Supernatural Fan-Fiction: Season 9 Snippet

Dear Reader,

In the absence of a Season 9 and having had disappointing seasons in the past, I decided to write my own. This is only the first 26 pages of the 66946 words I've written so far. The story is my own and for me, but I was rather proud of the first part and decided it needed to be shared.

Before you get started, there are some things you should know. If you haven’t seen Season 8, then I am not going to apologize for its spoilers, as this is titled Season 9 and picks up where 8 left off. Secondly, this is not PG, there are F-bombs and violence and sexy stuff OH MY! Also take this for what it is and understand that I am no professional writer. In addition, remember, it's okay to not like things, just don't be a dick about it. I wrote this for me, not for you.

Enjoy,
Lindsay

♞♕♘

The sky was falling as Dean held his brother to him, looking skyward at the streaking lights.  His back was to the impala, black as the moonless night above. Angels fell like a meteor storm, flaming stars accented against the bruised sky.  Some part of Dean unconsciously scanned the Heavens to see if he could see Castiel, the only angel he had any love for left.  There was no way to distinguish one from another as their wings burned away and bodies hurdled to the ground.  

A cough rattled through Sam in his arms, and his attention was turned back to his brother who was still with him, but the damage of the trials had taken their toll. There was no telling what was truly left of him, his brother, the one thing he had left in this world.  Whatever was there, Dean would not let go of it, and would hang on with all his might.  Heaven, Hell, Earth, none of it mattered when his own world was in peril.

“How are you hanging in there?” Dean asked checking his brother’s temperature, one of the huge fluctuations that the trials had incurred.

“Dean, let me go finish Crowley.  It’s only one more, and there’s nothing left of me.  Even Cass can’t heal me, remember?” Sam pleaded. “Let me die for something and close the gates of Hell.” The agony that pulsed through Sam with every heartbeat stole a little more of his will to live with each spike of anguish.  He just wanted it to stop.

“Don’t say that,” Dean bit back the burning in his throat from tears that he pushed down. They had lost so much.  “You’re still here and that’s something.  We’ll go back to base and look through the books.  Maybe…”

“Maybe,” Sam wheezed, but his coughing fit was interrupted as an angel fell like a bomb crashing  through the roof of the abandoned church, taking out half the roof and the entire west wall. The church’s worn wood walls shattered like kindling, and every stained glass window exploded outward from the pressure of the impact. Dean leaned forward and covered Sam with his body as rubble pelted against him. Glass and wood bounced off his army green jacket, adding new war stories to its already riddled canvas.  The church’s structural integrity had been minimal before Sam started trying to cure Crowley of being a demon within its walls.  Now it creaked under the stress and strain of the impact.  What little still stood, teetered dangerously.  The half-saved Crowley was still inside.  Could a demon survive the impact of an angel meteor, Dean wondered but was doubtful.  Groaning under the weight of years, and unable to withstand such an impact, the whole structure finally collapsed inward, and Dean stopped wondering.  Fight or Flight kicked in, and it was screaming Flight.

“It’s not safe here,” Dean said and took his brother’s arm over his shoulder, lifting Sam so he could open the door of the Impala that he had been leaning against.  Even in his hurry, Dean carefully lowered Sam into the passenger seat, trying not to jostle his injured form.

“What about Crowley?” Sam asked, grimacing in pain as Dean leaned over him to fasten the seat belt.

“Forget him,” Dean said leaning on the frame of the door, watching his brother’s body constrict from a spike of pain. Unsure what else to do, but run, Dean closed the door and made his way to the driver’s side of the impala.  He cast a glance towards the remains of the church, but the dust from the impact shrouded the world in a haze.  He could see nothing but vague shapes of the church’s corpse, and the only thing he could think of now was Sam.  Quickly he loaded himself into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.  The rumble of the impala purred to life in its reassuring tones, promising escape. With a spin of the tires on the old dirt road, Dean sped away toward the safest place he knew, the bunker of the Men of Letters.

♞♕♘

The ruins of the church settled around Crowley.  Dust and debris weighed heavy on him, heavier than it would if Sam hadn’t been “curing” him.  Every inch of flesh encasing him, was throbbing in pain as Sam’s purified blood pumped through his veins.  The chair he had been tied to had been thrown out of the devil’s trap in the impact that destroyed the church, but the handcuffs were still intact.  He never saw what exploded through the roof, shocked by the suddenness of the moment.  Earlier, he’d been beaten by Abaddon and then gotten to the last step of the trial, when Dean pulled Sam away.  Sam had been glowing with power.  There was no telling what that last step of the cure would have done, but it didn’t matter now.  He’d lost everything.  He was no longer the king of Hell, and there was no way he could go back now, even if Abaddon hadn’t taken his place as king.  Something had changed in his very being.  It had been centuries since he had felt guilt, and now he ached with it.  With curiosity, Crowley examined where his hands were restrained, chained together.  They were slick with blood, and he wondered if he could use that as lubrication to push them off.  However when he tried, they stayed firmly in place, only biting at the flesh beneath them.  Perhaps there was a spell in the runes that went beyond the physical entrapment binding him.  His movement freed to an extent thanks to the breaking of the chair, he pushed up on the weathered wooden boards that covered him.  The large cross from the far wall, lay across his legs, and he lifted it with great difficulty.  Objects of faith had a special energy, and though he was internally changed, the cross didn’t care, and reaffirmed that he was in some part still a demon.  It made him want to cry, which made him angry that he wanted to cry, which made him want to cry the more, as conflicting emotions raged through him, and he couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “What am I?”

Suddenly the weight of the cross was lifted off his legs. His eyes followed the cross upwards and revealed an angel, who held it aloft, before dropping it to the side.  The angel’s features were clean cut, but riddled with cuts from the fall, healing before Crowley’s eyes.  Golden ringlets tarnished by dirt and blood fell lazily about his head.  Blue eyes burned with intensity, when they met Crowley’s. Dust and rubble covered this stern impeccably straight-backed form of the angel, who’s angeling power glowed a brilliant white with rage, his eyes a radiant white as he reached down and grabbed Crowley’s shirt, hauling the former demon to his feet with a rough jerk at the end.  By now Crowley expected to be burned, but the removal of at least some of the demonic influence, made the angel’s touch less painful.

“You’re Crowley,” the angel hissed. “The King of Hell.”

“Retired, actually,” Crowley said and found that he was feeling a bit more himself, although somewhat unsure about the actual nature of that self.

“You did this?” the angel accused, tightening his grip on Crowley’s once nice shirt.

“Did what, Mate?” he asked then lifted his arms to dangle the engraved handcuffs in the sight of the angel.  “As you can see, I’ve been a little tied up.”

The angel’s grip loosened and without a word he simply dropped Crowley, who stumbled to gain his balance on the debris of boards and glass that were all that remained of the church.  He found his footing and looked for a clear spot on the floor to stand and possibly make an exit. Obviously confused, the fallen angel stumbled away, trying to get his bearings.

“Well, that was rude.  You know my name, and I don’t know yours,” he said straightening his suit, now stained with blood.  It reminded him of using the blood to try to slip out of the handcuffs, which he immediately tried again to no avail.

“Azraphael,” the angel said tersely still looking around, before glancing skyward as his brethren continued to fall.  “What happened? How is this possible?”

“Good question,” Crowley said looking skyward and for the first time realizing the sky was full of falling angels.  “I’d be keen to find out, myself.”  For a moment they stood there in silence, and Crowley realized that his company was not a conversationalist.  Clearing his throat, and realizing his limited options and vulnerability, he spied on opportunity. “How about the two of us find out together,” Crowley offered as the thought sprung to mind. “You’re obviously new around here, and well, I’ve become quite familiar with it.  Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?”

