Seven Hells, Part 15 of 16
Feb. 5th, 2013 03:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Seven Hells, Part 15 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 frolic 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, though on the other hand, I solemnly promise that no one in this fic quirks and eyebrow.
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.
Notes: Here it is, the penultimate chapter. Yes, I say penultimate.
Sam was being a little reckless with his queen. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Azrael intensely disliked being on the defensive. The archangel had been flustered into making a couple of mistakes. Sam could have pressed harder, but thought the best move overall would be to prolong the game. And keep Azrael talking. So he concentrated on the board and sipped bad cocoa.
“You have met those of my kind before, Sam,” said Azrael as he tried to come up with a counter-move to protect a bishop.
Sam looked sour. “Yeah, Dean and I, we’re the archangel’s best friends. Michael, and Lucifer. And Gabriel, though we didn’t know it was him-“
“You knew my brother, Gabriel?” asked Azrael, who had stopped feigning interest in his next move.
“Sure. He pretended to be the Trickster. Loki. But, you could say he was … a close acquaintance.” Sam winced. Although to his mind, Gabriel had managed to redeem himself in the end, Sam would probably never get over what the little bastard had put Dean through. But Sam had picked up an odd note in Azrael’s tone. “Uh, I suppose you regret that he’s gone?”
“He was in many ways my closest brother,” Azrael admitted. “Before he left.”
Sam said nothing. This was a surprise. Strange though that Azrael had done nothing to help during all that crap with the apocalypse. But angels were weird.
“Then it is true that he is dead?” Azrael prompted.
“Well, I didn’t see the body,” Sam confessed. “But what I heard was your brother Lucifer ganked him,” he said.
“I do not speak that one’s name any more,” Azrael said rather curtly. He glared at Sam. “What do you know of my sister?”
Sam looked up, his eyes all innocence. “I’ve met a bunch of your sisters. Which one? Rachel? Hester? Anna? Or do you mean Raphael?” He said the last with a tiny smirk.
“Metatron has returned. I could sense her. But now I cannot.”
“Oh, you mean the Metatron who wrote the tablets? Wow. Hey, you know if you’re looking for a tablet, maybe you could just ask her for one?”
“I seek her original tablets. That is why I have come to this hellish, sinful place. To claim what is mine.”
“Well, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” said Sam, threatening Azrael’s knight.
“Vegas?” asked Azrael, wiping at his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief.
“Las Vegas,” said Sam casually.
“No. We have taken advantage of the real estate collapse in California. This is an abandoned tract house in Barstow.”
“Clever! So, uh, can I use your restroom?” asked Sam, holding up his Styrofoam cup. “Cocoa, you know.”
Azrael shrugged and pointed the way, concentrating on the board.
Sam figured it was not much of a lie. Even if his real life self didn’t need to pee, his dream self should have a bursting bladder after all the terrible hot chocolate. He found a bathroom and poured out the rest of the contents of his cup into the sink, hoping it would at least eat through Azrael's plumbing. And then, concentrating very hard, he opened a window, and, with no little effort (as Sam was not a small man) managed to crawl outside.
And out into the desert.
“Good. Great. Active dreaming. Okay, hey, Cas!”
Wings fluttered almost before Sam had finished speaking, and Cas arrived in a cloud of dust.
“Hey, fast service,” said Sam, who was surprised by Cas stepping forward and gripping his shoulders.
“Sam! I was worried about you! How are you?”
“Hey, Cas, don’t worry dude. I’m fine. Just playing chess and drinking the world’s word instant hot chocolate.” Cas looked puzzled. Sam noticed for the first time that the angel not only lacked his customary trench coat, he lacked almost all clothing. “Hey, are those Dean’s pants?” he asked, pointing to the jeans hanging off Cas’s narrow waist.
Cas sighed. “It’s a long story, Sam.”
Sam smiled, imagining that his brother must have a lot to do with said story. “Sooo.... Dean's okay?”
“Oh, I hadn't told you,” Cas apologized. “Yes, your brother is feeling … vigorous.” And here Sam could have sworn Cas rolled his eyes. “He is recovering.”
Sam smirked with the knowledge that he may have caught Dean and Cas in the middle of a quickie. “Anyway, I got some good news, and some bad news. First, Azrael spilled where he’s keeping me.”
“Where, Sam?”
“Barstow. In an abandoned tract house.
This merited an angelic frown. “Barstow. On the edge of the desert. As in the Hunter Thompson book?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, it took some effort for Sam not to giggle. “Wait, Cas, no. You’ve read Fear and Loathing?”
Cas looked offended. “Hunter Thompson was an enlightened man! All angels are familiar with his work,” he told Sam primly.
Sam was taken aback. Was there no ending to the wild weirdness of angels? “Well, that’s a surprise. Anyway, he’s also been talking about his plans. I mean, a lot. You know how the apocalypse was gonna wipe out half of humanity?”
“Yes?” Cas did not appear pleased by the mention of the apocalypse.
Sam pushed on. “Azrael plans to finish the job. Everybody.”
Cas looked almost human in his astonishment. “Is…. Is he crazy?”
Sam rolled his eyes in a direction that would have been heavenward, were this not a dreamscape. “Cas, he’s an archangel. Crazy goes with the job.”
Cas appeared chastened. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I guess he thinks he can gather up all the souls and then win his feud with Death.”
“He can’t conquer Death, Sam. No one can. Not even my Father.”
“Yeah, well, tell him that. I guess that’s why he’s hot for the angel tablet. It has the secret formula so he can gobble up all the souls and not end up a basket case….”
“You mean like I did,” said Cas sadly.
Sam cast his eyes over the dead landscape for a moment, and then turned his attention back to the sulking angel. “Okay, Cas, from one addict to another. You get one try at that soul-eating thing, but so help me, if you pull any shit like that, ever again, I will find a way to smite you myself!”
Cas shook his head. “Oh! There is no danger of that, Sam. Consuming the souls for me was an … unpleasant experience. I would die first before attempting such a thing again.”
“Yeah? And you would let Dean die?”
That seemed to throw the angel. “Dean is…. I would do nearly anything for your brother, I suppose.” He frowned. “But not that. Never that.” He nodded, seemingly to himself. “Please don't be concerned, Sam. We have … other options to defeat Azrael. And any information you can give me will be helpful.”
“You know what’s weird? I can almost sense Dean here. I mean, a couple of times, it was like I was talking to him. Kind of like the Force, you know?” Sam looked far away.
“That might be literally true, Sam.”
“How so?”
It was Cas’s turn to gaze into the middle distance. “It’s … complicated. We’ll fill you in when you are returned.”
“Anyway, I should get back. Azrael has probably made his move by now.”
“Thank you, Sam. I will tell Dean. We will try to effect a rescue.”
Sam didn’t mean to ask, but found he couldn’t stop himself. “You're totally wearing Dean's clothes, aren't you?”
Cas looked down at the well-worn jeans and Led Zeppelin T-shirt. “Uh, yes, I apologize, I didn’t suppose you would welcome seeing me, uh, unclothed.”
“Might have been fun if you’d brought the bees,” laughed Sam.
Cas colored. “Yes. That,” he muttered.
“Aw, I’m just teasing, Cas. It’s actually really good to see you. Really, really good.” At which point, Sam’s eyes began fill with tears.
Cas squinted at him, appearing to make a decision. He held out his arms. Sam engulfed him in a hug, actually lifting the angel from his feet.
“Okay,” said Sam, wiping a tear. “I’m good now. I'm good. Thanks for that.”
“No problem, Sam.”
“Just … get me out of here, okay?”
“We will. I promise.” He frowned at Sam. “Is there anything else?”
Sam scanned through their conversations for useful information. “Oh. Yeah. I don’t know what you could do with it, but Azrael seems to really miss Gabriel. I mentioned a lot of other angels, but that’s the only one who got a reaction.”
Cas got a funny half-smile. “Many of us do. Miss him.”
“Miss that guy?” The words were out before Sam could stop himself.
“Gabriel was a kind of … little brother to the archangels. Perhaps you could understand that, Sam?”
Sam looked at Cas curiously, and decided he needed to bring this up some time in the future, when they had more time. He reminded himself that relations between brothers were never straightforward. Another thought struck him. “Oh, and I had a weird idea. We’ve got Metatron, the person who originally wrote the tablets, right?”
“So, your piece of shit truck was okay?” asked Dean as he and Benny guided their horses down the path through the meadow. Cas had claimed he needed to work with Metatron on something, so Dean had headed out to relax for a bit.
