients from Crowley's hellish hoard while Crowley, Cas and Ninazu waited in Crowley’s demonic equivalent of a conference room. Which, to be honest, greatly resembled an earthly conference room, but for the detail that the terrible, acid-tinged coffee was perpetually cold. This was, after all, hell, and there were ways things were done.
“What did you do to me?” demanded Crowley, sipping his tepid coffee and poking miserably at the magical tablet-locating disc situated in the middle of the table.
Cas indicated Ninazu, who was contentedly sitting in his lap applying crayons to an Adventure Time coloring book Ruth had bought him. Ninazu liked Jake the Dog. “I did nothing,” Cas explained. “The boy has a very finely developed healing power. Much less crude than the one we angels employ.”
“You healed me? Why do I feel like shit warmed over?” Crowley put two fingers to the disc and gave it a spin, withdrawing his hand quickly when this produced not only a rotation but a sudden shower of colorful sparks.
Cas halted the incipient conflagration with a flick of his fingers. “An essential characteristic of sociopathy is the non-development of a suite of autonomic nervous system reactions, what we would call a conscience. Ninazu has repaired your faulty wiring, so now, for the first time in your overly long life, you will experience the consequences of your actions. The effect should feel dramatic at first.”
“Dramatic! You imbecile.” Crowley cradled his head in his hands. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Did that upset you? Being called an imbecile?”
Cas looked Crowley up and down. “Coming from you? Not overly.”
“I hate you.”
“Yes, you've told me that.”
“And I hate the kid too.” As if unbidden, Crowley’s hand slapped over his mouth. “Is that going to cause long-term consequences to his emotional health?”
“Crowley,” huffed Meg, stumbling into the room with Inias hefting a basket of some sort of pungent-smelling herb, “you gonna get off your fat ass and help?”
“That's a hurtful comment! Don't you know that your offhand remarks can have consequences?” The demon king nevertheless hopped off his chair and went trailing after Inias. Meg continued to hover by the doorway, a sort of sense of expectation around her.
“Meg,” said Cas, who has just pulled out his buzzing cell phone. Cell service in hell was a little spotty. “I thought you weren't gonna hang around?”
“I'm just helping Inias. You angel guys are pretty hapless.” She rolled her eyes, “Pretty, but hapless.”
“That we are,” said Cas, though he didn’t indicate which part of her statement he agreed with. He sent a text message and glanced down at Ninazu. “We gotta go.”
Meg pursed her lips, her posture all studied casualness. “Oh. Uh. You gonna be back?”
The edge of Cas's mouth twitched up as he let his head droop slightly to the side. “Would it disappoint you if I didn't return?”
“No.”
Cas gave her an arched eyebrow. “I'll be back here as soon as I can. Come on, Ninazu. Yes, that's a great drawing!” he told the boy.
Meg watched them disappear to the sound of wingbeats. “Okay. Maybe I’d be a little disappointed,” she huffed, and then departed.
“What happened?” asked Cas as he and Benny half-ran half-walked down the corridors of Valhalla.
“I got no idea, chief. They were serving him lunch, and somebody tried to feed him a salad, and he started asking where Sam was, and then he just seemed to wake the hell up. Like his marbles suddenly unjiggled themselves.”
Cas smiled. “Healthy food? That would do it.”
They turned a corner and entered Dean’s room but suddenly halted as they came face to face with the man himself.
“Cas.”
“Dean!” Cas strode forward to stand before his friend. His eager smile vanished when he picked up on Dean's terrible mood. “Dean, I can explain-”
“What … did you do to me?” rumbled Dean. It came out as a choked whisper. He was seething.
“Yeah, I'm getting that a lot today,” Cas sighed, almost to himself. He felt his heart clutch. Explaining.... Well, logic didn't work when Dean was like this. “Dean, I don't know how much you remember-”
The hunter's eyes blazed, his teeth gritted. “I remember enough. I remember I told you I don't wanna do this.” It all came out as a snarl.
Cas seized Dean's shoulders. “Dean. Just listen to me-”
“No, you listen to me!” yelled Dean. He gave Cas a push back, which sent the angel flying across the room. Cas crashed into the wall, leaving a huge dent in the plaster. Dean stared in horror.
“Shit,” said Benny, grabbing the hunter by the shoulder. “Dean, settle down, man.”
“Holy fuck,” said Dean, who looked sobered. He broke away from Benny’s grip and ran across the room. “Cas! I-”
But Castiel was on him, gripping him more tightly this time. “No. You will listen to me. You were dying! And the angels took your brother. Naomi has Sam! I had to make a decision, and I probably screwed it up, like I inevitably do for anything outside of picking my lunch. But for now you need to focus and help me find Sam! God damn it!” he added as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He tore himself away from Dean to answer it. “Meg! What-?”
“Meg?” asked Dean as Cas held up an impatient hand to him.
“Yeah, she’s a pistol,” laughed Benny.
Cas hung up the phone, shaking his head. “I need to go to hell. Now. This is urgent.” He glared at Dean. “Dean. Are you coming with me?”
Dean’s face flickered through about half a dozen different emotions. “To hell?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’m going. But I’m still pissed.” Cas nodded an put two fingers to Dean’s head.
Benny found himself left all alone in the room. “You’re fucking welcome, Cas,” he yelled at no one in particular.
“What happened?” demanded Cas as they stormed down a corridor in one of the lowest levels of hell. He put a hand on his head. “I can feel it now. I can sense his pain.”
“Crowley's inbred demon stooges were looking for wormwood and found him locked in a storage room down on the seventh level,” said Meg.
“And someone remind me what the hell she’s doing here?” barked Dean.
“She’s with me,” sighed Inias.
“Oh you wish,” snorted Meg, as angel and demon glared at each other.
“And she claims to know how the tablet-locating artifact works,” Cas told Dean.
Meg twisted her features in an expression somewhat resembling hurt. “What do you mean, Cas. I worked it before! I’m the one who found the Ghost Tablet.”
“Oh, so that’s how they did that,” said Dean.
All four of them stopped before a heavy door. “This was heavily warded against angels,” Inias explained, pointing to the scratched out sigils painted by the door. “I couldn’t see into it until we actually opened it up.”
Inias unlocked the door, and Cas let out a gasp as they peered into the darkened room. He ran to the badly injured angel’s side. “Samandriel!”
“We didn’t want to move him,” Inias whispered as he followed Cas.
Cas touched Samandriel’s forehead. “It’s angel blade wounds. I can’t heal him.”
“Alfie?” asked Dean, who also moved forward, cringing at the sight as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The Wiener Hut kid was barely recognizable: a bloody mess.
“Wait, you know him?” asked Cas.
“We talked about this, Cas. We met him at the auction, and he asked how you were. He told us the angels were looking for you.”
Cas’s eyes blazed. “Looking for me to use me.”
“That’s not true, Castiel,” said Inias. “Some of us have been seeking your leadership.”
Meg grinned. “They want someone to lead ‘em over the cliff, and you’re chief lemming.”
“That is just a folk legend,” Cas told her crisply as he examined Samandriel’s wounds.
“What? You mean Walt Disney lied to me? My black heart is broken.”
Inias turned on Meg, his teeth gritted. “Meg, why don’t you go work on preparing the artifact? Because otherwise, I think I am going to fucking smite your annoying bitch ass.”
“Okay, okay, don’t go all flaming sword on me, baby,” grumbled a somewhat surprised Meg as she slouched off.
“You can do many things, but you do not insult Mr. Disney’s memory!” Inias raved after her.
Just then, Samandriel emitted a very small moan.
“Samandriel. Can you talk?” asked Cas.
“Castiel,” whispered Samandriel. He reached out to touch Cas’s face. “Is it really you?”
“It’s me.”
“I’m so glad … I lived this long.”
“Alfie, you’re gonna be fine, dude,” Dean assured him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”
“Alfie?” asked Cas. Dean pointed to the nametag, still visible on the blood-stained Wiener Hut uniform. “Oh.”
“Can’t we get him to Ninazu so he can do his healing thing?” Dean asked.
“These wounds were made with an angel blade, Dean,” said Cas, who quietly shook his head.
“They have injured his grace,” whispered Inias.