“With you?” the angel spat, hate gleaming in his eyes that flashed with anger, quite literally.

“What does it mean that you’re fallen, exactly?” Crowley pursued the chink he sensed.  He could sell shoes to a snake; he could win over this angel. Presently he was on the wrong side of  everyone from Heaven to Hell, and not at full power.  Therefore he needed protection, and he needed to find the Winchesters and get some answers.  The question he had posed seemed to stick with the angel as his brow furrowed, watching more angels falling in the distance, possibly hoping another would fall nearby. “Ah, you don’t know either.  Is your grace still intact, or are you simply homeless.”

“I…” the angel started and then turned away.  “I am not to be trifled with.”

“Trifling is underrated,” Crowley smiled. “So you are intact, I take it, but a stranger in a strange land, of sorts.  Seems I find myself in a similar position.  There’s no way I can go back to Hell or do business with them anymore, and as Heaven is closed for business, it looks like it’s the middle road for me and for you.  So what say we walk it together?  I happen to know of two meddlesome boys that could possibly answer a few questions.”

♞♕♘

The impala rumbled to a stop like a black panther ready to pace impatiently.  Dean flung open the driver’s side door and ran around to the passenger side.  Flinging it open, he took Sam’s arm over his shoulder again, and half carried, half dragged his aching brother to the metal door in the side of a hill.  Inside was the safest place on earth, and they had the pleasure of calling it home.

Kevin Tran, prophet in residence, heard their arrival and ran to them, when he saw Sam, realizing that he was far worse off than before asked, “Is he okay?” Kevin paused uncertain if helping would do more harm than good.

“He will be,” Dean declared as if by saying it, he would will it to be.

“What happened?” Kevin asked, helping carry Sam and lower him into his Spartan bed, in the room that he had chosen as his own.  Sam convulsed in pain, as light pulsed under his skin. As it stopped, he relaxed a bit.

“He didn’t finish the trial, did he?” Kevin asked.

“No,” Dean said.  “He stopped … at the last moment.”

“Dean, he can’t do that,” Kevin protested.  “The tablet …”

“Can’t!” Dean growled.  “I’ll tell you what can’t happen.  I can’t let my brother die, so you go and start translating how to fix this.”

Kevin backed away some, “Dean, have you seen this place?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as Kevin pointed to the lights that had come on, the switches that had been flipped.  “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Kevin said. “It’s your crazy bunker.”

“Angels,” Dean said with a sigh, “They were falling from the sky.” Another cry of agony came from Sam, “but none of that matters.  Sam is what matters, so I need your help.  We have to fix him.”

“There’s nothing like that in the tablets, Dean,” Kevin said.  “Once you start the trials, there’s no going back.  Even Castiel said that he was broken in ways he couldn’t fix, and if that’s the case, what hope has a doctor got?”

“There has to be a way, find it!” Dean exploded, choking back his emotions, if he pushed that hurt and pain down, it all came out as anger.  Anger he could deal with much easier than the knot of sorrow twisting in his gut or the feeling of utter helplessness as he watched his brother suffer.

“What do you want me to do?  You can’t just yell at me and make miracles happen.  I’ve been pushing myself beyond my limits for you, and all you do is demand more.  If I yell at you, will you make a miracle happen? Why don’t you do something?” Kevin yelled back to both his and Dean’s surprise.

For a moment Dean wanted to yell in response, but instead he shifted gears and a calmness came over him, “okay… I will,” and with that, he walked off toward the files concerning curing a demon.  Before he reached them, his phone buzzed.  Unsure who would be calling him, Dean reached into his pocket and withdrew the phone to see the caller ID, which said “Charlie Bradbury”.  Answering, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Charlie, just the woman of letters I need.”

♞♕♘

Bobby Singer sat on a barstool, leaning forward on the smooth wood of the bar. It was only a shade lighter than the dark wood paneling that made up the walls of the establishment.  A few lights of popular beer brands cast a neon glow reflected in the polish of the bar, which Ellen always kept clean, mopping up any stray drop that happened to escape a bottle or mug.  The sound of a pool table in the corner being racked, informed him that Betty and Gabriel, two legendary hunters who had died mysteriously were challenging each other to a rematch, more as a chance to flirt than anything else.  It was both pleasant and painful to watch them.  Death hadn’t changed them much, or him for that matter.

Behind the bar, Ellen Harvelle spun the cap off a beer with practiced ease and took a swig of the brew.  The cap deftly aimed rung the trash can in the corner as Helen lobbed it, like she had every day at the actual Roadhouse. Relaxed, she leaned her hip against the bar while taking a swig, and smiled at Bobby.  Nearby Jo was racking up the high score on the shooting game she had become an expert in while alive.  Although she had all the appearance of being absorbed in the game, Jo’s ears soaked in every word from the bar, as they had in life. She had always been adept at multi-tasking in such a way, since her mother would never have condoned an active interest in hunting.

“I have to say, this is a Hell of alot better than a rocking chair,” Bobby smiled at Ellen and took a deep pull from the beer.

“Welcome to Heaven’s holodeck of the Roadhouse,” Ash smiled as he popped the top on a frosty PBR.

“I’m still not sure how you figured out how to get me here to your own little slice of Heaven, but I ain’t complainin’,” Bobby grinned at Ash.  

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Ash assured him, and patted his Heavenly radio scanner. “Started tracking the Winchesters and other hunters with this.  That’s how Betty and Gabriel ended up here.”

“Speaking of which, what’s the word, Ash,” Ellen asked.

“No clue,” Ash said.  “It’s never gone silent before.  There’s just no chatter on angel radio.  They’ve all gone quiet. Not a peep or a warning.”

“A bunch of muffled screams and cries and just nothing since,” Ellen nodded.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Bobby took a sip of his beer.

“We’re in Heaven,” Jo said between shots.  “How bad can it be?”

“You don’t think, all angels suddenly going silent, all at once, isn’t a bad thing?” Ellen asked with motherly reprimand in her voice. “For all we know, if there aren’t angels here, all this might disappear.”

Jo took another shot on the game as her only reply.

“It’s like Heaven’s been shut off from angels,” Ash clicked channels, looking for one with anything, but they were all quiet. “Almost like someone kicked all of the angels out and slammed the pearly gates. No more angel wifi.”

“If the angels aren’t in Heaven, where are they?” Bobby asked.

♞♕♘

Castiel walked down the side of a deserted road.  In a daze, his hand went absently to his throat where Metatron had ripped out his grace.  Once more he had trusted one of his own and they had betrayed him.  But they weren’t his own anymore, he was human now, and he was less sure how to do that than he was on how to be an angel.  

The sky was alight with falling angels.  It would be beautiful if it weren’t so horrible. The gates of Heaven would be closed, but he wondered how Metatron could possibly remain, being an angel himself.  He supposed the caster had to be protected in some way.

Once again he wanted to fix things, and all he did was mess things up even worse.  Just when he thought he couldn’t fall any lower, he always seemed to find a new depth.  Maybe Naomi was right and he was just fundamentally flawed from the very beginning. He thought about finding Dean, but if he thought Dean was mad before, what would he have to look forward to this time?  Once again he had been trying to do the right thing, and even roped Dean in to help, and once again he was mistaken, mislead, and wrong. But where else could he go? A light shined behind him, and Castiel awkwardly stuck out his thumb at the approaching car, but it passed him, and he missed being able to will himself wherever he wanted.

