Book 32 - If Ever I Should Lose You

by GailDunn2

WARNING: CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT. Raguel is determined to change everything, and he uses a shocking revelation to achieve his goal. Cas continues to perform his Godly duties, some of which are more difficult than others. The family learns that love is wonderful, but it can also be the very thing that seals your doom.

1. Careful What You Wish For

Chapter 1 - Careful What You Wish For

"Well. Well. If it isn't the very man we've been looking for," Crowley said calmly. But inside, his vessel's heart was racing. What the hell was Raguel playing at? Coming here the way he had was sheer suicide, wasn't it? He had to know that. All Crowley had to do was open up his Originals' frequency, and...Bollocks.

"Did you really think that I was going to let you call Castiel before we'd had our little chat?" Raguel said, with a raised eyebrow. "You have a reputation, Your Majesty, of being able to anticipate your enemies' moves, several steps in advance. I hope you will not disappoint me."

Crowley gave him a half-shrug. "I admit, as an opening Gambit, it was weak. I must have been hanging around humans for too long. Oh, and speaking of which, kudos on that whole chessmen/ assassination tactic. It might even have been sustainable for a while, had Castiel not jumped the gun by engaging one of my lieutenants to send the first would-be assassin."

"He did?!" Raguel exclaimed, surprised. He was floored. Raguel might have to re-think the rethinking of his position on Castiel, now. Imagine being diabolical enough to send a Demon after your own wife, and other family members? Perhaps Castiel WAS committed to the Holy War, after all. Maybe Raguel should call his Brother here, and question him about the subject.

But then Raguel looked more closely at Crowley's face, and he thought better of it. He had better not summon God into the same room as the King of Hell; at least, not yet. The two of them together might be enough to end Raguel. Even if Rowena were to use her prodigious powers to help Raguel, that wouldn't be enough to balance the scales in the Archangel's favour.

"Very good, Crowley," Raguel said. "You almost got me to take the bait." He gestured to a chair. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable so that we can talk?"

Crowley sat down, glaring at Raguel. This was HIS place, not Raguel's. Still, he could play ball for a few minutes. The fact that Raguel hadn't tried to kill him outright suggested that there might be some kind of deal in the offing.

"What is it that you want to talk to me about?" Crowley asked curiously.

"Are the two of you honestly going to sit there and have a conversation, with me still sitting here in chains?" Rowena fumed.

"Oh. Right. Yes, we are," Crowley said sarcastically.

She glared at him. "Mind your manners, Fergus. You don't have Castiel here to do your dirty work, and we all know that you can't kill me yourself. So as far as I'm concerned, you're powerless to prevent me from doing whatever it is that I want to do." She looked at Raguel. "Correction: Whatever it is that WE want to do."

Raguel gave her a sour smile. He snapped his fingers, and the chains that had been holding her disintegrated.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "So, are you going to be my new Daddy?" he said to Raguel, with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. As if I would ever want to be related to a worm like you," Raguel said disdainfully. "Besides, your mother and I don't have that type of a relationship."

"My apologies, Raguel. Apparently, your standards are higher than I originally gave you credit for." Crowley snapped his fingers, and a tumbler of scotch appeared in his hand. "Cheers," he said, raising the glass to his lips. Then he looked at Rowena. "That's bad news for you, Mother. If you can't seduce him, he'll just use you, and then he will tire of you. That's all right. I can wait. When your Archangel here dumps you, and he will, I'll be waiting. I may not be able to kill you myself, but I can certainly make your life as miserable as possible. You're playing way out of your league, Mother. Trying to start a Holy War? Please. If you think I'm going to let you mess with my Kingdom like that, you are sorely mistaken. I will do everything in my power to swat you down, like the annoying, little, insignificant gnat that you are."

"I hate you," she snarled. "I wish I'd never had you in the first place."

"I can assure you that the feeling is entirely mutual," Crowley shot back. "Any one of those pigs you tried to sell me for would have been a better mother to me than you ever were."

"It's interesting you should both say that," Raguel said in a thoughtful tone. "I have often felt that what you are both talking about could be the answer to everything. Care to test the theory?" He snapped his fingers, and a bowl appeared in his hand. He placed it on a small table in the middle of the room. Then he took his Angel blade out of his pocket, approaching Rowena. "If you really mean what you are saying, you need only prick yourself with this blade, then let a few drops of your blood fall into this bowl."