Cas nodded and murmured sadly, “It would be beyond Ninazu’s abilities.” Cas turned back towards Samandriel, placing a hand on his face. “Samandriel. Can you tell us what happened?”
“They asked me to find you.”
“Who is 'they?'” asked Cas.
“Naomi. She said someone … high up wanted to find you.”
“Who?” asked Dean. “Who wanted to find Cas?”
“I never asked. I followed my orders. When I found Dean … I told them … Purgatory.”
“And then what?” asked Cas.
“Crowley took me! I don’t know how he managed to elude the angels. And…. Something is wrong with my powers. I couldn’t get free. I failed you….”
Cas's voice was quiet but strong. “Samandriel. Look at me. You did not fail me. It was Naomi.”
Samandriel was silent for a moment. “What?”
“Naomi and whoever she’s working for. They did it to me. They put some kind of bond into my grace.” Cas held a hand to his chest. “They did the same to you.”
“They don’t want free will up there, Samandriel,” Inias told him. “They want to prevent us from uniting behind Castiel! And gaining our freedom!” Cas desperately tried to shush Inias, who ignored him.
Samandriel reached out a trembling hand and Cas grasped it. “I’m so grateful. For everything.”
“Samandriel-“ Cas lowered his eyes and gulped as the angel slipped away once again into unconsciousness.
The overhead lights suddenly fizzled and died. There was the sharp report of heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor, and the sound of a few surprised cries, and then the door blasted open, slamming against the wall with a crack that made everybody jump.
“Metatron,” whispered Cas as the archangel appeared at the threshold. There was a weird bluish glow around her.
Inias jumped away from Samandriel and backpedaled wildly. “Metatron?” The hairs on Dean’s arms were standing on end: once again, her presence seemed too large for the confined space.
Metatron stomped into the room and stood next to the unconscious Samandriel, resting a hand on his forehead. “I heard my brother crying out in pain.” She turned to Cas. “Who. Did. This?”
“Metatron,” said Cas, holding up a hand. “Wait.”
“Who did this, Castiel? Who did this to our brother?”
“The demons tortured him, but we think-“
“What the bloody blazes is going on?” hollered Crowley, who had chosen a very bad time to happen by. “Oh shit, archangel!” he cried just as Metatron seized him by the collar. Although she was some inches shorter than he, she lifted the demon king from his feet as if he was nothing but a child's toy.
“It’s smiting time,” smiled Dean as Inias cowered next to him.
“You will die for this, demon,” said Metatron as the room began to vibrate with her wrath. The archangel radiated righteous fury.
“Yeah, I got that,” rasped Crowley.
“Metatron,” shouted Cas. “Stop it. Now!”
“Did Castiel just … yell at Metatron?” Inias whispered to Dean.
“He’s one brave little motherfucker,” said Dean, who was now grinning from ear to ear.
Cas was still standing nose to nose with Metatron, crowding her space. “The angels gave him over to the demon, Metatron. It was the angels.”
“What?” Metatron dropped Crowley, who fell on his ass, crying out in pain.
“That’s gonna leave a bruise. All rightie, if you don’t need me any further.” On his hands and knees, Crowley began to slither away.
“Do not move!” Metatron snapped, and Crowley froze.
“Samandriel is loyal to me,” said Cas, sounding as if he himself could not believe it. “After he helped lead the angels to me in Purgatory, they handed him over to Crowley. They must have bound him, the same way they bound me. He said he was unable to escape.”
Metatron flicked her eyes to Crowley, and then stared, as if noticing him for the first time. “What have you done to this demon?”
Cas smiled, and puffed with pride. “We have grown him a conscience.” Metatron nodded her approval.
Just then, Odin showed up, looking frantic. “Mets! What the hell are you doing off the reservation? He can sense you now!”
“Azrael? Let him come,” grumbled Metatron.
“Azrael?” Inias asked Dean.
“Shit just got real, dude,” Dean told the angel.
“Great Neil Diamond's bones, now you’re consorting with angels and pagans, Winchester?” piped up Crowley, who was still sitting on the floor. He stared at Dean. “And what the bloody blazes happened to you?”
Dean reached down and grasped Crowley by the collar, hauling him up off his feet. “Got an upgrade,” he muttered.
“Confine this demon here. In this room,” ordered Metatron. Inias had picked up Samandriel and now cradled him in his arms. Dean obligingly tossed Crowley over more or less in the direction of the bloodstained chair where Samandriel had been lying.
“Ow, my ribs,” said Crowley. “This is not a red letter day.”
“We can bring the boy up to Valhalla,” said Odin. “We can't heal these wounds, but maybe, if we let him rest....”
“Time and patience worked for me,” said Cas. “At least he will be out of reach of the angels.” And then Inias, Metatron, Odin, and Samandriel vanished to a beat of wings.
“You’re not going to just leave me in here, are you?” asked Crowley. “I could be of help.”
“Let us cool off first,” said Cas as he stormed out of the room.
“Should only take a few centuries,” said Dean, slamming and locking the door behind him. He looked over at Cas. “I’m still mad at you, by the way.”
“Noted,” sighed Cas, pushing hair out of his eyes in a very human-like gesture.
Dean suddenly slammed Cas against up against the wall. “I am also really, really hot. Sassing a fucking archangel? Damn.”
“Um, yes, Dean,” said a very surprised Cas, as Dean leaned in to kiss him passionately. He relaxed and kissed back and let out a small moan, too completely surprised and confused by this sudden turnaround to do much of anything else.
“I think we need to have some angry sex,” Dean muttered as he chewed on Cas’s lower lip.
“Some … what? I’m not familiar-”
“Read my fucking mind.”
“… Oh!”
Sam was driving along a back country road one dark (dream) night when he came upon it.
“Creepy mansion of creepy. Okay.” Sam noticed there was light in the windows. Having nothing better to do, he parked the Impala and walked up to the front door. Hey, maybe they would have hot chocolate. Or Scotch. Or something. Truth be told (and he would never tell Dean, once he had returned) he was getting a little tired of beer, which seemed to be the only thing the dream Impala’s trunk stocked, besides the perpetually half-filled water bottles.
To Sam’s utter lack of surprise, a uniformed servant opened the door and beckoned him inside. It looked like Sam had stepped back in time, perhaps to the nineteenth century, he thought. The unspeaking servant, whose face was clouded in shadows, led him to a well-furnished interior room. And there, sitting on one of the couches, was….
What the fuck, thought Sam.
The figure rose. He was a slim man, and like most men, not as tall as Sam. He too was dressed in period costume. He had wavy brown shoulder-length hair, pale skin, and his eyes were hidden behind smoked glasses.
“Sam Winchester,” he said, extending a hand. “I suppose you know who I am?”
“Azrael?” guessed Sam. The man’s handshake was firm.
The archangel nodded. He indicated that Sam should take a seat. “And I suppose then that you will also guess that I have allowed you to create my appearance here.”
“This is still my dream?” asked Sam.
“Correct,” said Azrael, who sat down opposite. He regarded Sam for a moment, and then asked, “May I inquire then whose countenance you have taken for me? I am not familiar with this character.”
“Uh, dude, you’re Dracula,” said Sam.
“Oh, really?” asked Azrael, regarding his own hand. “Lugosi’s portrayal perhaps?”
“Uh, no, Gary Oldman actually. From the Coppola version.”
Azrael tilted his head, looking somewhat like Cas when he was bemused. “You are a fan of horror films, Sam?”
“Not really, but there was this girl….” He smiled fondly, remembering his first junior high romance, which had been attenuated, as were so many things in his life, when his father once again uprooted the family. She had been cute as a button, lots of curly chestnut hair and bright blue eyes, and Sam had ended up suffering through a vampire movie for the reward of draping an arm over her pretty shoulders when, after insisting that she was a horror movie fan, she cringed at every creak and whine on the screen.
“Would you like something to drink?” asked Azrael. Sam noticed that a silent servant had appeared.
“Uh. Hot chocolate?” asked Sam. Much as he would have liked a drink, Sam didn’t think it would be wise to get toasted in the presence of an unpredictable archangel. Even though this dude appeared awfully mellow so far, Sam had had far too much experience with the quirks of heaven’s high born. And whipped cream was never bad. And maybe little sprinkles? This looked like a classy sort of joint. Sam sat back on the plush couch.