♞♕♘

“What’s up, Bitches?” Charlie Bradbury said with her usual swagger as she walked into the bunker, escorted by Kevin. Making herself at home, she dropped a book bag in a chair next to the lamplit tables where the Men of Letters did their studies.

“Charlie,” Dean looked relieved and got up to hug her.  It’s cut short when Sam let out another groan of pain, and Charlie jerked in surprise as Dean tensed with concern.

“Well, I see you weren’t exaggerating,” Charlie sighed.  “He didn’t look so good last time I saw him, but …”  Unable to find an appropriate comment on this difficult situation she settled on, “How can I help?”

“I’m no good at this Men of Letters crap,” Dean looked angrily at the library that had been drawing Charlie in since she entered the room.

“Data, now you’re talking my language … well my language is usually C++, but…” Charlie picked up a book. “Do you have a scanner?”

“I do,” Kevin said rather eagerly.  This was the first time he had seen Charlie, and he was more than a little interested in her from the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Great!” Charlie smiled with true enthusiasm. “I’ve been wanting to turn all these books into a searchable database anyway.  Now I have an excuse.  So while I look for a solution, I’ll start scanning these puppies into my computer, work on setting you up a server, and we can let the computer do the heavy work.”

“Will that help Sam?” Dean asked.

“All I can do is try, and I hate data entry, so I hope you appreciate what I’m offering, here,” Charlie looked back at Sam with worry. “But anything for my boys,” she smiled.

“If she’s good with computers, maybe she could tell us about the computers already here, turning themselves on?” Kevin suggested.

“Excuse me?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed.  “There’s that too.”

“Again, this is much more my thing than say, monsters, but you are turning out to be very high maintenance,” Charlie bounced a little on her toes. “But then I’ve never been shy about a challenge.”

“I’ll show you,” Kevin said with more enthusiasm than he had shown Dean all day, and the room was no more than a few steps away.  Charlie had already had the tour before, but she humored Kevin as he lead her to the control room lined with computers half a century old or more.  The circular room rose two stories with a catwalk on the periphery, looking down on the center of the first floor.  There taking up the middle of the room was a map of the world dotted with lights that had not been on before.

“When you said computers, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Charlie mused as she looked around.  “Still I haven’t found a computer yet that I couldn’t make my bitch,” Charlie said cracking her knuckles.  “These guys documented everything, so I just need to find the documentation for their equipment.”  Curiosity seemed to pull at Charlie and she stopped herself, “But Sam has to come first before… really intriguing logic puzzles, so I take it no CTRL /ALT/Deleting your way out of these trials?”

“I’m still translating but I haven’t seen anything about backing out,” Kevin shook his head.

“That’s very ‘Do or Do Not, there is no try’,” Charlie smiled quoting Yoda and then realized how young Kevin was and that he probably would not get a Star Wars reference.  It made her feel old, as he looked at her blankly.  “So yeah, let’s… hit the books.”

♞♕♘

“The Winchesters,” Azraphael said dubiously.  “You think they have something to do with this?”

“They were a bit occupied with closing the gates of Hell,” Crowley shrugged, “but I get the feeling that they know who did this.  We just need to find a hook.”

Hearing footsteps they both turned to see Castiel, emerging from the road, who had come to the last place that he had seen either of the Winchesters, since he could no longer track them.  When he looked up to see the church demolished, with no sign of the Winchesters, he paused in mid step, noticing Crowley mostly free and an angel.

“Castiel,” Crowley grinned.  “Ask and thou shalt receive. How biblical of you.”

“Crowley,” Castiel growled. “Where are Sam and Dean?”

“Castiel?” Azraphael said in disbelief.  “Your grace! Did you…”

“It was taken from me, by Metatron... he tricked me,” Castiel tried to piece together the truth with words, but they kept slipping from him.

“Once again, Heaven is in chaos, and you are at the center,” Azraphael sneered.  “You deserve this.  It’s a blessing that you are no longer an angel.

“Someone clipped Clarence’s wings,” Crowley smiled.  “Tell you what, Azzy here won’t help me out of these cuffs.  So if you would be so kind and do me this favor, I’ll take you to your beloved Winchesters.  You scratch my back, I’ll …”

“Don’t you dare, Castiel,” Azraphael growled.  “We have the King of Hell captive, a bargaining chip.”

“With whom, Azraphael?  Who is left?  Heaven is closed, and as you pointed out, I’m not even an angel anymore.”

“Free will’s a bitch, isn’t in?” Crowley grinned. “And so you know, not the king anymore, more a free agent now.”

“If you want him to remain bound,” Castiel pointed out, “Then you must transport us to the Winchesters.”

“To your pet humans?” Azraphael asked. “Why?”

“Because if anyone can fix this, it’s them,” Castiel said.

“Personally, I just want out of these handcuffs,” Crowley shrugged.  “And Moose left with the key.”

 ♞♕♘

In Sam’s bunk, Dean sat cross-legged in a chair next to Sam’s bed.  He was almost too long for the modest metal framed bed, dating back to the 40s, but that didn’t matter as Sam was curled in around himself in fits of pain.  A book lay open across Dean’s legs as he continued to search in the most likely volumes, with little success.  At least he wasn’t on his own anymore. In the study, Charlie and Kevin searched as well, each in their own way.  Charlie scanned the texts into her laptop, looking up occasionally at Sam’s cries of pain that drifted down the hall. Kevin worked on Translating the tablets.  None had found any clue to help the ailing Winchester.

“Dean,” Sam said in a fragile voice.  Sweat dripped down his feverish face.  His clothes were soaked, and his skin was burning hot to the touch.  Although his eyes squinted with occasional shooting pains, he locked eyes with his brother as best he could.  “You should have let me finish it.”

“I’m not giving up,” Dean said  fervently, but his lip may have trembled a bit. He had intended to take on the trials.  In his mind it should have been him, he’d rather it be him.  Before either could formulate another argument, Dean’s phone rang.  He held it up, and the caller ID said “Crowley”.  He hadn’t even realized that he had said it aloud.

“It’s not too late, Dean,” Sam said.  “He was ready, willing even.”

“You, shut up,” Dean said and answered the phone.  “Well, you’re about the last person I expected to be calling… You … what?”  Dean hung up the phone and ran to the entrance of the bunker past a bewildered Charlie and Kevin.  It took a moment to unlock the heavy iron door, but it swung open with a satisfying creek, worthy of old submarines and prison cells.  The light from the bunker’s interior spilled into the night, revealing three figures in sharp relief to the darkened forest beyond.

“The three stooges,” Dean smirked as he beheld the most unlikely gathering of individuals.  “I take it, you’re Curly,” Dean said pointing to Azraphael in allusion to his curling blond locks, but no one responded to his quip, his only defense against the bleakness of reality.  Seeing Castiel and Crowley together filled Dean with dread, but he kept it from his face, covering it with a mask of apathy.  The last time they had been working together was the beginning of his mistrust in Castiel.  Somehow he continued to give him second chances, because to him, Castiel was family.  But then again he was used to being pissed off at family.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said in his usual dry emotionless tones, but there was as tinge of shame around his eyes that made him seem more human.

“Cass,” Dean stammered. “Where the Hell have you been?  And what are you doing bringing Crowley here?  Secret bunkers aren’t secret when you bring the freaking enemy to its doors.  How are you here anyway?” Dean growled at Crowley,  “It’s warded.”

“Luckily, I have an angel on my shoulder,” Crowley smiled smugly. “And no it’s not Castiel.”

“Dean, this is Azraphael,” Castiel introduced the golden haired angel who belonged in a cathedral fresco.

“Another angel,” Dean looked at him with thinly veiled anger. “That’s just what we need.”