Benny reigned in his horse and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, my fucking truck was okay. Metatron somehow got me one of them handicapped parking passes. I couldn't refuse. You might say my condition qualifies as a sort of disability.”
“Special parking for bloodsuckers. I like it,” laughed Dean.
“But, just between you and me, brother? I've found myself to be less and less motivated to get on back. Not when I know what it's like up here. You know. There's none of the temptations up here. I just wanna get on a horse and ride. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do, actually.”
Benny studied Dean. “You feeling okay now? I was technically brought up here as your nurse maid.”
“My nurse maid? I would have held out for something that looked better in a nurse's uniform.”
Benny chortled. “I'd do anything for you, brother, but I ain't shaving my legs.”
Dean threw his head back and roared with laughter. “So it was really Cas who asked you up here?”
“The angel and me, we ain’t never gonna be bosom buddies, but we ain’t enemies either , if that’s what you mean.” Benny was silent for a moment. “But I meant, how is it for you now, being one of us monsters?”
Dean frowned. “Honestly? Just between you and me?”
“Sure.”
Dean looked around, and then confided, “It’s actually kinda fun. I mean, I’m strong as an ox now. And I can see things. Like I’m pretty sure I can sense Cas’s true form, which is weird. And I’m almost certain I can sense Sammy now.”
“But you said no to all this. Cas told me that much.”
“It wasn't really that. It was never about that. Yeah, I was scared it would change me too far. I saw what Lucifer did – tried to do – to Sammy. But it wasn't ever really that.”
They both rode along for a while. “So, what was it?” Benny prompted. “If you don't mind my askin'.”
“You need to remember, our mom died when Sammy was just a baby. And then my dad.... Well, I've talked about that before.”
“Not a family man.”
“Not as such. So, it's always been me and Sammy. Me looking out for Sammy. And this just felt.... Well, I felt like, if I went along with this, it would be mostly for me. For Cas and me, I guess.”
“Oh, I see. You didn't wanna abandon your baby brother?”
“Well, yeah. It felt like I’d be leaving him behind. But now, you know, it's like I can sense he's out there. And I wanna get him back, yeah, but.... I feel like he's okay. No, he's not just okay. He's fucking with an archangel. And he's doing it all on his own. I mean, he's had Cas in there, giving him a push. But he's all right, you know? And, I'm pretty proud of the little son of a bitch.”
“Taught him well?” said Benny.
Dean nodded, and they rode in silence for a while. The weather had taken a turn from sunny to dark, as if a storm were approaching.
And then….
“What was that?” asked Dean, looking up towards the sky. “Did you see that?”
Benny shook his head. They stilled the horses, and stared for a while.
“No, there, can you see?” It was just in the edge of Dean's vision. Something that looked like flapping wings. “We gotta get back....”
Angels are fucking weird when they laugh. Dean reflected that perhaps this was the reason he never “got” Enochian humor.
It was Cas and Metatron and Ruth sitting around the room. Well, Ruth wasn't an angel, but she was babbling in Enochian. Metatron said something, and Ruth threw her head back and hooted, and Cas, who had a pad of paper and seemed to be working as kind of a note-taker, just kind of slumped, like a ball jointed doll who had just come unstrung.
“Funnier in Enochian?” Dean sighed as he sat next to Cas, who was still trembling.
“Metatron does an excellent impression of our Father,” Cas told him.
“Are you guys getting anywhere?” asked Dean.
Cas held up a pad of paper filled with Enochian squiggles. “We've got enough I think,” said Metatron. “We will need to inscribe this on a tablet.”
“Would it help to look at the other tablets?” asked Ruth.
“I haven't seen yours for a good long while,” said Metatron. “Perhaps-”
Suddenly, Ruth was gone. And then, in a blink, she was back. Along with the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar.
And it's current guardian, Isaiah. “What do you think you're doing?” he squawked.
“Chill out, Isaiah, we're just borrowing it,” Ruth told him as Metatron grabbed the tablet and stared at it.
“I am Isaiah, Guardian of the tablet!” he yelled, pulling out a sword.
“That's nice, dear,” said Metatron, who snapped her fingers. Isaiah slumped over, unconscious. “He's done a good job, this tablet is very clean and shiny.” She sniffed. “Is that Windex?”
“Guys,” said Dean as Cas spread a drooling Isaiah out on a couch. “I was out riding with Benny, and I could swear I saw something. Up I the air. I could have sworn … it looked like wings.”
Cas was gripping his arm. “You're able to see them now Dean?”
“See what?”
“We have a legion of angels looking for us,” said Metatron, setting down the tablet. “They are in true form, as they do not yet grasp the exact location of this place in the physical sphere.”
“Not … yet?” asked Dean. “I thought you angel-proofed the joint, Mets.”
Metatron didn’t take her eyes from the tablet. “As well as I could. They will eventually figure it out. Angels are stubborn little fuckers. And then they will lay siege, probably killing all of us.”
Dean threw up his hands in despair. “Oh. Well, that's nice. Was somebody gonna tell me about this?”
“There isn't anything you could have done,” Metatron told him. She turned to Ruth. “Let's go compare this to Odin's tablet,” she told her. She stood, and the two went off, carrying the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar, and Cas's notes.
They left Isaiah where he was, snoring on the couch.
“You were recovering, Dean,” Cas reminded him. “That was why we didn't include you when we first noticed the angels.”
“I think I'm recovered. What are we gonna do?”
“The key is to unlock the location of a new tablet. The signal will go out on angel radio, and it will draw off a good portion of the host. I will lead a company of rebel angels who have been in hiding along with Inias. Those who were loyal to … me.” Cas cringed as he spoke the last word.
“You're gonna do what?” asked Dean.
“It makes sense,” said Cas. “It is doubtful that we will specifically uncover the angel tablet, it will no doubt be one of the others, so the skirmish will be a diversion.”
“Skirmish,” said Dean. “With angels? And just how many guys were skulking around with Inias?”
Cas looked pained. “I doubt there were very many.”
“Wait, you don’t know for certain?”
“Inias has actually been very clever. He has studied human revolutionary movements extensively, and has organized the rebels into cell clusters. But as a result, no one knows the exact strength of his troops.”
“Then you'll need help,” said Dean.
Cas turned to Dean and smiled. “I can't make you...”
“I just volunteered. Assbutt.”
Cas actually blushed. “I suppose I should counter with an insult?” he asked.
Dean started to tell Cas it was okay, but then was blindsided with an angelic hug. “Uh,” said Cas, looking around to make sure Isaiah was still asleep. “I think that was indirectly from your brother. Anyway, while we meet the angels, Ruth and Bibi will offer up the counterfeit angel tablet directly to Azrael.”
“So we're going to be fighting over a tablet that's not the angel tablet, while we're also exchanging another tablet that's not the angel tablet. That is … really, really fucking confusing as hell, Cas.”
“You haven't heard the third part!” said Cas proudly. He scowled as the cell phone in his pocket went off. He stared at the text message.
“What?” asked Dean.
“Meg. We have it. We finally have it.”
“You ready, brother?” asked Benny, untying the last of the chords that bound the houseboat to the dock.
Garth waved tentatively at Linda Tran, who was standing, arms crossed, up by the stairs to the parking lot. She did not wave back. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.
“She’ll come around,” Benny told him.
“Linda is one stubborn lady,” sighed Garth as they walked to the wheelhouse.
“What were you feudin’ about?” asked Benny. “If you don’t mind my askin’? It’s pretty damned obvious there’s trouble in paradise.”
Garth gripped the wheel and began to ease the boat off the moorage and out of the harbor. “Well, her son is reconsidering medical school. He’s contemplating a career in the arts instead. Now, I told her it took me a while to find a career myself. I started out in dentistry, but found myself pulled inexorably towards the huntin’ life.”
“You support Kevin?”
“That’s what I made the mistake of tellin’ Linda.” Garth heaved a sigh.
“Well, parents want what’s best. Your kin always have a special place.”
Garth looked wistful. “I had thought maybe the boy would come to consider me a father figure.”
“Well, that is nice,” said Benny. “But you know, blended families….”
“It’s a heavy task,” said Garth. As they hit the open ocean, he throttled up.
“Aw, it’s good to be asea again!” said Benny, smelling the salt wind.
“So, you have had encounters with mermaids before, Benny?” asked Garth.
Benny chuckled. “Many a time. We don’t feed on their blood, and their siren calls don’t affect us, so we get along all right.”