Azrael nodded and the servant disappeared. Literally. Exactly like they didn’t do in horror movies. So Azrael was letting Sam take the lead in this universe, but it looked like his understanding wasn’t complete. That was something to note and file away. “So, not that I don’t wanna seem ungrateful for the hospitality and all…” Sam began.
“You would like to know what this is all about,” said Azrael, pressing his fingertips together. “I am simply attempting to take back that which is mine.”
“Oh. Um. You mean the tablets?”
“Death.”
Sam’s eyes widened. Well, that was a twist. “Uh. Come again?”
“Our Father was victorious over Death, and I am the manifestation of that victory.”
Sam frowned, remembering back only a few weeks ago when Cas had made a snarky remark about this situation. “And, what does Death make of all of this?”
The room rippled. It was just a little bit, but Azrael was obviously displeased. “That entity is obviously in defiance of God’s plan.”
Sam stopped to consider his options. When a crazed super-being started spelling out their plans for world domination, he thought, the general rule was to let them continue with the monologue. Sam decided some gentle prodding was in order. “No offense, but didn’t your dad sort of skip out a couple of apocalypses ago?”
“That does not give license to defy Him.”
The servant appeared again, handing Sam a somewhat anachronistic Styrofoam cup. Sam squinted at the brown liquid within. Contrary to his expectations, it was quite obviously powdered instant cocoa, with those little dehydrated marshmallows.
“Is the beverage not to your standards, Sam?” asked Azrael.
Sam realized with some discomfort that he must have let his disappointment show. “Oh, uh, no. Not quite what I was expecting, but this is fine.” He took a sip of the tepid, watery liquid and tried not to cringe.
“It is lacking?”
“It’s fine.”
Azrael was suddenly holding the servant by the collar. “Would you like me to smite him, Sam?” The servant looked pleadingly at Sam, obviously terrified. So they were real people. Or real angels perhaps?
“Nah, I’m good,” said Sam, waving his hand casually and continuing sipping at the cocoa. As Azrael released the terrified servant, Sam’s eyes drifted about the room looking for a distraction that didn’t involve smiting. “Oh, hey,” he said, eyeing an antique-looking chess set spread out on a table. “Do you play?”
Cas lay across the bed, regarding the blankets and clothing scattered around the room. He contemplated the phenomenon of “angry sex” with his now pagan god lover, and idly wondered if his vessel would ever manage to walk again.
Dean emerged, humming, from the bathroom, toweling at his dripping wet hair. “So Meg claims she can hunt down the angel tablet?”
“They can locate a tablet. There is no telling, however, which one.”
“Always read the fine print,” grumbled Dean, who sat down next to Cas and then playfully slapped his bare ass.
“Hey,” said Cas.
“Does that actually hurt now?”
“Yes!” said Cas, rubbing his injured body part.
“I’m still angry,” Dean noted, leaning over to give Cas a kiss.
“Noted.”
“Hey, you know how you zapped us back here?” Dean was cheerfully pulling on his jeans, his former anger and passion seemingly curtailed by his recent exertions.
“Well,” said Cas, rolling over and searching for his own clothing, “I was unwilling to consummate in Crowley’s headquarters, yes.”
“Can I do that now?”
Cas had picked up his shirt and was contemplating the damage. “I really don’t know.” The badly torn garment looked more like a rag than an article of clothing.
Dean chuckled at his handiwork. “I might have gotten a little impatient there. You can fix that, right?”
“I don’t know that I’d want to,” said Cas, tossing the erstwhile shirt aside and continuing to scrounge for his pants.
“So, while I was out, you managed to convince Crowley I was dead?” asked Dean as he pulled on a T shirt.
“It was Namtar who did the convincing, but yes,” Cas admitted. “I think that was the element that led him to agree to a meeting. And then Ninazu healed him.”
“That was a pretty sneaky plan. I mean, considering I was out of action. And I’m your best sneaker.”
“You are sneaky, Dean,” said Cas, pleased to find that his boxer shorts, which had somehow gotten flung over a lampshade, were more or less intact.
“That’s what you love about me!”
“I find you very appealing, Dean.”
“No.” Dean grabbed Cas, who was still half-naked, by the waist and sat down on the bed, holding Cas between his legs. He looked up at Cas, his eyes searching. “You don’t find me appealing. You love me.”
Cas looked down at Dean for a moment. The hunter quite suddenly appeared very young. Cas was still disoriented and vastly confused over just about everything.
Except one thing.
“Yes. I love you Dean.”
Dean’s smile could have fired the sun. “Good. So, the tablet?” Dean let Cas go, giving his rear another stinging slap.
Cas winced. “Yes?”
“What do we do if Meg turns up the wrong tablet?”
Cas rubbed his posterior and held up his ruined pants, a wry look on his face. “What we always do.”
“Bluff like crazy?” asked Dean. “I like it!" Dean frowned. The sound of classical music was coming from nearby.
“Rachmaninov,” said Cas. “Sonata for cello and piano.”
“Cello?” said Dean, who, thought still barefoot, rushed out of the door. He ended up in a large room down the hall, where Bibi was playing a grand piano while Kevin, a picture of fierce concentration, accompanied on cello. They were both giving the composition their full attention, skillfully picking through the intricacies. Ninazu was sitting on the floor, silently coloring in his book.
Odin, who was sitting on a couch nearby, clapped enthusiastically at the end, and then said, “Dean! It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine, thanks,” said Dean, who nodded to Kevin and Bibi.
“You know,” said Kevin, “I used to hate practicing this thing.”
“I promise I won’t tell your mom you said that,” laughed Odin.
“I did too, mate,” admitted Bibi. “But women? Ooo, they love it.” He winked and played a run of something more contemporary. He started to sing, “You are my fire, my one desire….”
“Bibi! Dude!” shouted Dean. Bibi ceased playing and grinned mischievously over at Dean. “Since you are my friend, I am going to pretend for your sake that I never heard that!”
Bibi laughed and began to play Rhapsody in Blue instead. Kevin stretched his fingers.
“Kevin,” said Dean, who went over to the boy and grabbed at his wrist. “What the hell?” Kevin’s hand was intact.
“They found his finger when they were digging through Crowley’s hoard,” said Cas, who, having evidently given up on finding an intact shirt, entered the room still buttoning a pair of jeans that were obviously not his.
“He kept the finger?” asked Dean. “Ewwww!”
“He’s a creep,” said Kevin.
“I asked Ninazu to reattach it,” Cas explained. Ninazu had barreled over to the angel, and was gesturing to be picked up. Cas sat down on the couch and the boy climbed up beside him to display his coloring book.
“Yeah, the little kid is like … a little magical dude!” said Kevin, holding his hand up in wonder.
“That he is,” said Odin.
But Kevin was on a roll. “So I’m like, fuck medical school, you know? What’s the point? I think I’m gonna be a classical musician.”
Odin and Dean exchanged a terrified glance. “Okay, I am so not gonna be the one to tell Mrs. Tran this news,” said Dean.
“And Dean,” said Kevin. “I want to help.”
“Help what?”
Kevin looked determined. “I wanna help save Sam. If you need me. I know I’m pretty useless next to you guys, but I want to do what I can, and I know that everybody seems to want, you know, a prophet.”
Dean shook his head. “Kevin, we are not gonna bargain you away.”
“And besides, boy,” said Odin, “we already have someone who can read the tablets.” He indicated Metatron, who had just stepped into the room. She was wearing a riding habit, and slapping a crop against her leg in an agitated manner.
“Who is … that?” asked Kevin, who was smart enough to divine that she wasn't human.
Dean grinned. “This is Metatron, Kevin. The one and only.”
“Oh, uh, hey. I'm the prophet, Kevin,” he told her, sticking out a hand.
Metatron seemed to notice him for the first time. She stepped a bit too close for comfort and studied his face as Kevin cowered back but found himself backed up to the piano. “Prophet, huh?” she said. “Hope you're not having trouble with my handwriting.” She shook her own wrist. “Sometimes the old arm would get tired.”