“Seems to be a surplus of them on earth these days,” Crowley said.  “We thought you might be able to do something about that.”

“The cuffs on Crowley should contain him as a portable trap and allow us to bring him inside the bunker,” Castiel pointed out.  “We could easily keep him in the dungeon. Obviously they have kept demons in the dungeon before.”

“Dungeon?” Crowley asked in genuine shock. “Squirrel, you’re playing my song.”

“Yeah, and tell me why I want to let any of you in here,” Dean growled.

“Because Metatron is the only one who knows how to help Sam, and to find Metatron, you’re going to need our help,” Castiel sighed defeated. “You need someone who knows Heaven.”

“No, wait! You said that you couldn’t heal him, and you think Metatron can,” Dean shot back.

“He can’t heal anyone anymore,” Crowley grinned.  “He’s been cut off, and no angel Viagra in sight.”

“What does he mean by that, Cass?” Dean asked eyeing the angel who he had trusted most, embraced as family.

“Metatron tricked me.  He stole my grace to cast all the angels out of Heaven,” Castiel sighed.  It got harder, every time he said it.  Each time his heart sunk a little deeper.

“So … what?  Are you saying that you’re what? You’re human?” Dean asked.

“And not very good at it, I might add,” Crowley clinked his chains.  “So what say you, we get inside and start figuring things out.  It’s not like you have a lot of options, or like we have a lot of options for that matter.”

“Sure, but tell your friend Rapunzel to shut up, he talks too much,” Dean sighed as he held open the door.  “I’m going to regret this,” he said to himself as they passed him into the bunker entrance, a simple arched hallway of whitewashed brick.  At the Apex of the arch ran an electrical line, attached to that line, every 10 feet was a light with a metal cage around it, hanging down.

As they walked into the room where Charlie and Kevin were at the books, Kevin looked up and saw Crowley walking towards him. For a moment, he blinked his eyes, thinking that he had imagined it, or finally snapped and lost his mind, but Charlie noticed their entrance as well.

“What the Hell?” Kevin said scurrying to his feet.  “I thought that you said that this place was safe.”

“Well, Hello Kevin,” Crowley smiled. “Fancy seeing you here.  So this is where they whisked you off to, after our last meeting.”  With that Crowley took a look around with immense joy at Kevin’s reaction.

“Kevin, calm down,” Dean tried to assure him. “I don’t like this anymore than you…”

“That’s CROWLEY!  You brought the King of Hell into the demon proof bunker, and you want me to calm down?” Kevin screamed.

“We’ve got him on a leash, Kev,” Dean pointed to the chains still binding Crowley.  “He’s trapped, and it’s the only thing letting him enter.”

“Um,” Charlie cleared her throat, “Sorry but I missed some episodes apparently, and I need some synopsis.”

“He’s the freaking King of Hell,” Kevin spat.

“Retired actually,” Crowley sighed.  “Thanks to Abaddon taking my place, I am officially on Hell’s most wanted list..”

“You honestly think he’s on our side now?” Kevin gasped in disbelief. “And I thought that I was the one who finally snapped…”

“Look Kevin, it’s not my favorite plan either, but we’re coming down to the wire with Sam, and we’re running out of options,” Dean straightened a bit and somehow the room responded.  “So get with the game.”

“Well, not to downplay Crowley being all Boss Demon, but who are they?” Charlie asked pointing to Castiel and Azraphael.

“Kevin, you know Castiel,” Dean said and Kevin didn’t look much happier to see the angel that roughed him up last time they met.

“Oh,” Charlie smiled looking Castiel over in a way that made Castiel look at himself uncertainly as if he had something on him.  “He is dreamy.”

“Yeah, not feeling much better about this,” Kevin responded.

“And this is Rapunzel,” Dean jabbed a finger at Azraphael who looked offended.

“The name is Azraphael,” the angel corrected Dean in dry arid tones that left no room for humor.

“And his sharp wit confirms that he is in fact an angel,” Dean said with as much snark as he could to contrast Azraphael.

“Oh good, so a white hat and two greys?” Charlie asked.

“I could show you some shades of grey, Love,” Crowley smiled at Charlie.

“You’re not her type,” Dean said to Crowley, and then realized that Charlie was making eyes at Castiel.  “Or so I thought.”

“Nonsense.  With this accent, I’m everybody’s type,” Crowley batted his eyes at Dean.

“I hate this plan,” Dean muttered, picking up the book he had laid down on the way to the bunker entrance.

 ♞♕♘

Metatron walked among the gardens of Heaven where many ascended souls liked to congregate.  Golden light filtered through green leaves like nature’s own stained glass.  The fields of grass never got to high, but were just right for walking barefoot, as many of the human souls did.  Metatron preferred this garden to the Elysium Fields, as did many of the souls due to the colorful variety of flora that accented areas around gazebos and park benches, with meandering creeks and clear pools. In the pools swans glided as if in air over the crystal waters.  Deer grazed unperturbed  by the squeals of children, who were taken by death before the bloom of adulthood.  Many cultures claimed that deer were the messengers of the gods.  But that was Metatron’s job, the last voice of God left in Heaven, or so he imagined himself.

He had forgotten how beautiful Heaven could be. It was the essence of natural, so much so that it was super-natural, something that he had always failed to put into words, which was saying something, considering who he was, the Scribe of God.  However that no longer mattered because he might as well be a god as he walked among the holy, the righteous, the saved that had earned a place in the Heavenly realms.  Each one had a life, a story, that he could not wait to discover and collect.  He doubted few angels could appreciate it as he did, and that raised him in his own esteem of importance.

Many people walked about, unaware that Heaven was under new management.  By casting the spell, he was protected, and the only angel still in Heaven.  The gates of Heaven had slammed shut on the angels once they had been cast out.  Feeling free to explore a place he had not seen in ages, literally, Metatron sought out what he loved most.  With a casual step Metatron watched a lady in a 50s dress with pearls about her neck, take a seat on the grass, laughing at the children playing stick ball nearby.  Taking a seat next to the lady, she turned to him with a smile and a Hello.  Metatron simply said, “So what’s your story?”

♞♕♘

Kevin sat at a desk in the bunker of the Men of Letters translating the angel tablet and largely ignoring the rest of the world unless Charlie happened to walk within glancing distance.  Castiel, still reeling from having his grace taken, approached when he saw the tablet, gravitating to it with curiosity.  He extended a hand tentatively and touched the tablet, but nothing happened. The disappointment was clear on his face, and Kevin followed Castiel’s hand upward with his eyes to see it for himself.

“What’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

“I was just hoping that …” Castiel cleared his throat which tightened as his hopes were dashed.  “It healed me once.  I was hoping maybe it could heal me again, but I suppose I would need my grace for that to happen.”

“Your grace?” Kevin asked.

“It was the last part of the spell that Metatron cast to annex the angels from Heaven,” Castiel said brushing every syllable with a tone of despair.

“Wait,” Kevin said more to himself than anyone else as he flipped through his notes.  “Before I hadn’t really had a lot of time to look at the angel tablet, but after translating the demon tablet, I was able to take some of the translated words and apply them, making it go faster.”  Kevin continued to flip through papers until he found what he was looking for and studied it more closely.  “I was curious after you were talking about what Metatron said he needed to close the gates, and so I started looking on the tablet for those components, and I think I may have found a way to reverse his spell.”

The weight of those words fell on everyone within earshot. Dean who was reading nearby perked up from his studies and came over to where Kevin was camped out with the angel tablet.  “Are you telling me there’s a way to fix this?” he asked.  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“You told me to find a way to fix Sam, so I didn’t think it was priority,” Kevin shrugged.