“They ain’t … skeezy, like fairies, are they?” Garth shuddered.
“You ain’t never seen a mermaid before?” laughed Benny. “Well, it’s high time. And Kevin says this is the last ingredient, so we’re almost set.” He shook his head. “Well, too damn bad for that boy there ain’t no money in being a prophet of the lord.”
“Castiel says they tend to madness. Prophets. Which I think would not be a hindrance for an artist as much as a doctor.”
“You got a point there, brother.”
And they sailed on.
Cas and Dean awaited the angels in the middle of an empty field somewhere in Kansas. They were a few miles away from a small town named Salina. Dean knew this because it was marked on the water tower, which seemed to be the highest structure in a hundred miles.
“Weird that this tablet was in the Midwest all along. I guess God really did love America,” said Dean.
Cas was looking around nervously. “This meeting location was Inias's choice. It's too exposed for my tastes, but he insisted we needed sufficient room for everybody to assemble.” He looked at Dean. “We probably could have gotten by with a booth at a diner.”
“Well, you know, too many angels spoil the pie,” laughed Dean. “C’mon Cas, loosen up. Your light is getting all funky.”
“My … what?”
“You know, all that stuff about being a celestial wavelength?” Dean traced a hand on Cas’s face. “I can kind of see it now.”
“You can?”
“Yeah. And you’re getting all static-y. Why are you worried? Weren’t you some kind of heavenly general in your old gig?”
“Dean, I led beings who obeyed without question. I was doing my Father’s work. At least, I always thought I was doing my Father’s bidding. These beings, they have a choice. To follow, or….”
“Or tell you to go fuck yourself,” Dean concluded. Cas nodded glumly.
But before Dean could come up with something reassuring, there was a rustling of wings, and Inias appeared, along with about a half dozen angels. Dean was surprised to see a distinct lack of suits and ties: they were casually dressed, like Inias, and some looked as rumpled as Cas always did.
“We should hurry, Inias,” said Cas.
“We need to wait for the others,” said Inias, who was now the one watching the sky.
“Castiel!” said one of the female angels. Dean grinned. A Cas groupie. Cas nervously made introductions. All of them had heard of Dean, who seemed to be a minor celebrity among angelkind.
Then there was another flutter of wings, and this time, about a dozen new people appeared in the field.
“You've put out the word?” Inias asked the new group, to nods.
“You don't know how many guys total?” asked Dean.
“No. I have made an extensive study of human revolutionary movements. We have organized ourselves as cells,” Inias explained proudly. “I told them to spread the word, one to another. Everyone we can muster. I don't know how many of us there are in all.” Just then, another wave, three more angels, appeared. And then two more.
Cas led Dean and Inias over to introduce themselves to the new arrivals. But no sooner than that was completed, more angels appeared.
And then another wave.
And another.
And another.
Dean had lost track of how many, but continued walking around with Cas and Inias, as Cas introduced himself to every new arrival. There was one whole little group all wearing suits who said they were apparently among the latest to defect.
Dean gripped Cas's arm. “Dude,” he whispered, painfully aware that probably everyone here could hear him regardless, “this is a fuckload of angels.”
“I- What can I say to them, Dean?”
“Well, probably a bad mistake to tell them you're the new god.” Cas glared, and Dean asked, “Too soon?”
“I … hate talking to angels. I prefer to commune with bees.”
“Well, look, whatever the hell you've said before? It worked. Look around you.” Indeed, the entire field was now crawling with angels. Dean could not only see and hear them; he could somehow also sense their presence. There was something in his heart, all expectation. It felt like a weird cross between Christmas morning and his first job interview.
Cas scowled in concentration. And then he suddenly shrugged off his trench coat and handed it over to Dean. “Hold this,” he said.
Dean gave him a confused look, but grabbed the coat, and the jacket after it. “My brothers and sisters!” Cas shouted. Dean grinned. He could always imagine that voice shattering windows. “I thank you for coming. I know it was a choice.” Dean shook his head. It sounded a little too much like an airline announcement, but on the other hand, he doubted any of these dudes flew United. Anyway, the angels apparently appreciated this, as there were smiled and nods.
To Dean's puzzlement, Cas was loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “Long ago, our Father created humans. A miracle.” Cas paused and looked at Dean, who suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. “He asked that we bow down before His creation. However, it seems that many of us did not listen, nor take this to heart. Instead, they served, and continued to serve, themselves, and to serve angelkind.” He doffed the shirt, handing it too over to Dean, and then turned his back to the crowd, so everyone could see the tattoos that covered his back: the portrait of burning wings. There was a murmuring, and Dean heard at least one guy with a nose-ringed vessel remark, “Nice ink.”
“These markings on my back: they are a covenant that this day, I have subjugated myself to my Father’s creations, to humanity. I bore these in pain, as proof of what I believe: that I will try my best, from this day forward, to follow our Father's real intentions, and serve his best loved creation, humanity, with all my heart.” Dean smiled, wishing he had grabbed a couple of business cards from the tattoo artist. He thought she was going to be getting a lot of work from people who flapped in.
“What should we do, Castiel?” prompted Inias as the assemblage began to chatter again. Dean imagined he could see them fluffing out their wings.
“My Father bestowed on humanity a great gift: a compendium of tablets, containing the Word of God. Now one of our brothers, Azrael-” (there were some gasps and a few cries at the mention of the name) “-has decided to gather the Word for himself. To take them from the prophet, Kevin, and their rightful guardians. We need to stop him. And, you who are loyal to humanity, to our Father's wishes, I need your help.”
“Azrael is … very powerful,” said one of the angels who was wearing a suit. There were nods.
“We have an ally,” said Cas.
“Who?” asked another angel.
“The author of the tablets. Metatron.”
That seemed to meet with general angelic approval, as now the assembled crowd began to look less terrified (at least to Dean's eyes, knowing what he knew about angels) and a little more hopeful.
“Will Metatron fight alongside us today, Castiel?” came a shout.
“Metatron, along with some of our allies, is going to confront Azrael directly. It is essential for their success that we engage some of Azrael’s forces here, to keep them diverted from that encounter.
“You are not obligated to fight alongside me today. It is your free will choice. I know I have made many mistakes in the past. I hope you will forgive me…. And I hope you will help us.”
The angels were muttering and fake-flapping again, so Dean stepped up beside Cas. “So say we all!” he shouted.
There was some cheering and shouts of “Yeah!” from the crowd of angels.
“You needed to finish with something punchy, dude,” Dean whispered to Cas.
“Dean. Give me back my shirt,” Cas whispered back, holding out his hand, but not taking his eyes from the cheering crowd of angels.
Sam looked around, stifling a yawn. Was this finally the real world? It looked very unlike the house where he and Azrael had been playing chess (Azrael had, after much consideration, finally retired the last match): instead they stood in the dead grass outside some hideous vacant candy-colored McMansion on the end of a dusty cul-de-sac. It felt different. Sam felt like he'd overslept, stiff and drowsy, although he was trying not to show it. What baffled him was that Azrael, standing at his side, appeared exactly the same as his dream manifestation, the Gary Oldman Dracula, complete with funky little sunglasses. Had the guy somehow rounded up a vessel suited to his specifications? Or was he just so fricking powerful he could actually conjure up a body?
Sam looked up. He heard not wingbeats, as when angels arrive, but only felt perhaps a difference in the air pressure. Ruth and Bibi were now standing in his presence. “Hey, Sam!” said Ruth, giving him a little wave. Before he could stop himself, Sam waved back, even though they were only standing a few feet apart.
“I am Shri Vibhishana,” Bibi told Azrael, “and this is Ruth.”
“Oooo. This is Azrael?” asked Ruth, batting her eyes.
“What?” Bibi asked her.
“Oh. Nothing,” Ruth told him immediately.
“They sent me … pagans?” snorted Azrael, evidently staring down his nose at them, though it was difficult to determine, as he still wore smoked glasses.
“Aw, keep your shirt on,” said Ruth. “I used to be human. Besides, we're just the delivery. Now, hand over Sam, and we'll get outta here.”
Azrael glared at them. “Where is the tablet?”
Ruth and Bibi looked at each other for a moment. “I thought you brought it,” said Ruth.
“Are you certain you didn't have it, dear?” Bibi asked her.
Dean had traveled along with the biggest party of angels he had ever seen.
That is, until they reached the site where the tablet was supposed to be located. Cas had said they would be outnumbered. Dean hadn't reckoned it would be by a factor of ten to one.