"Seriously?" she said to him. "I know of no spell like that. If I did, don't you think I would have done it myself by now?"

"Have you ever heard of a little tome called the Book of Life?" Raguel said arrogantly.

Rowena smiled. "You found it? That's fantastic, dearie." She looked at Crowley, sniffing disdainfully at his angry expression. Then she seized the Angel blade from Raguel's hand, slicing her own hand with it. She pursed her lips for a moment, but Rowena was no stranger to having to shed her own blood for a spell. She walked rapidly over to the bowl, holding her bleeding hand over it. Once she'd bled into it, Raguel took her by her other hand and led her back to her chair, healing her wound. She stared at Crowley defiantly.

"What do you say, Your Majesty?" Raguel said, holding the knife out towards Crowley. "Care for a do-over?"

Crowley regarded him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Raguel assured him. "It's a bona fide offer. A show of good faith, if you will, ahead of my proposition. You are still interested in obtaining the Book of the Dead, are you not?"

Crowley approached Raguel slowly. "Well, we both know you can't kill me with that thing." The King reached out, taking the blade from Raguel's hand. The Archangel had cleaned Rowena's blood from the blade, so it was pristine again. Still, Crowley squinted, scrutinizing the knife closely. Then, he sniffed at it. Nothing. No poison. Rowena was just sitting there, staring at him imperiously. Like she thought that she was a Queen, not just some redheaded whore who had screwed her way into accidental motherhood. How he loathed her.

Crowley cut the palm of his hand with the Angel blade and held it over the bowl, staring at his mother. "If this works, Raguel, you just became my new best friend," the King said. Then he returned to his chair, picking his drink up from the floor. He and Rowena faced each other, like two boxers in their corners between rounds.

"Excellent," Raguel said, looking down into the bowl. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a thin piece of paper, holding it over the bowl. He began to recite the incantation, crumpling the paper in his fist.

Sam, Cas and Gail were brainstorming at the bunker. They had been, ever since the bailiff had taken Dean back to the jail to await his sentencing in the morning.

Sam was drinking fairly heavily, and he'd been venting his frustration. In all his years of studying the law, he had never heard of a case where the prosecutor had been able to bring anyone to trial on such little evidence, let alone obtain a conviction.

Gail was angry too, and she was also extremely puzzled. "Why did Crowley say he's coming back tomorrow? What would be the point to that? Does he just want to gloat over Dean's getting sent to jail?"

"He told me he could help Dean get acquitted, in exchange for my going with him to interrogate his mother," Cas told them.

"Well, whatever. He didn't, did he? Did you try calling him?" she persisted.

"Yes, I did, but he is not responding," Cas said, tight-lipped. "But, none of that matters. If things do not go the way he promised tomorrow, I will take whatever steps are necessary. Don't worry, Sam."

But Sam WAS worried. Dean was stubbornly insisting that he didn't want Cas to bust him out of jail. They had argued about it again, after Nick had left the courtroom for the day, telling them he was going to try to persuade the judge to be lenient on Dean. A fat lot of good Nick had been, Sam thought angrily. License or not, Sam could have defended his brother a lot more effectively. The fact that they'd sort of handcuffed Nick by withholding the truth from him notwithstanding, of course.

Suddenly, the walls of the bunker began to shake, and Cas heard Raguel's voice in his head. "I have some good news and I have some bad news, Castiel," the Archangel advised his Brother. "You do not need to worry about Dean Winchester being in jail any longer. That is the good news. However, everything as we all know it to be is about to change. That is bad news for some, but good news for others. It all depends upon the way you look at it."

Sam disappeared, and the walls of the bunker started to collapse. "No," Cas breathed. He dove for Gail. "No!" he shouted to Raguel. "Don't! I beg of you!"

But the moment that the overleaf from the Book of Life hit the blood in the bowl, it was too late. Cas had his arms around Gail, holding her tightly to him as if doing so would make any difference, any difference at all. He shielded her from the debris as the bunker collapsed around them. "No. Please," Cas moaned miserably. But it was no use. Gail vanished, leaving him clutching at air.