Shaking his head a bit, Dean smiled, “Can’t disagree with your priorities, kid, so what’s this say about sending these jerks back to where they belong?”

Across the room Azraphael shot Dean a dirty look in response, but he also looked curious about Kevin’s discovery.

“Metatron,” Kevin said trying to organize his thoughts.  “He had you cut out the heart of a Nephilim, get Cupid’s bow, and then took your grace, right?”

“In essence,” Castiel nodded grimly, filled with shame, especially for the death of an innocent at his hands.

“Well, to reverse it, you have to kind of do the opposite.” Kevin looked over the paper and said, “Yeah, right here.  It says that you have to awaken the heart of a Nephilim, return Cupid’s bow, and recover your grace, Castiel.”

“Awaken the heart?” Dean asked. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevin shrugged looking through the papers, but there was no more information.  “It didn’t really specify.”

“Big surprise,” Crowley interjected gravitating toward the discussion, as did Charlie.

“Then how do we go about it?” Castiel asked. “Metatron said that the nephilim we found was the only one on earth.”

“Oh yes, because he was always such a straight shooter,” Dean said sarcastically.

“How do we find one then?” Charlie asked.

Castiel shrugged, “I have no idea how Metatron knew she was nephilim.”

“I know where one is,” Azraphael said with a distant expression.  It was the first utterance out of Azraphael’s mouth, and in itself it was surprising, more so by its content. Everyone in the room turned at this unexpected revelation from such an unexpected source.

“You?” Dean asked.  “How?”

“Because she’s family,” Azraphael said letting the verbal bomb drop.  “I am the son of the archangel Raphael, but he also had a daughter, with a human of nephilim bloodline.”

“Wait, so she is ¾ angel?” Dean asked.

“It was ancient in her mother’s bloodline, so not quite that high of a ratio,” Azraphael provided.

“How does that work?” Castiel asked in confusion. “He’s an archangel.  It’s forbidden!”

“Says the angel who never does what he’s told,” Azraphael smiled at Castiel, but it was contemptuous. “That was the general order to most angels, but she was a Legacy.”

Dean’s blood ran cold, as he began to speculate the implications. “A Legacy? Like us? Like the Men of Letters?” Dean asked and Azraphael nodded in response.  “Wait, are you saying that Sam and I have angel blood?”

“In essence,” Azraphael stated emotionlessly. “Why do you think you were able to be Michael’s vessel?  You are directly descended from Michael, and Lucifer, well, when he was still an archangel.  That is why it was in your blood. That is why it was so important that you be the Sword of Michael, until you spit on Heaven’s plans.”

“Free will’s a bitch,” Crowley smiled again. “Gotta say, my favorite part of this whole human thing.”

“Wait!” Charlie interrupted.  “I need some backstory, because none of this was in the books or even the Fan Fiction.” This last addendum made Dean scowl.

Azraphael sighed as if about to explain something complicated to a child who could not grasp it, “This is not widely known by all angels, only the archangels, and I only know through my father. Breeding indiscriminately with humans is indeed forbidden, but there was a time when it was not so, when other gods and devilspawn roamed the world.  The archangels were instructed to breed with very specific females that showed valued qualities such as strength and intelligence.  They were chosen to bear the children of angels and produce a line of ordained nephilim.  These were the heroes of old, as it stated in your Old Testament.  But what your Bible did not reveal is that they were called Legacies, and their genealogy was tracked and maintained by angels.  It was one of the duties of the archangels, to provide protectors on Earth from the dangers to humans, possessing the best qualities of human and angel. The nephilim were divided into two groups from their respective expressions of strengths from the angels whose progeny they were.  There were the watchers, who later became the Men of Letters, and they dispatched the warriors, who later became what you now refer to as Hunters. Some of the Nephilim refused to participate and became monsters, using their gifts for selfish gain to dominate the weaker pure humans.  Goliath was one of these, which is why the choice of the mother was so important, and her faith of paramount importance in the raising of a Nephilim. My sister, was a legacy of the archangel, Gabriel through her mother’s side.  Her mother was married to a distant and hard man, when Raphael, having loved her in silence, watching her suffer mutely, decided to take her husband’s body and show her the affection that he felt she deserved, through this union, my sister was conceived.”

“What about the Nephilim that Marve, I mean Metatron had me kill,” Castiel asked.

“The progeny of Naomi’s son,” Azraphael asserted. “Allowed to live only because Naomi had authority to overlook the indiscretion.”  

“Then it was just revenge on Naomi,” Castiel looked forlorn.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Azraphael sighed. “Her conception was unordained. The one you killed was an abomination.”

“I guess rules are just for other people in Heaven,” Kevin grumbled. He had been feeling the weight of a double standard after the abuse he had endured, and it was growing unbearable.  Already high strung, Kevin was to the breaking point with everything.  His life derailed for this mission from God that had destroyed his present and any hopes of a future.  The losses were many and so far he had yet to see a gain, or any sign of a carrot to motivate him to continue.

“There are always … circumstances … to consider,” Azraphael stated.  “Rules are generally there for your protection.”

“Oh yes,” Dean snorted sarcastically.  “I feel so much safer with your rules.”

“So you’re part angel,” Charlie looked at Dean. “That’s kind of hot. My bucket list just keeps growing.”

“If you want hot,” Crowley smiled at Charlie. “There’s nothing hotter than a demon. Just ask Sam,” Crowley shot Dean a look with a smirk, knowing about Sam and Ruby’s relationship.

In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was a moan from Sam, in continued agony.  Even now they could not tune it out, because they never knew when the last one might come, and Sam would be no more.  It pulled Dean back to his first priority.

“What about Sam,” Dean approached Kevin, leaning over his shoulder as if he thought he could someone suddenly read the tablets.  “Is there anything yet that can help him?”

“I’ve been looking, but nothing so far,” Kevin sighed.

“Perhaps I can help,” said another voice, a smooth tenor that sent chills up the spines of every living thing that heard it.

If they had been shocked when Azraphael spoke, it could not have been more than the shock they felt when they looked up to see Death, standing in the room.  The embodiment of Death, one of the 4 horsemen stood among them without any regard to any of the protections of the Men of Letters.  But then this was death.  His pale, thin frame looked much as it had the last time Dean had looked upon him.  The ring of the horsemen still intact on his thin pale fingers that wrapped around the top of an elegant cane that went nicely with his expensive fitted suit. He looked ready for a funeral.

“Who is that?” Charlie asked.

“Death,” Dean gulped.  “Tell me you aren’t here for Sam.”

“In a way,” Death nodded cordially, and Dean’s face paled in response.  “He is in the process of closing the gates of Hell, and Heaven is already closed for business… MY business,” Death added emphatically with an undertone of criticism worthy of high level CEOs looking to downsize.

“Wait, we stopped the trials,” Dean interjected as he looked at Crowley.

“At the very brink,” Death sighed.  “They are merely cracked, and he is very close to curing a demon and closing them for good.”

“I dare say that I am not fully human,” Crowley swaggered. “But I don’t feel like I’m getting any more cured.”

“I was not referring to you,” Death glared at Crowley.

“Sam,” Charlie gasped in realization, covering her mouth with a hand.

“What about Sam?” Dean asked.

“He had demon blood in him, and he said that he thought the trials were purifying him,” Charlie swallowed hard. “It’s Sam that’s being cured.”

“No no no,” Dean said as if by saying it, he could make it true.  “He is not a demon.”

“The trials do not seem to think so,” Death tilted his head slightly to look at Dean, “which is why I am here.”

“The trials were meant to be the ultimate sacrifice.  He has to die to complete them, right?” Charlie asked.