“You're, uh, not what I expected,” said Kevin.
She arched an eyebrow and leaned slightly closer. “What did you expect?”
“I thought you'd be … taller?”
Benny was standing in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. And then, doffing his cap at Metatron, “Ma'am.”
“It's technically Miss,” said Metatron, who, much to Kevin's relief, now focused her laser-like intensity on Benny instead.
He held out his hand. “Benny Lafitte. Didn't want to interrupt the concerto, but I parked my truck down in the real world in a two hour zone and I don’t wanna get towed?”
“You're a vampire,” said Metatron, taking his offered hand.
“I'll have to admit that's a fact.” They shook hands.
“You need to move that miserable excuse for a truck, Benny?” asked Dean.
“If'n I don't want to get it hauled away. Which I do not. Ain’t much, but it is all my earthlies.”
Metatron snapped her fingers without taking her eyes off Benny. “Taken care of. I haven't encountered many of the undead.”
“Oh, uh, thank you ma'am,” said Benny, who looked slightly flustered. “Miss. And I don't pretend to be a paragon of the breed.”
“We should talk. Do you ride? I was just going out to the stables.”
“Riding? You mean on a horse? Hell yes. One hell of a lot more civilized than driving around in automobiles,” said Benny. “Pardon my French.”
“Well, especially more civilized than your piece of junk,” laughed Dean.
Benny pulled a face at Dean. Metatron held out her arm and inclined her head. Benny took her arm, and they left. Leaving Odin looking more than slightly annoyed.
“He has that effect on women. Must be the accent,” Dean told Odin, who glowered and hurried after Benny and Metatron.
“Hi Odin! Bye, Odin,” said Ruth, who passed the god as she entered the room. “Well, he was in a hurry.” She cast a glance at Cas and then gushed, “Holy shit, that is epic ink! Can I see?”
Cas seemed confused for a moment, and then scooted over on the couch so Ruth could regard his wing tattoos. She reached out a hand and then asked, “Uh, is that okay?” Cas nodded, and then Ruth traced her fingers down his back. “I can’t believe they’re not real. Flaming wings! That’s so intense.”
“Thank you. I believe … that they saved my life.”
Ruth squinted. “Yeah, we talked about this. They do appear to contain an enchantment of some kind.”
“Wait, really?” asked Dean. “Because I swear we just took him to a regular tattoo parlor. No magic about it. I mean, it didn’t seem like anything skeezy was going on.”
Ruth shrugged. “Maybe because he’s an angel? Angels are weird.” She grinned a “no hard feelings grin” at Cas, and went to sit down on the piano bench next to Bibi, who was still playing as Kevin sat back down and tuned his cello.
“How were the lessons?” Bibi asked.
“What lessons?” asked Dean.
Ruth smiled widely and then babbled something in a strangely familiar language. Cas answered back, and they went back and forth for a couple of volleys. “Metatron is instructing Ruth in conversational Enochian,” Cas volunteered. “Your accent is pleasing,” he told her.
“Oh, excellent! Hey, Metatron told me a joke!” Cas cocked his head, and Ruth babbled some more, and then to Dean’s astonishment, Cas literally doubled over with laughter, his chin sinking into his chest, his shoulders trembling.
“What the hell?” said Kevin.
Cas lifted his head and tried to speak, but then couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and collapsed into giggles again.
“Only funny in Enochian,” Dean grumbled, patting Cas on his bare back.
“Ready to go, love?” asked Bibi. “We still need to plan tables settings for the reception dinner.”
“Yeah. Hey. You wanna come with, Kevin?”
“You guys are going to Naraka?” asked Kevin.
“It’s not much, but we call it home,” grinned Ruth. “You guys could jam some more.”
“Let’s see, back with my mom in the safe house, or hell?” Kevin glared. “I’ll take hell.”
He nodded, and then Bibi, Ruth, Kevin, and Kevin’s cello all disappeared.
“Hell seems like the perfect place to plan a wedding,” Dean snarked. Cas pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and looked as if he might smite something. “More love notes from your demon girlfriend?” asked Dean.
“Meg is not my girlfriend,” Cas retorted, with enough vehemence that Ninazu looked up from his drawing to stare. Cas looked down at Ninazu. “I am sorry,” he told Ninazu, pulling the boy into his lap. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry.”
“Meg tends to bring that out in people,” laughed Dean.
“They are encountering more difficulties in locating a tablet. I can’t understand. Did she mislead us about this?”
“I think I know,” said Dean, sitting down beside Cas. “But tell me, is your buddy Inias still hanging around?”
Cas rolled his eyes.
“Cas, think about it. Did you wonder why Azrael needed to hijack you in order to find the tablets? He’s super powerful, right? I mean, one snap of his fingers turns you into chunky soup.” Dean snapped his fingers, and Cas cringed.
“That’s all true, Dean. I had thought that Azrael wanted access not to me, but to you and your brother. You are both very resourceful. For humans.”
“Yeah, that’s the key: we’re human,” said Dean. “Well, I was a human. Not a lot of angels go palling around with us grubby humans.”
Cas nodded. “Humans are essential to locating a tablet? But Crowley managed to locate the demon tablet.”
“The key thing is, none of us are angels. And it doesn’t sound like your Father wanted you angel dudes fucking with his tablets. Metatron says she quit because your father kept erasing her memories after she’d written one, right? And that she has no idea where he’d hidden them.”
“So you think my father intentionally hid them … from me and my brothers?”
“Yeah, he didn’t want you feathery types anywhere near them. Or at least not the angel tablet. Probably why the artifact isn’t working while Inias is busy hitting on Meg.”
“That makes sense, Dean. I’ll talk to Inias. I have also heard from Ninazu’s brother.” Ninazu turned to listen in. “Evidently, they have located where Crowley confined the Leviathan.”
“Huh. Wondered what happened to those oily bastards. So do we Borax the shit out of them?”
“I would … hold off for now, Dean. We are facing an archangel. It might be good to have this option available.”
“Wouldn’t Azrael just laugh at them? Crowley said they were pretty hapless without their leader.”
“Hapless, perhaps, but also incredibly powerful. I think that might be why my Father made the first of us so strong: he meant for them to be a match. But they are … overwhelming.” Cas shuddered. “Even to the best of us.”
Even though Dean knew damn well Cas couldn’t get cold, he put an arm over the angel’s shoulders anyway. “OK, so, we pull Inias off Meg, and maybe get Kevin or Metatron to read us some of the good parts from the old Leviathan tablet.”
Cas nodded. “We could ask Crowley as well, although his conscience is still working … in mysterious ways.”
“And then we get you a damn shirt.”
Cas looked down at himself, wearing nothing but a cast off pair of Dean’s blue jeans. “That was your fault, Dean. Also, I am growing increasingly worried about Sam. He has not contacted me.”
“Sam’s a tough kid. He’s okay.”
That got a full force head tilt. “You sound as if you know that as a fact.”
“You know, I think I actually do,” said Dean, stopping to stare at his own hand. “Some of the new creepy powers you gave me when you guys did whatever the hell you did.”
“And yes, I know, you are still angry.”
Dean let out a sigh. “You did what you had to, I guess. And all things considered, I’d rather be alive than have to do another round of Heaven Can Wait. But it’s weird. I have a whole other set of memories now: him, not me. I mean, I can remember being with Kali, and I even remember Lucifer ganking me.” He shuddered. “Though, I was kind of a prick.”
Cas looked concerned.
“But it’s not like being possessed. He’s not fighting for control. It’s just … there. It’s hard to explain. Oh, and….” Dean waved a hand. As Ninazu squealed in delight, Dean sent a set of flickering butterflies tumbling forth, green and red and gold and purple. Ninazu wriggled off Cas’s lap and went to chase them across the room. They were as insubstantial as soap bubbles: one flick of the child’s hand and they vanished.
“I'm Harry Potter. And I don’t even need a magic wand,” said Dean.
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 gallivant 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 freak over that, have you considered biofeedback.
Word Count: 100,000 (individual chapters are around 5,000)
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas, along with an 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, because isn't there always?
Notes: This is an AU storyline, which fundamentally diverges from whatever the heck they think they're doing on the show.