“We're dead. Aren't we?” he asked Cas as they stood on an overlook, gazing down at the legion of Azrael’s heavenly troops.
“As I said, we simply need to keep them distracted. This is a diversion.”
“A diversion? Did you bring your Twister game?”
“Perhaps I should have brought Sorry?” Cas fired back. Dean smiled.
They had one factor working in their favor: as Cas had explained, once the tablet had been uncovered, using the ritual with what Dean was now calling Meg's Frisbee of Doom, the angels would gain a vague sense of where the Word of God was located, but would be unable to pinpoint the exact spot by pure angelic instinct alone. And the location wasn’t obvious: the ritual this time had ended up setting off an earthquake in the vicinity, and the ground was now riddled with fissures, any of which might possibly contain the tablet within. Azrael’s troops had a wide area to search.
Fortunately for them between Meg’s magic discus and Kevin’s prophet instincts, they had managed to pinpoint the exact location of the tablet on a map. Cas and Inias had decided to use guerilla tactics to engage Azrael’s forces. His troops would zap in, fight for long enough to distract Azrael’s angels form their search, and then zap out, hopefully before they had sustained too many casualties. Or anybody alerted the local papers, which probably did not expect legions of angels smiting each other out in a field.
As Dean was still not conversant with the whole zapping thing, and as he was still flying below angel radar due to the sigils carved in his ribs, Cas had appointed to him the task of actually ferreting out the stupid tablet and digging it up.
Unearthing it was going to involve Dean crawling through the field on his belly, keeping out of the watchful eye of the angels, and screwing around with a GPS device, none of which Dean especially relished. He was out in the middle of the field, up on his muddy knees to check the longitude and latitude again when he heard a whistling overhead, and threw himself back down to the ground. He cautiously peered up. Cas’s forces and Azrael’s were engaged in heavy fighting right up ahead. He looked down to the GPS device, and then back up at the squabbling angels.
“Shit. Hey, Cas!” he whispered. And quite suddenly, he was standing out near the margins of the battle, staring at Cas, who was holding a bloody sword and definitely was looking the worse for wear. Dean was pretty sure the angel’s nose had been broken for the umpteenth time, as his face was streaked in red. He fought down the instinct to grab his angel and yank him somewhere far, far away. Instead he said, “Cas, I'm stuck. I've located the position, but it's right in the middle of a skirmish.”
Cas looked over to where Dean was pointing, and sadly nodded. “We need to think of a way to draw them away.”
“You doing okay?” Dean asked.
Cas smiled wryly. “As I said, Dean, I would rather commune with bees.”
“Cas!”
“What is it, Dean?”
“You still talk to bees? I mean, now that you're recovered?”
Cas looked wistful. “I could always commune with them, Dean. They are highly intelligent....”
“And they follow God's plan, right? You said so yourself.” Cas frowned and nodded. “So, you think they'd be pissed off about a bunch of angels trying to upset it?”
“That was rude,” grumbled Crowley as he suddenly appeared, alongside Meg, in the middle of the cul-de-sac in Barstow. “Pulling me out of my own evil headquarters like that.” Sam blinked. After some minutes of back and forth between Azrael and Ruth and Bibi, it turned out that they didn't have the tablet after all, and the frustrated archangel had zapped over the ones who Ruth happened to mention were in possession of the object. To Sam's eyes, neither demon seemed terribly surprised.
“We could lock you back in the storeroom, Crowley,” grumbled Meg.
“Hrm. Dark storeroom, or buggers archangel,” mused Crowley.
“I wish you to give over the tablet, demons!” demanded Azrael.
Meg regarded the archangel, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. This is Azrael?” She whistled low. “Not bad.”
“I know, right?” Ruth told her.
“What the blazes are they going on about?” asked Crowley, regarding the nodding women.
“Azrael's vessel,” sighed Bibi. “They find him attractive. They’re starkers.”
Crowley snorted. “That's bloody ridiculous. He's just an ordinary-looking man who happens to need a haircut worse than Sam Winchester.”
“Sam's not bad either,” Ruth whispered to Meg.
“I wouldn't kick him outta bed. If you know what I mean,” mumbled Meg.
“You know I can hear you. I’m right over here,” said Sam, who didn’t much appreciate being objectified.
“Where is the tablet, demons?” growled Azrael, who was obviously growing smite-y over all the patter.
“Well, that wasn't attractive,” Meg muttered to Ruth.
“Yeah, I hate it when the cute ones are dicks,” said Ruth.
“We want the Winchester kid, ridiculous hair and all, first,” said Crowley, who suddenly had not a tablet, but a very, very, very long contract in his hand.
“You don't make demands of me, demon,” Azarael stated.
Crowley flourished the contract. “This isn't a demand. More a memorandum of understanding.” He suddenly flourished a basket. “And look, I’ve even brought muffins.”
There was a flurry of wingbeats. Sam gasped. Quite suddenly, the small party of humans and demons found themselves surrounded by a large, very intimidating company of angels. He prayed that Ruth and Bibi and the others knew what the hell they were doing.
The wind whipped, and pulled the contract from Crowley's grasp where it went fluttering over to one of the angels. The angel gripped the contract, and it flashed and burned to a crisp.
“Well, no muffins for you, mate,” said Crowley, suddenly pulling out instead a sparkling pinwheel instead, which he let spin in the wind.
“Fair's fair, Azrael,” said Bibi. “You give us Sam, and then we'll give up the tablet.”
Azrael put his hands on his hips. “I want the tablet. And I want the archangel you've been hiding.”
“Oh, you can't change terms like that in the middle of negotiation,” sniffed Crowley. Azrael snapped his fingers. The pinwheel sparked and melted. Crowley tossed it down in disgust. “OK, Sunshine, time to learn you don't mess with a man's stuff.”
Azrael had begun to gather a weird blue glow around him.
“All right, Azrael,” said Ruth. “Here’s your tablet!” Suddenly Meg was holding a stone tablet. Azrael stretched out his hand. “And here’s your archangel!” added Ruth. The ground began the tremble, and Sam was thrown back, nearly losing his footing. Ruth shrugged, and then in an instant blew up to someone one hundred times her size. Six great wings unfolded from her back.
“Wanna see a trick?” asked Ruth, he voice booming over the dry landscape. She began to chant in Enochian. Suddenly, Meg, who was still holding the tablet, was standing between two growling dragons.
Azrael was gaping up at Ruth. “Gabriel?” he asked. “Brother. Is that you?”
“Here we go, mate,” whispered Bibi, who had somehow gotten behind Sam while Azrael was distracted and now zapped him away.
A contingent of angels broke and rushed the dragons. They slashed at the great beasts, but were stunned when their swords went right through.
“It's a trick!” yelled one of the angels. “They’re just illusions.” He leapt towards a dragon and, ignoring the flaming breath, put a sword through it. It vanished.
The angel grabbed the tablet from Meg, who gave it over with an arched eyebrow. “Oh, you're sharp. For an angel. Better enjoy it while you can.”
Ruth was still chanting in Enochian. There was a whistling sound, and two Leviathan crash landed next to the angel with the tablet. “Illusions!” screamed the angel, who lunged at one, running it through with an angel sword. The Leviathan snarled, pulled the sword out of itself, and then gutted the angel.
The tablet smashed to the ground, breaking into three pieces.
“Oops. Sorry, feathers, that Leviathan was real,” grinned Crowley. He blew at his brand new, shiny pinwheel.
In a field near Salina, Kansas, an angel raised his sword at one of Cas's freedom fighters.
And then he began to scream, engulfed by a swarm of angry bees.
Cas, who was sitting on a tree branch overlooking the fight, spoke softly to the bee perched on his index finger.
“Tell him thanks,” said Dean, who was sitting next to him.
“Bees are much in harmony with God's plan,” Cas told him.
“And make sure they know not to sting my ass when I go out there?” Dean asked, as Cas seemed distracted.
Cas smiled. Dean heard a buzzing, and felt a tiny weight on his shoulder. “Oh,” he said, staring cross-eyed at the honey bee perched there.
“This is Thaddeus. He will be your escort,” Cas explained.
“Okay. Bees have names?”
“Well, I don't think you could pronounce his proper name,” said Cas, who added a little buzz that was presumably Thaddeus’s appellation in bee-speak.
“Great. Well, Tad, here we go, all right?” Dean hopped down from the tree branch and, being careful that he was not spotted by the angels still skirmishing in the vicinity, hurried over to locate the coordinates he had set on his GPS.
He shinnied down to the bottom of one of the great fissures in the ground. And then he grabbed his shovel, and began to dig.