“Sharp one,” Death nodded.  “But I have problem, a problem that the two of you have created, and that is my reapers cannot do their jobs.  There’s no room at the inn.  Every life that expires leaves us with one more homeless spirit that cannot enter heaven or hell, but must wander aimlessly becoming more angry, sad, and frustrated.  Heaven is closed for business and Hell might as well be.  Did you ever stop to consider what would happen if you sealed them both forever?  As a hunter, how would you contend with the angry spirits of the hundreds of souls dying every day who were supposed to go to Heaven and instead had to stay grounded?”

His heart dropping at the prospect of that many angry destructive spirits loosed at once was terrifying. “That never…” Dean started but was interrupted.

“It’s obvious that you did not think it through.  You and your brother are throwing everything out of balance,” Death scorned them. “Who do you think you are to make these decisions? You are not playing with mere lives anymore, you’re playing with souls, and frankly, you aren’t qualified.”

“Look, at this point, I don’t give a damn about closing the gates of Hell, I just want my brother back, and we’ve found a way to reopen Heaven.  We just wanted the pain to stop.  Everyday we have some angel or demon screwing with our lives.  The damage they caused when…”

“You’re supposed to have free will,” Azraphael interjected. “You made a bad choice.”

“Well, it’s not free when you flying ass monkeys,” Dean looked at Azraphael, “and you douche bags,” he looked at Crowley, “Keep forcing our hands. What were we supposed to do, just take it?”

Death looked at Dean considering him, as quiet fell upon the room except for another moan from Sam.  Those eyes silenced every entity with an undeniable authority.  His dominion was literally where angels feared to tread.

“All the cards have not been played yet,” Death said with an eerie smile at Dean.  “I have come to offer you a deal.”

“I thought that was my line,” mused Crowley.

“Not so droll as one of yours,” Death gave Crowley a glare.  “I cannot open the gates of Heaven.  That is not where my power lies.”

“Are you?” Dean choked a little at the hope, “Are you offering to help Sam?”

“Yes,” Death nodded sagely.

“As an angel, I could not even heal him,” Castiel said with concern.

“I am not an angel,” Death looked haughtily at Castiel.  “For a price, I will not only heal your brother, but remove the demon blood for good.”

“Won’t that cure him, and close the gates of Hell for sure?” Charlie asked.

“It won’t be cured, so much as removed,” Death assured Charlie.  “It will stop the trials and we will be back to business as usual, considering Hell tends to get more traffic, that will get the reapers back to work, at least partially.”

“What price?” Dean asked uncertainly.  

“Merely that you clean up your mess,” Death looked at Dean like a reprimanding mother about a dirty room.  “I believe the prophet has already discovered how to reverse the spell.”

“What if we fail?” Crowley asked. “Being as contracts are … were my business, there’s always a catch.”

“Should you fail,” Death cleared his throat, “Sam dies.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean growled.

“If you do nothing, Sam will die anyway,” Death said agreeably.

Charlie looked at Dean with empathy, “This way he’s got a chance, right?”

It took Dean a moment but he nodded, “We’ll take it.”

“Excellent,” Death said and straightened his suit nonchalantly.

“What? No kiss?” Crowley raised a brow.

“In some circles, words actually mean something, Mr. Crowley,” Death said and turned to walk toward Sam’s room.

Writhing in agony, Sam looked up to see Death approaching him, filling his cries with terror as well as pain in recognition.  Gently, Death sat on the bed next to Sam, who tried to move away from the unwavering form of Death.  Unmoved by Sam’s protests, Death took Sam’s arm in one hand, which seemed to pin Sam rigidly still.  Placing his other hand on Sam’s forehead, Death closed his eyes serenely as if this was something he did every day.  A light came from where Death touched Sam’s flesh, illuminating the room in an eerie glow.  The strange light beneath Sam’s skin writhed and pulsed, but soon ceased its torrent of pain.  Clenching his teeth in one last fight against the pain, Sam’s eyes rolled back and unconsciousness took him. Sam slumped still against the bed and lay motionless except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.  Dean and Charlie stood by, watching as Death turned to them and rose to his feet deliberately.  They were quiet, afraid to breathe, as they stood simply watching and hoping.

“He will sleep,” Death said, his voice taking on a comforting note that was not there before. “It is done.”

“When he wakes?” Dean asked.

“When he awakes, he will be very hungry, but he is cleansed of the demon blood, completely.  His body will be most likely healthier than before… so long as you keep to our bargain,” Death added warily.

“Yeah …” Dean said absently, overwhelmed to just have his brother not wailing in pain.  He had felt so helpless, the one thing he hated most.  It had been so much worse because it was Sam.  Now his little brother lay dreaming peacefully for the first time since the trials had begun.

“Then I will bid you adieu,” Death said with a slight bow.

“Wait,” Dean interjected. “What if we need your help to reopen Heaven? RJ told us that there were reapers with back entrances to Heaven and Hell.”

“If that’s so, why can’t you just take the souls in that way?” Charlie asked.

“Transportation volume,” Death said. “Going to Heaven should not feel like a visit to the DMV.”

“Obviously Hell has a better transportation system, since there’s a highway to Hell and only a stairway to Heaven,” Dean smiled but when no one responded to his wit, Dean cleared his throat and remained quiet.

“Just so,” Death said.  “If you should have need of me, just call out.  My reapers are everywhere, and I will inform them to assist you.  Besides, there’s less work for them to do at the moment, until we get Heaven operational.  If there is nothing else?” Death looked at Sam and Charlie who were quiet.  “Then, I will leave you to your task.”  With that Death simply vanished.

“So that was Death,” Charlie said attempting to process what she just witnessed.  “You certainly keep interesting company.”  She looked up at Dean and saw the tears stinging his eyes that he would not allow, but they were tears of relief and joy.  Somehow she had gotten a feeling for him and knew that she ought to interject something distracting from those emotions.  “So I guess we’re looking for Azraphael’s sister, now?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, coming back to focus on the task at hand.  “I guess we are.”

“So how does one awaken a heart?” Charlie asked as they returned to the study where the others were still gathered.

“Seriously?” Crowley asked, looking about the room.

“What?” Charlie replied.

“It means she has to fall in love,” Crowley sighed.  “Am I the only one in this room with an ounce of romance?  Between Angel rain man … er men, and Dean the …”

“Watch it, Crowley,” Dean scowled.

“The oversensitive,” Crowley grinned.  “Truth hurts, eh, Dean? But seriously, this is Heaven we’re talking about, and God is Love and all that jazz, right?”

“He does have a point,” Charlie shrugged. “It’s that or zombie mojo on the one that Castiel ripped out of the last nephilim.”  Castiel flushed at the thought when she said it, still guilt ridden from the act, he had done to save Heaven, only to doom it.

“Great, so we have to get Rapunzel’s sister to fall in love?” Dean shook his head. “Please tell me she doesn’t have your winning personality.”

“Seriously, Squirrel, I think you’re going to need my help with this one,” Crowley added.

“And why in the … Hell… “ Dean said realizing the irony as he said it, “Why would I want you along?”

“Please,” Crowley sighed. “What do you think was the most popular item on the menu at a crossroads? Love… specifically romantic love with lots of wild monkey sex.”

“You’ve been in love?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Let’s just say that I’m rather adept at arranging it,” Crowley shrugged.

“That’s not real love,” Castiel asserted.  “You can’t possibly compare what you do…” Crowley gave him a look and Castiel amended, “did… to awakening a heart.”