“Have I told you recently how much I hate you?” asked Crowley.
“Five minutes ago, I think,” Cas told him.
Meg and Inias had been bustling around, asking for (or in one party's case, demanding) various ingredients from Crowley's hellish hoard while Crowley, Cas and Ninazu waited in Crowley’s demonic equivalent of a conference room. Which, to be honest, greatly resembled an earthly conference room, but for the detail that the terrible, acid-tinged coffee was perpetually cold. This was, after all, hell, and there were ways things were done.
“What did you do to me?” demanded Crowley, sipping his tepid coffee and poking miserably at the magical tablet-locating disc situated in the middle of the table.
Cas indicated Ninazu, who was contentedly sitting in his lap applying crayons to an Adventure Time coloring book Ruth had bought him. Ninazu liked Jake the Dog. “I did nothing,” Cas explained. “The boy has a very finely developed healing power. Much less crude than the one we angels employ.”
“You healed me? Why do I feel like shit warmed over?” Crowley put two fingers to the disc and gave it a spin, withdrawing his hand quickly when this produced not only a rotation but a sudden shower of colorful sparks.
Cas halted the incipient conflagration with a flick of his fingers. “An essential characteristic of sociopathy is the non-development of a suite of autonomic nervous system reactions, what we would call a conscience. Ninazu has repaired your faulty wiring, so now, for the first time in your overly long life, you will experience the consequences of your actions. The effect should feel dramatic at first.”
“Dramatic! You imbecile.” Crowley cradled his head in his hands. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Did that upset you? Being called an imbecile?”
Cas looked Crowley up and down. “Coming from you? Not overly.”
“I hate you.”
“Yes, you've told me that.”
“And I hate the kid too.” As if unbidden, Crowley’s hand slapped over his mouth. “Is that going to cause long-term consequences to his emotional health?”
“Crowley,” huffed Meg, stumbling into the room with Inias hefting a basket of some sort of pungent-smelling herb, “you gonna get off your fat ass and help?”
“That's a hurtful comment! Don't you know that your offhand remarks can have consequences?” The demon king nevertheless hopped off his chair and went trailing after Inias. Meg continued to hover by the doorway, a sort of sense of expectation around her.
“Meg,” said Cas, who has just pulled out his buzzing cell phone. Cell service in hell was a little spotty. “I thought you weren't gonna hang around?”
“I'm just helping Inias. You angel guys are pretty hapless.” She rolled her eyes, “Pretty, but hapless.”
“That we are,” said Cas, though he didn’t indicate which part of her statement he agreed with. He sent a text message and glanced down at Ninazu. “We gotta go.”
Meg pursed her lips, her posture all studied casualness. “Oh. Uh. You gonna be back?”
The edge of Cas's mouth twitched up as he let his head droop slightly to the side. “Would it disappoint you if I didn't return?”
“No.”
Cas gave her an arched eyebrow. “I'll be back here as soon as I can. Come on, Ninazu. Yes, that's a great drawing!” he told the boy.
Meg watched them disappear to the sound of wingbeats. “Okay. Maybe I’d be a little disappointed,” she huffed, and then departed.
“What happened?” asked Cas as he and Benny half-ran half-walked down the corridors of Valhalla.
“I got no idea, chief. They were serving him lunch, and somebody tried to feed him a salad, and he started asking where Sam was, and then he just seemed to wake the hell up. Like his marbles suddenly unjiggled themselves.”
Cas smiled. “Healthy food? That would do it.”
They turned a corner and entered Dean’s room but suddenly halted as they came face to face with the man himself.
“Cas.”
“Dean!” Cas strode forward to stand before his friend. His eager smile vanished when he picked up on Dean's terrible mood. “Dean, I can explain-”
“What … did you do to me?” rumbled Dean. It came out as a choked whisper. He was seething.
“Yeah, I'm getting that a lot today,” Cas sighed, almost to himself. He felt his heart clutch. Explaining.... Well, logic didn't work when Dean was like this. “Dean, I don't know how much you remember-”
The hunter's eyes blazed, his teeth gritted. “I remember enough. I remember I told you I don't wanna do this.” It all came out as a snarl.
Cas seized Dean's shoulders. “Dean. Just listen to me-”
“No, you listen to me!” yelled Dean. He gave Cas a push back, which sent the angel flying across the room. Cas crashed into the wall, leaving a huge dent in the plaster. Dean stared in horror.
“Shit,” said Benny, grabbing the hunter by the shoulder. “Dean, settle down, man.”
“Holy fuck,” said Dean, who looked sobered. He broke away from Benny’s grip and ran across the room. “Cas! I-”
But Castiel was on him, gripping him more tightly this time. “No. You will listen to me. You were dying! And the angels took your brother. Naomi has Sam! I had to make a decision, and I probably screwed it up, like I inevitably do for anything outside of picking my lunch. But for now you need to focus and help me find Sam! God damn it!” he added as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He tore himself away from Dean to answer it. “Meg! What-?”
“Meg?” asked Dean as Cas held up an impatient hand to him.
“Yeah, she’s a pistol,” laughed Benny.
Cas hung up the phone, shaking his head. “I need to go to hell. Now. This is urgent.” He glared at Dean. “Dean. Are you coming with me?”
Dean’s face flickered through about half a dozen different emotions. “To hell?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’m going. But I’m still pissed.” Cas nodded an put two fingers to Dean’s head.
Benny found himself left all alone in the room. “You’re fucking welcome, Cas,” he yelled at no one in particular.
“What happened?” demanded Cas as they stormed down a corridor in one of the lowest levels of hell. He put a hand on his head. “I can feel it now. I can sense his pain.”
“Crowley's inbred demon stooges were looking for wormwood and found him locked in a storage room down on the seventh level,” said Meg.
“And someone remind me what the hell she’s doing here?” barked Dean.
“She’s with me,” sighed Inias.
“Oh you wish,” snorted Meg, as angel and demon glared at each other.
“And she claims to know how the tablet-locating artifact works,” Cas told Dean.
Meg twisted her features in an expression somewhat resembling hurt. “What do you mean, Cas. I worked it before! I’m the one who found the Ghost Tablet.”
“Oh, so that’s how they did that,” said Dean.
All four of them stopped before a heavy door. “This was heavily warded against angels,” Inias explained, pointing to the scratched out sigils painted by the door. “I couldn’t see into it until we actually opened it up.”
Inias unlocked the door, and Cas let out a gasp as they peered into the darkened room. He ran to the badly injured angel’s side. “Samandriel!”
“We didn’t want to move him,” Inias whispered as he followed Cas.
Cas touched Samandriel’s forehead. “It’s angel blade wounds. I can’t heal him.”
“Alfie?” asked Dean, who also moved forward, cringing at the sight as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The Wiener Hut kid was barely recognizable: a bloody mess.
“Wait, you know him?” asked Cas.
“We talked about this, Cas. We met him at the auction, and he asked how you were. He told us the angels were looking for you.”
Cas’s eyes blazed. “Looking for me to use me.”
“That’s not true, Castiel,” said Inias. “Some of us have been seeking your leadership.”
Meg grinned. “They want someone to lead ‘em over the cliff, and you’re chief lemming.”
“That is just a folk legend,” Cas told her crisply as he examined Samandriel’s wounds.
“What? You mean Walt Disney lied to me? My black heart is broken.”
Inias turned on Meg, his teeth gritted. “Meg, why don’t you go work on preparing the artifact? Because otherwise, I think I am going to fucking smite your annoying bitch ass.”
“Okay, okay, don’t go all flaming sword on me, baby,” grumbled a somewhat surprised Meg as she slouched off.
“You can do many things, but you do not insult Mr. Disney’s memory!” Inias raved after her.
Just then, Samandriel emitted a very small moan.
“Samandriel. Can you talk?” asked Cas.
“Castiel,” whispered Samandriel. He reached out to touch Cas’s face. “Is it really you?”
“It’s me.”
“I’m so glad … I lived this long.”
“Alfie, you’re gonna be fine, dude,” Dean assured him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”
“Alfie?” asked Cas. Dean pointed to the nametag, still visible on the blood-stained Wiener Hut uniform. “Oh.”