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 frolic 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, though on the other hand, I solemnly promise that no one in this fic quirks and eyebrow.
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.
Notes: Here it is, the penultimate chapter. Yes, I say penultimate.
Sam was being a little reckless with his queen. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that Azrael intensely disliked being on the defensive. The archangel had been flustered into making a couple of mistakes. Sam could have pressed harder, but thought the best move overall would be to prolong the game. And keep Azrael talking. So he concentrated on the board and sipped bad cocoa.
“You have met those of my kind before, Sam,” said Azrael as he tried to come up with a counter-move to protect a bishop.
Sam looked sour. “Yeah, Dean and I, we’re the archangel’s best friends. Michael, and Lucifer. And Gabriel, though we didn’t know it was him-“
“You knew my brother, Gabriel?” asked Azrael, who had stopped feigning interest in his next move.
“Sure. He pretended to be the Trickster. Loki. But, you could say he was … a close acquaintance.” Sam winced. Although to his mind, Gabriel had managed to redeem himself in the end, Sam would probably never get over what the little bastard had put Dean through. But Sam had picked up an odd note in Azrael’s tone. “Uh, I suppose you regret that he’s gone?”
“He was in many ways my closest brother,” Azrael admitted. “Before he left.”
Sam said nothing. This was a surprise. Strange though that Azrael had done nothing to help during all that crap with the apocalypse. But angels were weird.
“Then it is true that he is dead?” Azrael prompted.
“Well, I didn’t see the body,” Sam confessed. “But what I heard was your brother Lucifer ganked him,” he said.
“I do not speak that one’s name any more,” Azrael said rather curtly. He glared at Sam. “What do you know of my sister?”
Sam looked up, his eyes all innocence. “I’ve met a bunch of your sisters. Which one? Rachel? Hester? Anna? Or do you mean Raphael?” He said the last with a tiny smirk.
“Metatron has returned. I could sense her. But now I cannot.”
“Oh, you mean the Metatron who wrote the tablets? Wow. Hey, you know if you’re looking for a tablet, maybe you could just ask her for one?”
“I seek her original tablets. That is why I have come to this hellish, sinful place. To claim what is mine.”
“Well, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” said Sam, threatening Azrael’s knight.
“Vegas?” asked Azrael, wiping at his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief.
“Las Vegas,” said Sam casually.
“No. We have taken advantage of the real estate collapse in California. This is an abandoned tract house in Barstow.”
“Clever! So, uh, can I use your restroom?” asked Sam, holding up his Styrofoam cup. “Cocoa, you know.”
Azrael shrugged and pointed the way, concentrating on the board.
Sam figured it was not much of a lie. Even if his real life self didn’t need to pee, his dream self should have a bursting bladder after all the terrible hot chocolate. He found a bathroom and poured out the rest of the contents of his cup into the sink, hoping it would at least eat through Azrael's plumbing. And then, concentrating very hard, he opened a window, and, with no little effort (as Sam was not a small man) managed to crawl outside.
And out into the desert.
“Good. Great. Active dreaming. Okay, hey, Cas!”
Wings fluttered almost before Sam had finished speaking, and Cas arrived in a cloud of dust.
“Hey, fast service,” said Sam, who was surprised by Cas stepping forward and gripping his shoulders.
“Sam! I was worried about you! How are you?”
“Hey, Cas, don’t worry dude. I’m fine. Just playing chess and drinking the world’s word instant hot chocolate.” Cas looked puzzled. Sam noticed for the first time that the angel not only lacked his customary trench coat, he lacked almost all clothing. “Hey, are those Dean’s pants?” he asked, pointing to the jeans hanging off Cas’s narrow waist.
Cas sighed. “It’s a long story, Sam.”
Sam smiled, imagining that his brother must have a lot to do with said story. “Sooo.... Dean's okay?”
“Oh, I hadn't told you,” Cas apologized. “Yes, your brother is feeling … vigorous.” And here Sam could have sworn Cas rolled his eyes. “He is recovering.”
Sam smirked with the knowledge that he may have caught Dean and Cas in the middle of a quickie. “Anyway, I got some good news, and some bad news. First, Azrael spilled where he’s keeping me.”
“Where, Sam?”
“Barstow. In an abandoned tract house.
This merited an angelic frown. “Barstow. On the edge of the desert. As in the Hunter Thompson book?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, it took some effort for Sam not to giggle. “Wait, Cas, no. You’ve read Fear and Loathing?”
Cas looked offended. “Hunter Thompson was an enlightened man! All angels are familiar with his work,” he told Sam primly.
Sam was taken aback. Was there no ending to the wild weirdness of angels? “Well, that’s a surprise. Anyway, he’s also been talking about his plans. I mean, a lot. You know how the apocalypse was gonna wipe out half of humanity?”
“Yes?” Cas did not appear pleased by the mention of the apocalypse.
Sam pushed on. “Azrael plans to finish the job. Everybody.”
Cas looked almost human in his astonishment. “Is…. Is he crazy?”
Sam rolled his eyes in a direction that would have been heavenward, were this not a dreamscape. “Cas, he’s an archangel. Crazy goes with the job.”
Cas appeared chastened. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I guess he thinks he can gather up all the souls and then win his feud with Death.”
“He can’t conquer Death, Sam. No one can. Not even my Father.”
“Yeah, well, tell him that. I guess that’s why he’s hot for the angel tablet. It has the secret formula so he can gobble up all the souls and not end up a basket case….”
“You mean like I did,” said Cas sadly.
Sam cast his eyes over the dead landscape for a moment, and then turned his attention back to the sulking angel. “Okay, Cas, from one addict to another. You get one try at that soul-eating thing, but so help me, if you pull any shit like that, ever again, I will find a way to smite you myself!”
Cas shook his head. “Oh! There is no danger of that, Sam. Consuming the souls for me was an … unpleasant experience. I would die first before attempting such a thing again.”
“Yeah? And you would let Dean die?”
That seemed to throw the angel. “Dean is…. I would do nearly anything for your brother, I suppose.” He frowned. “But not that. Never that.” He nodded, seemingly to himself. “Please don't be concerned, Sam. We have … other options to defeat Azrael. And any information you can give me will be helpful.”
“You know what’s weird? I can almost sense Dean here. I mean, a couple of times, it was like I was talking to him. Kind of like the Force, you know?” Sam looked far away.
“That might be literally true, Sam.”
“How so?”
It was Cas’s turn to gaze into the middle distance. “It’s … complicated. We’ll fill you in when you are returned.”
“Anyway, I should get back. Azrael has probably made his move by now.”
“Thank you, Sam. I will tell Dean. We will try to effect a rescue.”
Sam didn’t mean to ask, but found he couldn’t stop himself. “You're totally wearing Dean's clothes, aren't you?”
Cas looked down at the well-worn jeans and Led Zeppelin T-shirt. “Uh, yes, I apologize, I didn’t suppose you would welcome seeing me, uh, unclothed.”
“Might have been fun if you’d brought the bees,” laughed Sam.
Cas colored. “Yes. That,” he muttered.
“Aw, I’m just teasing, Cas. It’s actually really good to see you. Really, really good.” At which point, Sam’s eyes began fill with tears.
Cas squinted at him, appearing to make a decision. He held out his arms. Sam engulfed him in a hug, actually lifting the angel from his feet.
“Okay,” said Sam, wiping a tear. “I’m good now. I'm good. Thanks for that.”
“No problem, Sam.”
“Just … get me out of here, okay?”
“We will. I promise.” He frowned at Sam. “Is there anything else?”
Sam scanned through their conversations for useful information. “Oh. Yeah. I don’t know what you could do with it, but Azrael seems to really miss Gabriel. I mentioned a lot of other angels, but that’s the only one who got a reaction.”
Cas got a funny half-smile. “Many of us do. Miss him.”
“Miss that guy?” The words were out before Sam could stop himself.
“Gabriel was a kind of … little brother to the archangels. Perhaps you could understand that, Sam?”
Sam looked at Cas curiously, and decided he needed to bring this up some time in the future, when they had more time. He reminded himself that relations between brothers were never straightforward. Another thought struck him. “Oh, and I had a weird idea. We’ve got Metatron, the person who originally wrote the tablets, right?”
“So, your piece of shit truck was okay?” asked Dean as he and Benny guided their horses down the path through the meadow. Cas had claimed he needed to work with Metatron on something, so Dean had headed out to relax for a bit.