“Oh really? And you have so much experience in the matter, do you?” Crowley asked.  “Other than you, we’ve got the womanizer, the eternal bachelor… or maybe that’s backwards,” he looked at Charlie questioningly, “Bachelorette?” She gave him an un-amused expression in response.  “Then you’ve got Moose who’s chosen his brother over how many women?  And of course our adorable prophet, tell me, have you been to first base yet?  Oh wait, I’ve been in your head, so I know the answer.” Kevin paled and glared at Crowley.

“What’s your point?” Dean asked.

“My point is that you put me in this position,” Crowley eyed Dean. “And I think you should start taking responsibility for some of your actions.  You saved me, now I’m your problem.”

“Like Hell you are,” Dean growled.

“Like Hell I’m not … not anymore,” Crowley asserted. “And I have you and Moose to thank for it.  You tried to make me human, well, I’m almost there, but I’ve got centuries of knowledge which means I could be useful.  More so, as I am currently unemployed and lacking in options, I could do worse.”

“You want to work for us?” Dean asked.

“You worked with Meg,” Crowley pointed out. “Although I believe Castiel was less professional. Congratulations, Dean, you saved me.  Now you’re stuck with me.  So what say we remove the handcuffs, and I help you make this bird sing a love ballad. You can pay be in security with your demon proof bunker, and we’ll have a deal. You know I keep to my deals.”

“Lawful Neutral, or lawful evil?” Charlie squinted at Crowley.

“It’s true that he could be of use to us,” Castiel asserted.

“Us?” Dean asked.  “Since when is there an us?  Not since you didn’t trust me.  You went solo, there’s no us.”

“Ah, so there’s just Dean and the people he decides to push around?” Kevin inserted.

“You don’t get to…” Dean started.

“Get to what, Dean?” Kevin stood and said something that had been eating at him since the houseboat.  “Get to have an opinion, an independent thought?  I’m getting very tired of playing Dean is always right. Who made you king of anything around here? So far what have you done to earn that right?”

“Saved your ass for one,” Dean growled.

“So what?  That gives you the right to push us around, take your random anger out on us, and justify it with sports metaphors?” Kevin growled back.

“What?” Dean yelled. “Do you want to work with Crowley?”

“No,” Kevin said giving Crowley a sideways look, “But I think that you need to start realizing that it’s not just your opinion that counts.  Sure you’ve seen some things, but we have too. You like sport metaphors but where’s the team metaphors, Dean?  It’s time we work together around here, think this through.  You’ve got access to experience you don’t have, and you’re just going to sneer at it?  You’re so caught up in your own issues that you’d let us all burn on a whim. We count too, Dean, it’s not all about you.  Our lives are also on the line, and it’s time you stopped being a dick and start thinking about others.”  

“You think I don’t think about you?” Dean asked, “Any of you? I’m busting my ass daily for other people, trying to keep you all alive.”

“Like we’re pets, not equals,” Kevin growled.  “As long as we do what we’re told and never speak up, and frankly I’m tired of it.”

“And I’m tired of you being difficult.  If you had just trusted me, you and Cass, we could have cut out all this bullshit, looking for you.”

“You say to trust you, or are we to just do what we’re told like good little soldiers.  You don’t respect us, or at least me, and then you say you want us to trust you?  Do you trust us?” Kevin asked.

“Why should I?” Dean asked.

“Exactly,” Kevin said heatedly.  “Why should we trust you?  You’ve given us less reason with your double standards, doing as you like and expecting us to keep your unspoken rules of sacrifice.  You lie or whatever else when it suits you, but then climb on your high horse when someone else does anything. You’re asking us to do what you can’t, mad at us for not doing what you can’t. You justify emotionally, and then expect us not to feel in response.  Fuck you, Dean!  Fuck you and the high horse you rode in on...”

The room fell quiet, an uncomfortable quiet.  Sure other people in the room had felt the same at times, probably to a lesser degree, and under less pressure than Kevin, but nobody ever said anything.  Dean wanted Charlie to let go, but then wasn’t willing to himself. Still Dean had done a lot, so they tolerated his downsides.  For a moment Dean’s heart grew cold that maybe just maybe Kevin might be right.  He remembered Azraphael’s accounting of Nephilim going bad and dominating others.  Was that what was going on here? But those thoughts were quickly covered with an apathy from which he grew his strength.

“Out of all the people I thought would stand up for me,” Crowley said conflicted inside himself, and also with a stinging pang of guilt.

“I’m not standing up for you,” Kevin slammed a book closed. “I just want this whole things to be over, and it’s undeniable that you have useful information, and if you are turned mostly human, … every person deserves a second chance to start over.”

The tension in the room became unbearable.

“You know,” Dean said.  “I get it.  I’ve been pretty tough on you ...”

“No, you don’t get it, Dean,” Kevin sighed. “And you’re never going to change either. You’ll just brush this over as me being crazy or wrong, but … you … won’t listen.”

“Then what?” Dean asked stubbornly lifting his chin.  “Enlighten me.”

“Not that I’m not enjoying the bromance,” Charlie cleared her throat, seeing a need for an intervention. “Apparently there’s more I missed out on than I thought.  So here’s what I see,  Kevin’s saying basically garbage in, garbage out.  It’s a programming thing.  So obviously there’s some tension here that you guys need to deal with, but in the meantime we have a mission to complete, and he’s the one with the cheat codes.”

“I have to agree with the small pale woman,” Castiel asserted.  “And also with Kevin.  I believe that Crowley’s help would prove useful.”

“I for one, am regretting not killing Crowley on sight,” Azraphael spoke with solidarity toward Dean, but Dean did not appreciate the source.

A cough drew the room’s attention, and Sam entered the study. “Hey guys,” he said looking around. “Can anyone tell me what’s going on here?”

♞♕♘

At the Roadhouse in Heaven, Ash continued to periodically search the stations of angel  radio. “I can’t even look for other hunters with no reception,” Ash sighed. “But from the sounds of it there are no newcomers, like Heaven’s shut down.”

“You seem to know your way around this place,” Bobby Singer took a sip of his beer and wiped his mouth.  A twinkle in his eye sparkled with the prospect, “I say we go investigate.”

“Investigate what?” Ellen asked.

“Before I ended up here, I had a pow wow with Sam, and there was definitely something screwy happening in these parts,” Bobby looked at Ellen. “I know we can’t help the boys down below, but maybe we can do some recon.”

“And how would we get anything we discovered to the Winchesters?” Ash asked.

“There’s backdoors,” Bobby said, feeling more and more certain that this was the way to go.  “It was a reaper that helped us cross the borders of Hell and get me here.”

“But they burned your remains,” Ellen pointed out. “All of us were burned.  There’s nothing to tie our spirits to Earth.”

“Then we just need to find somebody who still has a tie to earth,” Bobby thought aloud.

In a breath, before Bobby could speculate further, a form appeared behind the bar in a blink and a ruffle of feathers.  A diminutive form of a man, who looked like he belonged behind a desk at an accounting firm began pulling out bottles and mixing drinks.  His eyes were a blue behind his greying eyebrows, and the greying dark of his beard.  The room went still as all attention turned silently to the interloper who deftly poured a drink.  He lifted the drink and tasted it, shaking his head with an exhale, “Heaven always had the good stuff.”

“What the…” is all that Bobby could get out, but it was still more than anyone else had managed.  An angel had randomly landed among them, when they thought there were none left, and he was behaving more human than any Bobby had met. Then again, Metatron had spent more time with people and their lives than most angels.

“So do you know what makes a good story?” Metatron asked before draining the glass he had prepared. “Conflict,” Metatron said matter of factly and placing the glass back on the bar.  “Do you know what most people who end up in Heaven have very little of?”

“Conflict?” Ash asked tentatively.