“Can’t we get him to Ninazu so he can do his healing thing?” Dean asked.
“These wounds were made with an angel blade, Dean,” said Cas, who quietly shook his head.
“They have injured his grace,” whispered Inias.
Cas nodded and murmured sadly, “It would be beyond Ninazu’s abilities.” Cas turned back towards Samandriel, placing a hand on his face. “Samandriel. Can you tell us what happened?”
“They asked me to find you.”
“Who is 'they?'” asked Cas.
“Naomi. She said someone … high up wanted to find you.”
“Who?” asked Dean. “Who wanted to find Cas?”
“I never asked. I followed my orders. When I found Dean … I told them … Purgatory.”
“And then what?” asked Cas.
“Crowley took me! I don’t know how he managed to elude the angels. And…. Something is wrong with my powers. I couldn’t get free. I failed you….”
Cas's voice was quiet but strong. “Samandriel. Look at me. You did not fail me. It was Naomi.”
Samandriel was silent for a moment. “What?”
“Naomi and whoever she’s working for. They did it to me. They put some kind of bond into my grace.” Cas held a hand to his chest. “They did the same to you.”
“They don’t want free will up there, Samandriel,” Inias told him. “They want to prevent us from uniting behind Castiel! And gaining our freedom!” Cas desperately tried to shush Inias, who ignored him.
Samandriel reached out a trembling hand and Cas grasped it. “I’m so grateful. For everything.”
“Samandriel-“ Cas lowered his eyes and gulped as the angel slipped away once again into unconsciousness.
The overhead lights suddenly fizzled and died. There was the sharp report of heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor, and the sound of a few surprised cries, and then the door blasted open, slamming against the wall with a crack that made everybody jump.
“Metatron,” whispered Cas as the archangel appeared at the threshold. There was a weird bluish glow around her.
Inias jumped away from Samandriel and backpedaled wildly. “Metatron?” The hairs on Dean’s arms were standing on end: once again, her presence seemed too large for the confined space.
Metatron stomped into the room and stood next to the unconscious Samandriel, resting a hand on his forehead. “I heard my brother crying out in pain.” She turned to Cas. “Who. Did. This?”
“Metatron,” said Cas, holding up a hand. “Wait.”
“Who did this, Castiel? Who did this to our brother?”
“The demons tortured him, but we think-“
“What the bloody blazes is going on?” hollered Crowley, who had chosen a very bad time to happen by. “Oh shit, archangel!” he cried just as Metatron seized him by the collar. Although she was some inches shorter than he, she lifted the demon king from his feet as if he was nothing but a child's toy.
“It’s smiting time,” smiled Dean as Inias cowered next to him.
“You will die for this, demon,” said Metatron as the room began to vibrate with her wrath. The archangel radiated righteous fury.
“Yeah, I got that,” rasped Crowley.
“Metatron,” shouted Cas. “Stop it. Now!”
“Did Castiel just … yell at Metatron?” Inias whispered to Dean.
“He’s one brave little motherfucker,” said Dean, who was now grinning from ear to ear.
Cas was still standing nose to nose with Metatron, crowding her space. “The angels gave him over to the demon, Metatron. It was the angels.”
“What?” Metatron dropped Crowley, who fell on his ass, crying out in pain.
“That’s gonna leave a bruise. All rightie, if you don’t need me any further.” On his hands and knees, Crowley began to slither away.
“Do not move!” Metatron snapped, and Crowley froze.
“Samandriel is loyal to me,” said Cas, sounding as if he himself could not believe it. “After he helped lead the angels to me in Purgatory, they handed him over to Crowley. They must have bound him, the same way they bound me. He said he was unable to escape.”
Metatron flicked her eyes to Crowley, and then stared, as if noticing him for the first time. “What have you done to this demon?”
Cas smiled, and puffed with pride. “We have grown him a conscience.” Metatron nodded her approval.
Just then, Odin showed up, looking frantic. “Mets! What the hell are you doing off the reservation? He can sense you now!”
“Azrael? Let him come,” grumbled Metatron.
“Azrael?” Inias asked Dean.
“Shit just got real, dude,” Dean told the angel.
“Great Neil Diamond's bones, now you’re consorting with angels and pagans, Winchester?” piped up Crowley, who was still sitting on the floor. He stared at Dean. “And what the bloody blazes happened to you?”
Dean reached down and grasped Crowley by the collar, hauling him up off his feet. “Got an upgrade,” he muttered.
“Confine this demon here. In this room,” ordered Metatron. Inias had picked up Samandriel and now cradled him in his arms. Dean obligingly tossed Crowley over more or less in the direction of the bloodstained chair where Samandriel had been lying.
“Ow, my ribs,” said Crowley. “This is not a red letter day.”
“We can bring the boy up to Valhalla,” said Odin. “We can't heal these wounds, but maybe, if we let him rest....”
“Time and patience worked for me,” said Cas. “At least he will be out of reach of the angels.” And then Inias, Metatron, Odin, and Samandriel vanished to a beat of wings.
“You’re not going to just leave me in here, are you?” asked Crowley. “I could be of help.”
“Let us cool off first,” said Cas as he stormed out of the room.
“Should only take a few centuries,” said Dean, slamming and locking the door behind him. He looked over at Cas. “I’m still mad at you, by the way.”
“Noted,” sighed Cas, pushing hair out of his eyes in a very human-like gesture.
Dean suddenly slammed Cas against up against the wall. “I am also really, really hot. Sassing a fucking archangel? Damn.”
“Um, yes, Dean,” said a very surprised Cas, as Dean leaned in to kiss him passionately. He relaxed and kissed back and let out a small moan, too completely surprised and confused by this sudden turnaround to do much of anything else.
“I think we need to have some angry sex,” Dean muttered as he chewed on Cas’s lower lip.
“Some … what? I’m not familiar-”
“Read my fucking mind.”
“… Oh!”
Sam was driving along a back country road one dark (dream) night when he came upon it.
“Creepy mansion of creepy. Okay.” Sam noticed there was light in the windows. Having nothing better to do, he parked the Impala and walked up to the front door. Hey, maybe they would have hot chocolate. Or Scotch. Or something. Truth be told (and he would never tell Dean, once he had returned) he was getting a little tired of beer, which seemed to be the only thing the dream Impala’s trunk stocked, besides the perpetually half-filled water bottles.
To Sam’s utter lack of surprise, a uniformed servant opened the door and beckoned him inside. It looked like Sam had stepped back in time, perhaps to the nineteenth century, he thought. The unspeaking servant, whose face was clouded in shadows, led him to a well-furnished interior room. And there, sitting on one of the couches, was….
What the fuck, thought Sam.
The figure rose. He was a slim man, and like most men, not as tall as Sam. He too was dressed in period costume. He had wavy brown shoulder-length hair, pale skin, and his eyes were hidden behind smoked glasses.
“Sam Winchester,” he said, extending a hand. “I suppose you know who I am?”
“Azrael?” guessed Sam. The man’s handshake was firm.
The archangel nodded. He indicated that Sam should take a seat. “And I suppose then that you will also guess that I have allowed you to create my appearance here.”
“This is still my dream?” asked Sam.
“Correct,” said Azrael, who sat down opposite. He regarded Sam for a moment, and then asked, “May I inquire then whose countenance you have taken for me? I am not familiar with this character.”
“Uh, dude, you’re Dracula,” said Sam.
“Oh, really?” asked Azrael, regarding his own hand. “Lugosi’s portrayal perhaps?”
“Uh, no, Gary Oldman actually. From the Coppola version.”
Azrael tilted his head, looking somewhat like Cas when he was bemused. “You are a fan of horror films, Sam?”
“Not really, but there was this girl….” He smiled fondly, remembering his first junior high romance, which had been attenuated, as were so many things in his life, when his father once again uprooted the family. She had been cute as a button, lots of curly chestnut hair and bright blue eyes, and Sam had ended up suffering through a vampire movie for the reward of draping an arm over her pretty shoulders when, after insisting that she was a horror movie fan, she cringed at every creak and whine on the screen.
“Would you like something to drink?” asked Azrael. Sam noticed that a silent servant had appeared.