Benny reigned in his horse and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, my fucking truck was okay. Metatron somehow got me one of them handicapped parking passes. I couldn't refuse. You might say my condition qualifies as a sort of disability.”
“Special parking for bloodsuckers. I like it,” laughed Dean.
“But, just between you and me, brother? I've found myself to be less and less motivated to get on back. Not when I know what it's like up here. You know. There's none of the temptations up here. I just wanna get on a horse and ride. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do, actually.”
Benny studied Dean. “You feeling okay now? I was technically brought up here as your nurse maid.”
“My nurse maid? I would have held out for something that looked better in a nurse's uniform.”
Benny chortled. “I'd do anything for you, brother, but I ain't shaving my legs.”
Dean threw his head back and roared with laughter. “So it was really Cas who asked you up here?”
“The angel and me, we ain’t never gonna be bosom buddies, but we ain’t enemies either , if that’s what you mean.” Benny was silent for a moment. “But I meant, how is it for you now, being one of us monsters?”
Dean frowned. “Honestly? Just between you and me?”
“Sure.”
Dean looked around, and then confided, “It’s actually kinda fun. I mean, I’m strong as an ox now. And I can see things. Like I’m pretty sure I can sense Cas’s true form, which is weird. And I’m almost certain I can sense Sammy now.”
“But you said no to all this. Cas told me that much.”
“It wasn't really that. It was never about that. Yeah, I was scared it would change me too far. I saw what Lucifer did – tried to do – to Sammy. But it wasn't ever really that.”
They both rode along for a while. “So, what was it?” Benny prompted. “If you don't mind my askin'.”
“You need to remember, our mom died when Sammy was just a baby. And then my dad.... Well, I've talked about that before.”
“Not a family man.”
“Not as such. So, it's always been me and Sammy. Me looking out for Sammy. And this just felt.... Well, I felt like, if I went along with this, it would be mostly for me. For Cas and me, I guess.”
“Oh, I see. You didn't wanna abandon your baby brother?”
“Well, yeah. It felt like I’d be leaving him behind. But now, you know, it's like I can sense he's out there. And I wanna get him back, yeah, but.... I feel like he's okay. No, he's not just okay. He's fucking with an archangel. And he's doing it all on his own. I mean, he's had Cas in there, giving him a push. But he's all right, you know? And, I'm pretty proud of the little son of a bitch.”
“Taught him well?” said Benny.
Dean nodded, and they rode in silence for a while. The weather had taken a turn from sunny to dark, as if a storm were approaching.
And then….
“What was that?” asked Dean, looking up towards the sky. “Did you see that?”
Benny shook his head. They stilled the horses, and stared for a while.
“No, there, can you see?” It was just in the edge of Dean's vision. Something that looked like flapping wings. “We gotta get back....”
Angels are fucking weird when they laugh. Dean reflected that perhaps this was the reason he never “got” Enochian humor.
It was Cas and Metatron and Ruth sitting around the room. Well, Ruth wasn't an angel, but she was babbling in Enochian. Metatron said something, and Ruth threw her head back and hooted, and Cas, who had a pad of paper and seemed to be working as kind of a note-taker, just kind of slumped, like a ball jointed doll who had just come unstrung.
“Funnier in Enochian?” Dean sighed as he sat next to Cas, who was still trembling.
“Metatron does an excellent impression of our Father,” Cas told him.
“Are you guys getting anywhere?” asked Dean.
Cas held up a pad of paper filled with Enochian squiggles. “We've got enough I think,” said Metatron. “We will need to inscribe this on a tablet.”
“Would it help to look at the other tablets?” asked Ruth.
“I haven't seen yours for a good long while,” said Metatron. “Perhaps-”
Suddenly, Ruth was gone. And then, in a blink, she was back. Along with the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar.
And it's current guardian, Isaiah. “What do you think you're doing?” he squawked.
“Chill out, Isaiah, we're just borrowing it,” Ruth told him as Metatron grabbed the tablet and stared at it.
“I am Isaiah, Guardian of the tablet!” he yelled, pulling out a sword.
“That's nice, dear,” said Metatron, who snapped her fingers. Isaiah slumped over, unconscious. “He's done a good job, this tablet is very clean and shiny.” She sniffed. “Is that Windex?”
“Guys,” said Dean as Cas spread a drooling Isaiah out on a couch. “I was out riding with Benny, and I could swear I saw something. Up I the air. I could have sworn … it looked like wings.”
Cas was gripping his arm. “You're able to see them now Dean?”
“See what?”
“We have a legion of angels looking for us,” said Metatron, setting down the tablet. “They are in true form, as they do not yet grasp the exact location of this place in the physical sphere.”
“Not … yet?” asked Dean. “I thought you angel-proofed the joint, Mets.”
Metatron didn’t take her eyes from the tablet. “As well as I could. They will eventually figure it out. Angels are stubborn little fuckers. And then they will lay siege, probably killing all of us.”
Dean threw up his hands in despair. “Oh. Well, that's nice. Was somebody gonna tell me about this?”
“There isn't anything you could have done,” Metatron told him. She turned to Ruth. “Let's go compare this to Odin's tablet,” she told her. She stood, and the two went off, carrying the Tablet of Nebuchadnezzar, and Cas's notes.
They left Isaiah where he was, snoring on the couch.
“You were recovering, Dean,” Cas reminded him. “That was why we didn't include you when we first noticed the angels.”
“I think I'm recovered. What are we gonna do?”
“The key is to unlock the location of a new tablet. The signal will go out on angel radio, and it will draw off a good portion of the host. I will lead a company of rebel angels who have been in hiding along with Inias. Those who were loyal to … me.” Cas cringed as he spoke the last word.
“You're gonna do what?” asked Dean.
“It makes sense,” said Cas. “It is doubtful that we will specifically uncover the angel tablet, it will no doubt be one of the others, so the skirmish will be a diversion.”
“Skirmish,” said Dean. “With angels? And just how many guys were skulking around with Inias?”
Cas looked pained. “I doubt there were very many.”
“Wait, you don’t know for certain?”
“Inias has actually been very clever. He has studied human revolutionary movements extensively, and has organized the rebels into cell clusters. But as a result, no one knows the exact strength of his troops.”
“Then you'll need help,” said Dean.
Cas turned to Dean and smiled. “I can't make you...”
“I just volunteered. Assbutt.”
Cas actually blushed. “I suppose I should counter with an insult?” he asked.
Dean started to tell Cas it was okay, but then was blindsided with an angelic hug. “Uh,” said Cas, looking around to make sure Isaiah was still asleep. “I think that was indirectly from your brother. Anyway, while we meet the angels, Ruth and Bibi will offer up the counterfeit angel tablet directly to Azrael.”
“So we're going to be fighting over a tablet that's not the angel tablet, while we're also exchanging another tablet that's not the angel tablet. That is … really, really fucking confusing as hell, Cas.”
“You haven't heard the third part!” said Cas proudly. He scowled as the cell phone in his pocket went off. He stared at the text message.
“What?” asked Dean.
“Meg. We have it. We finally have it.”
“You ready, brother?” asked Benny, untying the last of the chords that bound the houseboat to the dock.
Garth waved tentatively at Linda Tran, who was standing, arms crossed, up by the stairs to the parking lot. She did not wave back. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.
“She’ll come around,” Benny told him.
“Linda is one stubborn lady,” sighed Garth as they walked to the wheelhouse.
“What were you feudin’ about?” asked Benny. “If you don’t mind my askin’? It’s pretty damned obvious there’s trouble in paradise.”
Garth gripped the wheel and began to ease the boat off the moorage and out of the harbor. “Well, her son is reconsidering medical school. He’s contemplating a career in the arts instead. Now, I told her it took me a while to find a career myself. I started out in dentistry, but found myself pulled inexorably towards the huntin’ life.”
“You support Kevin?”
“That’s what I made the mistake of tellin’ Linda.” Garth heaved a sigh.
“Well, parents want what’s best. Your kin always have a special place.”
Garth looked wistful. “I had thought maybe the boy would come to consider me a father figure.”
“Well, that is nice,” said Benny. “But you know, blended families….”
“It’s a heavy task,” said Garth. As they hit the open ocean, he throttled up.
“Aw, it’s good to be asea again!” said Benny, smelling the salt wind.
“So, you have had encounters with mermaids before, Benny?” asked Garth.
Benny chuckled. “Many a time. We don’t feed on their blood, and their siren calls don’t affect us, so we get along all right.”
“They ain’t … skeezy, like fairies, are they?” Garth shuddered.