“The holy, the good, the devout may make for a peaceful place, but they are truly boring.  To have a good story, you really have to have some presence of evil, because good and evil are the greatest conflict by design. So then I thought to myself, who do I know in Heaven who are mostly on the good side of things but still have experienced conflict, and I could not help but think of you,” Metatron monologued mostly to himself.

“Who are you?” Bobby asked.

“The name is Metatron,” he responded, extending his hand to shake with Bobby, but Bobby just stared at it in true curmudgeon style. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “You can call me Marve.”

“You’re a transformer?” Ash asked.

“Metatron?” Ellen asked. “As in the voice of God?”

“More like his stenographer, really,” Marve said as he mixed another drink.

“Sorry, but I’m not feeling the need to share with the likes of you,” Bobby said with distrust evident in his voice.

“That’s a pity,” Metatron said, “because I get the feeling that your story isn’t over yet.  In fact, being an angel, I might be the script doctor you’re looking for.”

“I doubt it,” Bobby growled. “Free will and all that is my favorite part of that book.”

“More’s the pity,” Metatron sighed.  “I suppose the rest of you feel the same?” There was no response but the silent solidarity of Ash and Ellen taking Bobby’s lead.  Metatron put his glass away and sighed, “Perhaps you’ll change your mind.”  With that he vanished in another flutter of wings, taking the drink with him.

“We’re in,” Ash and Ellen said in unison.

“Time to Ocean’s Eleven Heaven,” Ash said with a smile.

♞♕♘

“So, we have angel blood,” Sam recited and it still didn’t sound right.  After worrying about having demon blood, to find he had angel blood as well was strange, and he came to contemplate how much was angel and how much demon.   

“And now the demon blood is completely gone,” Dean said as he took a key and unfastened Crowley’s handcuffs that expelled a puff of energy as they snapped open.

“As long as we tow the line,” Sam interjected.  “Or else my lease is up.”

Dean nodded, “We’re not going to let that happen.  We’re in the freaking bunker of the Men of Letters and we know what that means now.”

“I wonder if that’s why the map lit up when the angels started falling,” Charlie thought aloud.  “If their origins were angels, then they would be interested in angel sightings, and probably have some inside knowledge on them and tracking them.”

“Looks like you’ll be hitting the stacks,” Dean replied, patting Charlie on the back like he did Sam, but that same force rocked Charlie’s small frame.

“Oh… yay,” Charlie said rather unenthusiastically, moving her shoulder to ensure that the jolt Dean had given it hadn’t knocked anything out of place. “What about the next step?” Charlie asked.  “I mean if Cupid doesn’t have a bow, won’t that be hard to make this Nephilim fall in love?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “I’ll have to keep translating. So far it seems a lot like the trials that Sam took.”

“Does that mean the person who does the trial will go through what Sam was going through?” Dean asked.

“I think so,” Kevin nodded, having cooled down from the altercation earlier.

“But Cupid’s bow was on her arm, a part of her, and we removed that,” Castiel added.  “How do we return her bow? We don’t even have the arm.  Metatron has it.”

“You did what?” Charlie asked. “He’s getting less dreamy by the second,” she said to Dean. “I’m regretting reading all that Destiel stuff.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Charlie cleared her throat. “So about re-attaching Cupid’s arm?” She said to change the subject.

“I doubt angels are so easily Voltroned,” Dean commented.

“It says here,” Kevin looked at his notes, “that to return Cupid’s bow, it has to be joined by two true soulmates.  They must hold hands, completing the circuit between the bow and Cupid.”

“And that would be the catch,” Crowley chuckled.  “Always read the fine print.”

“Soulmates?” Charlie asked.  “How common is that?”

“Obviously not everyone who is paired or even falls in love is soulmates,” Castiel pointed out, “it is particularly rare for two souls to find their soulmate unless it’s been orchestrated by Heaven for a purpose.”

“Oh great,” Dean sighed.  “Involving Heaven?”

“We need Cupid though, right?” Charlie asked.  “I mean you have to get him or her to get the bow back in the first place.”

“Cupid has a record of all soulmates,” Azraphael added.

“You’ve become awfully helpful,” Crowley commented on Azraphael’s contributions.

“As Death said, the balance has been destroyed, and this seems the best course of action to restoring it,” Azraphael replied. “Although I am not looking forward to returning your grace, Castiel.  After all that you have done, you don’t deserve it.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Castiel said as he had said so many times, but every time it felt a little more hollow.

“Then I wonder how you were ever an angel to start with, and why you didn’t fall with the first demons, like Abaddon,” Azraphael said with contempt and Castiel hung his head.  Naomi had said that he had been there in Egypt with the slaying of the first born.  He could not remember clearly the time of the Fall.  Had he thought that was the right thing at the time and simply had his mind wiped, or had he tried to stop it?  Regardless of his personal leanings toward humanity, he did not think he could defy Heaven so completely.  As much as he had done wrong, he still wanted to serve what was right.

“Back off,” Dean growled at Azraphael.

“I thought demons were just humans whose souls were corrupted by Hell,” Sam questioned what he knew about demons.  After all he had almost “cured” Crowley, and that would not have been possible if he had been an angel in the beginning.

“Not the first demons,” Crowley offered.  “The First, or the Fallen, were angels that rebelled against Heaven.”  

“Abaddon, for instance, was once an archangel,” Azraphael added.

“That’s why this didn’t work on her, remember?” Dean patted his demon slaying knife.

“Yeah,” Sam touched his head. “I’m still a little fuzzy around the edges.”

“You would need an angelic blade to kill her, and even still, having been once one of the most powerful of angels, a knight of Heaven, it would take more than the famous Winchester dumb luck to defeat her,” Azraphael condescended Dean in biting tones turning his venom from Castiel to Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean spat back, “That didn’t stop us from trapping her in her body, cutting her up, and burying her in the ground.”

“Then she has been defeated and restrained?”  Azraphael asked trying to veil how impressive that truly was.  “Is that why we have not heard word of her in decades?”

Sam cleared his throat and Dean looked abashed as Sam said, “Well, we sewed her back together.”

“You had her on the ropes, and you fixed her?” Crowley laughed.

“We were going to try and cure her before we captured you,” Sam said.

“I sincerely doubt that would have been possible,” Azraphael said.

“But thanks for releasing her to dethrone me and wreak havoc on Hell, though,” Crowley smiled sarcastically. “Great plan, that.”

“Let’s quit this talking,” Dean said anxiously. “If I stay here, I might just kill Crowley out of spite. I need to do something.”

“And why aren’t we doing that again?” Charlie asked.

“Because I’m just that lovable, poppet,” Crowley smiled, enjoying taunting Charlie in attempts to make her flustered and blush.

“Rapunzel, you think you and Cass can dig up Cupid?  She should be topside with all the angels ejected from Heaven,” Dean said to the angels.

“I do not need Castiel to fetch our sister in arms,” Azraphael said stiffly.

“Please tell me that you meant that to be a joke,” Dean asked.

“Oh,” Castiel said belatedly.  “That was funny.”

“I do not understand,” Azraphael replied to the smile Dean was fighting back.

Interrupting before Dean could say anything else, Sam wanted to keep Azraphael on task, and more so he wanted a chaperon to keep him on their side. “Castiel should go with you, and Dean too.  They were the ones who talked Cupid into surrendering the bow, so they should be able to tell her what went wrong.”

“Yeah,” Dean said straightening. “I guess that makes sense. So let’s go, and then Sam, Charlie, and Crowley can go visit your sister,” Dean slapped him on the back, to which the angel looked indignant. “Where does your sister live anyway?”