“Uh. Hot chocolate?” asked Sam. Much as he would have liked a drink, Sam didn’t think it would be wise to get toasted in the presence of an unpredictable archangel. Even though this dude appeared awfully mellow so far, Sam had had far too much experience with the quirks of heaven’s high born. And whipped cream was never bad. And maybe little sprinkles? This looked like a classy sort of joint. Sam sat back on the plush couch.
Azrael nodded and the servant disappeared. Literally. Exactly like they didn’t do in horror movies. So Azrael was letting Sam take the lead in this universe, but it looked like his understanding wasn’t complete. That was something to note and file away. “So, not that I don’t wanna seem ungrateful for the hospitality and all…” Sam began.
“You would like to know what this is all about,” said Azrael, pressing his fingertips together. “I am simply attempting to take back that which is mine.”
“Oh. Um. You mean the tablets?”
“Death.”
Sam’s eyes widened. Well, that was a twist. “Uh. Come again?”
“Our Father was victorious over Death, and I am the manifestation of that victory.”
Sam frowned, remembering back only a few weeks ago when Cas had made a snarky remark about this situation. “And, what does Death make of all of this?”
The room rippled. It was just a little bit, but Azrael was obviously displeased. “That entity is obviously in defiance of God’s plan.”
Sam stopped to consider his options. When a crazed super-being started spelling out their plans for world domination, he thought, the general rule was to let them continue with the monologue. Sam decided some gentle prodding was in order. “No offense, but didn’t your dad sort of skip out a couple of apocalypses ago?”
“That does not give license to defy Him.”
The servant appeared again, handing Sam a somewhat anachronistic Styrofoam cup. Sam squinted at the brown liquid within. Contrary to his expectations, it was quite obviously powdered instant cocoa, with those little dehydrated marshmallows.
“Is the beverage not to your standards, Sam?” asked Azrael.
Sam realized with some discomfort that he must have let his disappointment show. “Oh, uh, no. Not quite what I was expecting, but this is fine.” He took a sip of the tepid, watery liquid and tried not to cringe.
“It is lacking?”
“It’s fine.”
Azrael was suddenly holding the servant by the collar. “Would you like me to smite him, Sam?” The servant looked pleadingly at Sam, obviously terrified. So they were real people. Or real angels perhaps?
“Nah, I’m good,” said Sam, waving his hand casually and continuing sipping at the cocoa. As Azrael released the terrified servant, Sam’s eyes drifted about the room looking for a distraction that didn’t involve smiting. “Oh, hey,” he said, eyeing an antique-looking chess set spread out on a table. “Do you play?”
Cas lay across the bed, regarding the blankets and clothing scattered around the room. He contemplated the phenomenon of “angry sex” with his now pagan god lover, and idly wondered if his vessel would ever manage to walk again.
Dean emerged, humming, from the bathroom, toweling at his dripping wet hair. “So Meg claims she can hunt down the angel tablet?”
“They can locate a tablet. There is no telling, however, which one.”
“Always read the fine print,” grumbled Dean, who sat down next to Cas and then playfully slapped his bare ass.
“Hey,” said Cas.
“Does that actually hurt now?”
“Yes!” said Cas, rubbing his injured body part.
“I’m still angry,” Dean noted, leaning over to give Cas a kiss.
“Noted.”
“Hey, you know how you zapped us back here?” Dean was cheerfully pulling on his jeans, his former anger and passion seemingly curtailed by his recent exertions.
“Well,” said Cas, rolling over and searching for his own clothing, “I was unwilling to consummate in Crowley’s headquarters, yes.”
“Can I do that now?”
Cas had picked up his shirt and was contemplating the damage. “I really don’t know.” The badly torn garment looked more like a rag than an article of clothing.
Dean chuckled at his handiwork. “I might have gotten a little impatient there. You can fix that, right?”
“I don’t know that I’d want to,” said Cas, tossing the erstwhile shirt aside and continuing to scrounge for his pants.
“So, while I was out, you managed to convince Crowley I was dead?” asked Dean as he pulled on a T shirt.
“It was Namtar who did the convincing, but yes,” Cas admitted. “I think that was the element that led him to agree to a meeting. And then Ninazu healed him.”
“That was a pretty sneaky plan. I mean, considering I was out of action. And I’m your best sneaker.”
“You are sneaky, Dean,” said Cas, pleased to find that his boxer shorts, which had somehow gotten flung over a lampshade, were more or less intact.
“That’s what you love about me!”
“I find you very appealing, Dean.”
“No.” Dean grabbed Cas, who was still half-naked, by the waist and sat down on the bed, holding Cas between his legs. He looked up at Cas, his eyes searching. “You don’t find me appealing. You love me.”
Cas looked down at Dean for a moment. The hunter quite suddenly appeared very young. Cas was still disoriented and vastly confused over just about everything.
Except one thing.
“Yes. I love you Dean.”
Dean’s smile could have fired the sun. “Good. So, the tablet?” Dean let Cas go, giving his rear another stinging slap.
Cas winced. “Yes?”
“What do we do if Meg turns up the wrong tablet?”
Cas rubbed his posterior and held up his ruined pants, a wry look on his face. “What we always do.”
“Bluff like crazy?” asked Dean. “I like it!" Dean frowned. The sound of classical music was coming from nearby.
“Rachmaninov,” said Cas. “Sonata for cello and piano.”
“Cello?” said Dean, who, thought still barefoot, rushed out of the door. He ended up in a large room down the hall, where Bibi was playing a grand piano while Kevin, a picture of fierce concentration, accompanied on cello. They were both giving the composition their full attention, skillfully picking through the intricacies. Ninazu was sitting on the floor, silently coloring in his book.
Odin, who was sitting on a couch nearby, clapped enthusiastically at the end, and then said, “Dean! It’s good to see you. How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine, thanks,” said Dean, who nodded to Kevin and Bibi.
“You know,” said Kevin, “I used to hate practicing this thing.”
“I promise I won’t tell your mom you said that,” laughed Odin.
“I did too, mate,” admitted Bibi. “But women? Ooo, they love it.” He winked and played a run of something more contemporary. He started to sing, “You are my fire, my one desire….”
“Bibi! Dude!” shouted Dean. Bibi ceased playing and grinned mischievously over at Dean. “Since you are my friend, I am going to pretend for your sake that I never heard that!”
Bibi laughed and began to play Rhapsody in Blue instead. Kevin stretched his fingers.
“Kevin,” said Dean, who went over to the boy and grabbed at his wrist. “What the hell?” Kevin’s hand was intact.
“They found his finger when they were digging through Crowley’s hoard,” said Cas, who, having evidently given up on finding an intact shirt, entered the room still buttoning a pair of jeans that were obviously not his.
“He kept the finger?” asked Dean. “Ewwww!”
“He’s a creep,” said Kevin.
“I asked Ninazu to reattach it,” Cas explained. Ninazu had barreled over to the angel, and was gesturing to be picked up. Cas sat down on the couch and the boy climbed up beside him to display his coloring book.
“Yeah, the little kid is like … a little magical dude!” said Kevin, holding his hand up in wonder.
“That he is,” said Odin.
But Kevin was on a roll. “So I’m like, fuck medical school, you know? What’s the point? I think I’m gonna be a classical musician.”
Odin and Dean exchanged a terrified glance. “Okay, I am so not gonna be the one to tell Mrs. Tran this news,” said Dean.
“And Dean,” said Kevin. “I want to help.”
“Help what?”
Kevin looked determined. “I wanna help save Sam. If you need me. I know I’m pretty useless next to you guys, but I want to do what I can, and I know that everybody seems to want, you know, a prophet.”
Dean shook his head. “Kevin, we are not gonna bargain you away.”
“And besides, boy,” said Odin, “we already have someone who can read the tablets.” He indicated Metatron, who had just stepped into the room. She was wearing a riding habit, and slapping a crop against her leg in an agitated manner.
“Who is … that?” asked Kevin, who was smart enough to divine that she wasn't human.
Dean grinned. “This is Metatron, Kevin. The one and only.”
“Oh, uh, hey. I'm the prophet, Kevin,” he told her, sticking out a hand.