“You ain’t never seen a mermaid before?” laughed Benny. “Well, it’s high time. And Kevin says this is the last ingredient, so we’re almost set.” He shook his head. “Well, too damn bad for that boy there ain’t no money in being a prophet of the lord.”
“Castiel says they tend to madness. Prophets. Which I think would not be a hindrance for an artist as much as a doctor.”
“You got a point there, brother.”
And they sailed on.
Cas and Dean awaited the angels in the middle of an empty field somewhere in Kansas. They were a few miles away from a small town named Salina. Dean knew this because it was marked on the water tower, which seemed to be the highest structure in a hundred miles.
“Weird that this tablet was in the Midwest all along. I guess God really did love America,” said Dean.
Cas was looking around nervously. “This meeting location was Inias's choice. It's too exposed for my tastes, but he insisted we needed sufficient room for everybody to assemble.” He looked at Dean. “We probably could have gotten by with a booth at a diner.”
“Well, you know, too many angels spoil the pie,” laughed Dean. “C’mon Cas, loosen up. Your light is getting all funky.”
“My … what?”
“You know, all that stuff about being a celestial wavelength?” Dean traced a hand on Cas’s face. “I can kind of see it now.”
“You can?”
“Yeah. And you’re getting all static-y. Why are you worried? Weren’t you some kind of heavenly general in your old gig?”
“Dean, I led beings who obeyed without question. I was doing my Father’s work. At least, I always thought I was doing my Father’s bidding. These beings, they have a choice. To follow, or….”
“Or tell you to go fuck yourself,” Dean concluded. Cas nodded glumly.
But before Dean could come up with something reassuring, there was a rustling of wings, and Inias appeared, along with about a half dozen angels. Dean was surprised to see a distinct lack of suits and ties: they were casually dressed, like Inias, and some looked as rumpled as Cas always did.
“We should hurry, Inias,” said Cas.
“We need to wait for the others,” said Inias, who was now the one watching the sky.
“Castiel!” said one of the female angels. Dean grinned. A Cas groupie. Cas nervously made introductions. All of them had heard of Dean, who seemed to be a minor celebrity among angelkind.
Then there was another flutter of wings, and this time, about a dozen new people appeared in the field.
“You've put out the word?” Inias asked the new group, to nods.
“You don't know how many guys total?” asked Dean.
“No. I have made an extensive study of human revolutionary movements. We have organized ourselves as cells,” Inias explained proudly. “I told them to spread the word, one to another. Everyone we can muster. I don't know how many of us there are in all.” Just then, another wave, three more angels, appeared. And then two more.
Cas led Dean and Inias over to introduce themselves to the new arrivals. But no sooner than that was completed, more angels appeared.
And then another wave.
And another.
And another.
Dean had lost track of how many, but continued walking around with Cas and Inias, as Cas introduced himself to every new arrival. There was one whole little group all wearing suits who said they were apparently among the latest to defect.
Dean gripped Cas's arm. “Dude,” he whispered, painfully aware that probably everyone here could hear him regardless, “this is a fuckload of angels.”
“I- What can I say to them, Dean?”
“Well, probably a bad mistake to tell them you're the new god.” Cas glared, and Dean asked, “Too soon?”
“I … hate talking to angels. I prefer to commune with bees.”
“Well, look, whatever the hell you've said before? It worked. Look around you.” Indeed, the entire field was now crawling with angels. Dean could not only see and hear them; he could somehow also sense their presence. There was something in his heart, all expectation. It felt like a weird cross between Christmas morning and his first job interview.
Cas scowled in concentration. And then he suddenly shrugged off his trench coat and handed it over to Dean. “Hold this,” he said.
Dean gave him a confused look, but grabbed the coat, and the jacket after it. “My brothers and sisters!” Cas shouted. Dean grinned. He could always imagine that voice shattering windows. “I thank you for coming. I know it was a choice.” Dean shook his head. It sounded a little too much like an airline announcement, but on the other hand, he doubted any of these dudes flew United. Anyway, the angels apparently appreciated this, as there were smiled and nods.
To Dean's puzzlement, Cas was loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “Long ago, our Father created humans. A miracle.” Cas paused and looked at Dean, who suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. “He asked that we bow down before His creation. However, it seems that many of us did not listen, nor take this to heart. Instead, they served, and continued to serve, themselves, and to serve angelkind.” He doffed the shirt, handing it too over to Dean, and then turned his back to the crowd, so everyone could see the tattoos that covered his back: the portrait of burning wings. There was a murmuring, and Dean heard at least one guy with a nose-ringed vessel remark, “Nice ink.”
“These markings on my back: they are a covenant that this day, I have subjugated myself to my Father’s creations, to humanity. I bore these in pain, as proof of what I believe: that I will try my best, from this day forward, to follow our Father's real intentions, and serve his best loved creation, humanity, with all my heart.” Dean smiled, wishing he had grabbed a couple of business cards from the tattoo artist. He thought she was going to be getting a lot of work from people who flapped in.
“What should we do, Castiel?” prompted Inias as the assemblage began to chatter again. Dean imagined he could see them fluffing out their wings.
“My Father bestowed on humanity a great gift: a compendium of tablets, containing the Word of God. Now one of our brothers, Azrael-” (there were some gasps and a few cries at the mention of the name) “-has decided to gather the Word for himself. To take them from the prophet, Kevin, and their rightful guardians. We need to stop him. And, you who are loyal to humanity, to our Father's wishes, I need your help.”
“Azrael is … very powerful,” said one of the angels who was wearing a suit. There were nods.
“We have an ally,” said Cas.
“Who?” asked another angel.
“The author of the tablets. Metatron.”
That seemed to meet with general angelic approval, as now the assembled crowd began to look less terrified (at least to Dean's eyes, knowing what he knew about angels) and a little more hopeful.
“Will Metatron fight alongside us today, Castiel?” came a shout.
“Metatron, along with some of our allies, is going to confront Azrael directly. It is essential for their success that we engage some of Azrael’s forces here, to keep them diverted from that encounter.
“You are not obligated to fight alongside me today. It is your free will choice. I know I have made many mistakes in the past. I hope you will forgive me…. And I hope you will help us.”
The angels were muttering and fake-flapping again, so Dean stepped up beside Cas. “So say we all!” he shouted.
There was some cheering and shouts of “Yeah!” from the crowd of angels.
“You needed to finish with something punchy, dude,” Dean whispered to Cas.
“Dean. Give me back my shirt,” Cas whispered back, holding out his hand, but not taking his eyes from the cheering crowd of angels.
Sam looked around, stifling a yawn. Was this finally the real world? It looked very unlike the house where he and Azrael had been playing chess (Azrael had, after much consideration, finally retired the last match): instead they stood in the dead grass outside some hideous vacant candy-colored McMansion on the end of a dusty cul-de-sac. It felt different. Sam felt like he'd overslept, stiff and drowsy, although he was trying not to show it. What baffled him was that Azrael, standing at his side, appeared exactly the same as his dream manifestation, the Gary Oldman Dracula, complete with funky little sunglasses. Had the guy somehow rounded up a vessel suited to his specifications? Or was he just so fricking powerful he could actually conjure up a body?
Sam looked up. He heard not wingbeats, as when angels arrive, but only felt perhaps a difference in the air pressure. Ruth and Bibi were now standing in his presence. “Hey, Sam!” said Ruth, giving him a little wave. Before he could stop himself, Sam waved back, even though they were only standing a few feet apart.
“I am Shri Vibhishana,” Bibi told Azrael, “and this is Ruth.”
“Oooo. This is Azrael?” asked Ruth, batting her eyes.
“What?” Bibi asked her.
“Oh. Nothing,” Ruth told him immediately.
“They sent me … pagans?” snorted Azrael, evidently staring down his nose at them, though it was difficult to determine, as he still wore smoked glasses.
“Aw, keep your shirt on,” said Ruth. “I used to be human. Besides, we're just the delivery. Now, hand over Sam, and we'll get outta here.”
Azrael glared at them. “Where is the tablet?”
Ruth and Bibi looked at each other for a moment. “I thought you brought it,” said Ruth.
“Are you certain you didn't have it, dear?” Bibi asked her.
Dean had traveled along with the biggest party of angels he had ever seen.
That is, until they reached the site where the tablet was supposed to be located. Cas had said they would be outnumbered. Dean hadn't reckoned it would be by a factor of ten to one.
“We're dead. Aren't we?” he asked Cas as they stood on an overlook, gazing down at the legion of Azrael’s heavenly troops.
“As I said, we simply need to keep them distracted. This is a diversion.”
“A diversion? Did you bring your Twister game?”
“Perhaps I should have brought Sorry?” Cas fired back. Dean smiled.
They had one factor working in their favor: as Cas had explained, once the tablet had been uncovered, using the ritual with what Dean was now calling Meg's Frisbee of Doom, the angels would gain a vague sense of where the Word of God was located, but would be unable to pinpoint the exact spot by pure angelic instinct alone. And the location wasn’t obvious: the ritual this time had ended up setting off an earthquake in the vicinity, and the ground was now riddled with fissures, any of which might possibly contain the tablet within. Azrael’s troops had a wide area to search.
Fortunately for them between Meg’s magic discus and Kevin’s prophet instincts, they had managed to pinpoint the exact location of the tablet on a map. Cas and Inias had decided to use guerilla tactics to engage Azrael’s forces. His troops would zap in, fight for long enough to distract Azrael’s angels form their search, and then zap out, hopefully before they had sustained too many casualties. Or anybody alerted the local papers, which probably did not expect legions of angels smiting each other out in a field.
As Dean was still not conversant with the whole zapping thing, and as he was still flying below angel radar due to the sigils carved in his ribs, Cas had appointed to him the task of actually ferreting out the stupid tablet and digging it up.
Unearthing it was going to involve Dean crawling through the field on his belly, keeping out of the watchful eye of the angels, and screwing around with a GPS device, none of which Dean especially relished. He was out in the middle of the field, up on his muddy knees to check the longitude and latitude again when he heard a whistling overhead, and threw himself back down to the ground. He cautiously peered up. Cas’s forces and Azrael’s were engaged in heavy fighting right up ahead. He looked down to the GPS device, and then back up at the squabbling angels.
“Shit. Hey, Cas!” he whispered. And quite suddenly, he was standing out near the margins of the battle, staring at Cas, who was holding a bloody sword and definitely was looking the worse for wear. Dean was pretty sure the angel’s nose had been broken for the umpteenth time, as his face was streaked in red. He fought down the instinct to grab his angel and yank him somewhere far, far away. Instead he said, “Cas, I'm stuck. I've located the position, but it's right in the middle of a skirmish.”
Cas looked over to where Dean was pointing, and sadly nodded. “We need to think of a way to draw them away.”
“You doing okay?” Dean asked.
Cas smiled wryly. “As I said, Dean, I would rather commune with bees.”
“Cas!”
“What is it, Dean?”
“You still talk to bees? I mean, now that you're recovered?”
Cas looked wistful. “I could always commune with them, Dean. They are highly intelligent....”
“And they follow God's plan, right? You said so yourself.” Cas frowned and nodded. “So, you think they'd be pissed off about a bunch of angels trying to upset it?”
“That was rude,” grumbled Crowley as he suddenly appeared, alongside Meg, in the middle of the cul-de-sac in Barstow. “Pulling me out of my own evil headquarters like that.” Sam blinked. After some minutes of back and forth between Azrael and Ruth and Bibi, it turned out that they didn't have the tablet after all, and the frustrated archangel had zapped over the ones who Ruth happened to mention were in possession of the object. To Sam's eyes, neither demon seemed terribly surprised.
“We could lock you back in the storeroom, Crowley,” grumbled Meg.
“Hrm. Dark storeroom, or buggers archangel,” mused Crowley.
“I wish you to give over the tablet, demons!” demanded Azrael.
Meg regarded the archangel, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. This is Azrael?” She whistled low. “Not bad.”
“I know, right?” Ruth told her.
“What the blazes are they going on about?” asked Crowley, regarding the nodding women.
“Azrael's vessel,” sighed Bibi. “They find him attractive. They’re starkers.”
Crowley snorted. “That's bloody ridiculous. He's just an ordinary-looking man who happens to need a haircut worse than Sam Winchester.”
“Sam's not bad either,” Ruth whispered to Meg.
“I wouldn't kick him outta bed. If you know what I mean,” mumbled Meg.
“You know I can hear you. I’m right over here,” said Sam, who didn’t much appreciate being objectified.
“Where is the tablet, demons?” growled Azrael, who was obviously growing smite-y over all the patter.
“Well, that wasn't attractive,” Meg muttered to Ruth.
“Yeah, I hate it when the cute ones are dicks,” said Ruth.
“We want the Winchester kid, ridiculous hair and all, first,” said Crowley, who suddenly had not a tablet, but a very, very, very long contract in his hand.
“You don't make demands of me, demon,” Azarael stated.
Crowley flourished the contract. “This isn't a demand. More a memorandum of understanding.” He suddenly flourished a basket. “And look, I’ve even brought muffins.”
There was a flurry of wingbeats. Sam gasped. Quite suddenly, the small party of humans and demons found themselves surrounded by a large, very intimidating company of angels. He prayed that Ruth and Bibi and the others knew what the hell they were doing.
The wind whipped, and pulled the contract from Crowley's grasp where it went fluttering over to one of the angels. The angel gripped the contract, and it flashed and burned to a crisp.
“Well, no muffins for you, mate,” said Crowley, suddenly pulling out instead a sparkling pinwheel instead, which he let spin in the wind.
“Fair's fair, Azrael,” said Bibi. “You give us Sam, and then we'll give up the tablet.”
Azrael put his hands on his hips. “I want the tablet. And I want the archangel you've been hiding.”
“Oh, you can't change terms like that in the middle of negotiation,” sniffed Crowley. Azrael snapped his fingers. The pinwheel sparked and melted. Crowley tossed it down in disgust. “OK, Sunshine, time to learn you don't mess with a man's stuff.”
Azrael had begun to gather a weird blue glow around him.
“All right, Azrael,” said Ruth. “Here’s your tablet!” Suddenly Meg was holding a stone tablet. Azrael stretched out his hand. “And here’s your archangel!” added Ruth. The ground began the tremble, and Sam was thrown back, nearly losing his footing. Ruth shrugged, and then in an instant blew up to someone one hundred times her size. Six great wings unfolded from her back.
“Wanna see a trick?” asked Ruth, he voice booming over the dry landscape. She began to chant in Enochian. Suddenly, Meg, who was still holding the tablet, was standing between two growling dragons.
Azrael was gaping up at Ruth. “Gabriel?” he asked. “Brother. Is that you?”
“Here we go, mate,” whispered Bibi, who had somehow gotten behind Sam while Azrael was distracted and now zapped him away.
A contingent of angels broke and rushed the dragons. They slashed at the great beasts, but were stunned when their swords went right through.
“It's a trick!” yelled one of the angels. “They’re just illusions.” He leapt towards a dragon and, ignoring the flaming breath, put a sword through it. It vanished.
The angel grabbed the tablet from Meg, who gave it over with an arched eyebrow. “Oh, you're sharp. For an angel. Better enjoy it while you can.”
Ruth was still chanting in Enochian. There was a whistling sound, and two Leviathan crash landed next to the angel with the tablet. “Illusions!” screamed the angel, who lunged at one, running it through with an angel sword. The Leviathan snarled, pulled the sword out of itself, and then gutted the angel.
The tablet smashed to the ground, breaking into three pieces.
“Oops. Sorry, feathers, that Leviathan was real,” grinned Crowley. He blew at his brand new, shiny pinwheel.
In a field near Salina, Kansas, an angel raised his sword at one of Cas's freedom fighters.
And then he began to scream, engulfed by a swarm of angry bees.
Cas, who was sitting on a tree branch overlooking the fight, spoke softly to the bee perched on his index finger.
“Tell him thanks,” said Dean, who was sitting next to him.
“Bees are much in harmony with God's plan,” Cas told him.
“And make sure they know not to sting my ass when I go out there?” Dean asked, as Cas seemed distracted.
Cas smiled. Dean heard a buzzing, and felt a tiny weight on his shoulder. “Oh,” he said, staring cross-eyed at the honey bee perched there.
“This is Thaddeus. He will be your escort,” Cas explained.
“Okay. Bees have names?”
“Well, I don't think you could pronounce his proper name,” said Cas, who added a little buzz that was presumably Thaddeus’s appellation in bee-speak.
“Great. Well, Tad, here we go, all right?” Dean hopped down from the tree branch and, being careful that he was not spotted by the angels still skirmishing in the vicinity, hurried over to locate the coordinates he had set on his GPS.
He shinnied down to the bottom of one of the great fissures in the ground. And then he grabbed his shovel, and began to dig.