Metatron seemed to notice him for the first time. She stepped a bit too close for comfort and studied his face as Kevin cowered back but found himself backed up to the piano. “Prophet, huh?” she said. “Hope you're not having trouble with my handwriting.” She shook her own wrist. “Sometimes the old arm would get tired.”
“You're, uh, not what I expected,” said Kevin.
She arched an eyebrow and leaned slightly closer. “What did you expect?”
“I thought you'd be … taller?”
Benny was standing in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. And then, doffing his cap at Metatron, “Ma'am.”
“It's technically Miss,” said Metatron, who, much to Kevin's relief, now focused her laser-like intensity on Benny instead.
He held out his hand. “Benny Lafitte. Didn't want to interrupt the concerto, but I parked my truck down in the real world in a two hour zone and I don’t wanna get towed?”
“You're a vampire,” said Metatron, taking his offered hand.
“I'll have to admit that's a fact.” They shook hands.
“You need to move that miserable excuse for a truck, Benny?” asked Dean.
“If'n I don't want to get it hauled away. Which I do not. Ain’t much, but it is all my earthlies.”
Metatron snapped her fingers without taking her eyes off Benny. “Taken care of. I haven't encountered many of the undead.”
“Oh, uh, thank you ma'am,” said Benny, who looked slightly flustered. “Miss. And I don't pretend to be a paragon of the breed.”
“We should talk. Do you ride? I was just going out to the stables.”
“Riding? You mean on a horse? Hell yes. One hell of a lot more civilized than driving around in automobiles,” said Benny. “Pardon my French.”
“Well, especially more civilized than your piece of junk,” laughed Dean.
Benny pulled a face at Dean. Metatron held out her arm and inclined her head. Benny took her arm, and they left. Leaving Odin looking more than slightly annoyed.
“He has that effect on women. Must be the accent,” Dean told Odin, who glowered and hurried after Benny and Metatron.
“Hi Odin! Bye, Odin,” said Ruth, who passed the god as she entered the room. “Well, he was in a hurry.” She cast a glance at Cas and then gushed, “Holy shit, that is epic ink! Can I see?”
Cas seemed confused for a moment, and then scooted over on the couch so Ruth could regard his wing tattoos. She reached out a hand and then asked, “Uh, is that okay?” Cas nodded, and then Ruth traced her fingers down his back. “I can’t believe they’re not real. Flaming wings! That’s so intense.”
“Thank you. I believe … that they saved my life.”
Ruth squinted. “Yeah, we talked about this. They do appear to contain an enchantment of some kind.”
“Wait, really?” asked Dean. “Because I swear we just took him to a regular tattoo parlor. No magic about it. I mean, it didn’t seem like anything skeezy was going on.”
Ruth shrugged. “Maybe because he’s an angel? Angels are weird.” She grinned a “no hard feelings grin” at Cas, and went to sit down on the piano bench next to Bibi, who was still playing as Kevin sat back down and tuned his cello.
“How were the lessons?” Bibi asked.
“What lessons?” asked Dean.
Ruth smiled widely and then babbled something in a strangely familiar language. Cas answered back, and they went back and forth for a couple of volleys. “Metatron is instructing Ruth in conversational Enochian,” Cas volunteered. “Your accent is pleasing,” he told her.
“Oh, excellent! Hey, Metatron told me a joke!” Cas cocked his head, and Ruth babbled some more, and then to Dean’s astonishment, Cas literally doubled over with laughter, his chin sinking into his chest, his shoulders trembling.
“What the hell?” said Kevin.
Cas lifted his head and tried to speak, but then couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and collapsed into giggles again.
“Only funny in Enochian,” Dean grumbled, patting Cas on his bare back.
“Ready to go, love?” asked Bibi. “We still need to plan tables settings for the reception dinner.”
“Yeah. Hey. You wanna come with, Kevin?”
“You guys are going to Naraka?” asked Kevin.
“It’s not much, but we call it home,” grinned Ruth. “You guys could jam some more.”
“Let’s see, back with my mom in the safe house, or hell?” Kevin glared. “I’ll take hell.”
He nodded, and then Bibi, Ruth, Kevin, and Kevin’s cello all disappeared.
“Hell seems like the perfect place to plan a wedding,” Dean snarked. Cas pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and looked as if he might smite something. “More love notes from your demon girlfriend?” asked Dean.
“Meg is not my girlfriend,” Cas retorted, with enough vehemence that Ninazu looked up from his drawing to stare. Cas looked down at Ninazu. “I am sorry,” he told Ninazu, pulling the boy into his lap. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry.”
“Meg tends to bring that out in people,” laughed Dean.
“They are encountering more difficulties in locating a tablet. I can’t understand. Did she mislead us about this?”
“I think I know,” said Dean, sitting down beside Cas. “But tell me, is your buddy Inias still hanging around?”
Cas rolled his eyes.
“Cas, think about it. Did you wonder why Azrael needed to hijack you in order to find the tablets? He’s super powerful, right? I mean, one snap of his fingers turns you into chunky soup.” Dean snapped his fingers, and Cas cringed.
“That’s all true, Dean. I had thought that Azrael wanted access not to me, but to you and your brother. You are both very resourceful. For humans.”
“Yeah, that’s the key: we’re human,” said Dean. “Well, I was a human. Not a lot of angels go palling around with us grubby humans.”
Cas nodded. “Humans are essential to locating a tablet? But Crowley managed to locate the demon tablet.”
“The key thing is, none of us are angels. And it doesn’t sound like your Father wanted you angel dudes fucking with his tablets. Metatron says she quit because your father kept erasing her memories after she’d written one, right? And that she has no idea where he’d hidden them.”
“So you think my father intentionally hid them … from me and my brothers?”
“Yeah, he didn’t want you feathery types anywhere near them. Or at least not the angel tablet. Probably why the artifact isn’t working while Inias is busy hitting on Meg.”
“That makes sense, Dean. I’ll talk to Inias. I have also heard from Ninazu’s brother.” Ninazu turned to listen in. “Evidently, they have located where Crowley confined the Leviathan.”
“Huh. Wondered what happened to those oily bastards. So do we Borax the shit out of them?”
“I would … hold off for now, Dean. We are facing an archangel. It might be good to have this option available.”
“Wouldn’t Azrael just laugh at them? Crowley said they were pretty hapless without their leader.”
“Hapless, perhaps, but also incredibly powerful. I think that might be why my Father made the first of us so strong: he meant for them to be a match. But they are … overwhelming.” Cas shuddered. “Even to the best of us.”
Even though Dean knew damn well Cas couldn’t get cold, he put an arm over the angel’s shoulders anyway. “OK, so, we pull Inias off Meg, and maybe get Kevin or Metatron to read us some of the good parts from the old Leviathan tablet.”
Cas nodded. “We could ask Crowley as well, although his conscience is still working … in mysterious ways.”
“And then we get you a damn shirt.”
Cas looked down at himself, wearing nothing but a cast off pair of Dean’s blue jeans. “That was your fault, Dean. Also, I am growing increasingly worried about Sam. He has not contacted me.”
“Sam’s a tough kid. He’s okay.”
That got a full force head tilt. “You sound as if you know that as a fact.”
“You know, I think I actually do,” said Dean, stopping to stare at his own hand. “Some of the new creepy powers you gave me when you guys did whatever the hell you did.”
“And yes, I know, you are still angry.”
Dean let out a sigh. “You did what you had to, I guess. And all things considered, I’d rather be alive than have to do another round of Heaven Can Wait. But it’s weird. I have a whole other set of memories now: him, not me. I mean, I can remember being with Kali, and I even remember Lucifer ganking me.” He shuddered. “Though, I was kind of a prick.”
Cas looked concerned.
“But it’s not like being possessed. He’s not fighting for control. It’s just … there. It’s hard to explain. Oh, and….” Dean waved a hand. As Ninazu squealed in delight, Dean sent a set of flickering butterflies tumbling forth, green and red and gold and purple. Ninazu wriggled off Cas’s lap and went to chase them across the room. They were as insubstantial as soap bubbles: one flick of the child’s hand and they vanished.
“I'm Harry Potter. And I don’t even need a magic wand,” said Dean.