Cas fell to his knees, and then a moment later, he too disappeared.

Rowena woke up slowly, picking herself up off the cold stone floor of the cottage. She thought furiously. Why was she lying here on the floor? She had to get herself ready. The Solstice celebrations were tonight, and she didn't intend to miss the revels. Life had been very dreary lately, and she had been far too good, living here all by herself and sleeping alone, like a nun. Working on the spells she would need to perfect if she ever hoped to get out of this dingy village and make a decent life for herself. But first, she was going to let her hair down tonight.

Suddenly, Rowena doubled over, clutching her stomach in pain. What the hell? She looked at the table, where the remnants of her meager dinner sat. Oh, no. The mutton had tasted a little off, but it was all she had. She hated being poor. Just hated it. After tonight's party, she was going to brew up a couple of potions and make the acquaintance of a few influential men in town.

Another set of cramps hit her, and that convinced Rowena: she'd better stay home, and let that mutton work its way through her system. How disappointing. But she was in no shape for a pagan ritual right now, much less the orgy afterwards.

She crawled into bed to rest.

Because Rowena skipped the orgy that night, she was never impregnated by Crowley's father, whoever that might have been. So, Raguel had granted her wish. There had never been a Fergus MacLeod then, so there was no Crowley, King of Hell, now. Crowley had been screwed by his own deal by not reading the fine print, something he had always cautioned others against. He'd thought that, by agreeing to the deal, he was still going to be born, just to a different mother. But Raguel hadn't actually said that, had he?

Lucifer sat at the big oak desk in the High Office, smoking a cigar. He buzzed the Intercom. "Send the Prince in, honey."

Raguel entered the room, looking disdainfully at his God. This was the problem with altering the past. He had considered a lot of possible outcomes when he'd made the offer, but the Archangel had really been hoping for a different God. No one liked Lucifer. No one. He was a childish bully, a heavy-handed brat who demanded respect, but had done exactly nothing to earn it.

But Raguel could only work with the dominoes the way they had fallen, and he had planned ahead for this scenario, along with many others. "Yes, my Lord?" he inquired.

"I need you to come with me to meet with the Queen of Hell and her Knight," Lucifer said, stabbing his cigar out on the desktop. He rolled his eyes. "She wants to talk about something-or-other. Who the hell knows? I just meet with her because she's a total babe, and because it's a lot of fun to see the expression on her flunky's face when he's got to take orders from us."

Raguel sighed. How immature. Lucifer was God. He could be doing great things. He SHOULD be doing great things. Raguel would gladly stand by his side if Lucifer were to ride into Hell and vow to kill everyone there. In fact, the Father's one-time favourite Son had promised to do just that, when he had fought Castiel in the Garden, and won. But Lucifer was lazy, and he was self-indulgent. He hadn't even slain Castiel. Lucifer had left his enemy alive, so that he could gloat over his victory every time he saw the former Angel.

Lucifer and Raguel winked down to Earth, to meet with Abbadon on neutral ground. The Queen of Hell liked to meet in bars, or dens of iniquity such as strip clubs. That was just fine with Lucifer. They usually had a few drinks and paid for a couple of lap dances while their lieutenants stood by stiffly, trying to ignore the goings-on. Lucifer found that amusing.

Today she'd picked a seedy bar on the outskirts of Toledo, Ohio, but Raguel was relieved to see that there were no strippers this time. It was disgusting to have to witness that kind of display. He would expect as much from the denizens of Hell, but it was embarrassing to see God wallowing in the filth with the swine.

And obviously, Raguel's counterpart felt the same way. But he did his duty, as Raguel did his. Castiel had always been a good soldier. He had stood up to Lucifer in the Garden that day, but Castiel had stood alone. He had been the only Angel with the courage to try to take on Lucifer. But, because he had been alone, Castiel had lost the battle, and Lucifer had cast him down to Hell, to be Abbadon's slave for all eternity. How delicious was that? And, because Abbadon considered Castiel to be a delectable piece of eye candy, she brought him with her to their meetings. Besides, he was the best fighter she had. But even though it was tempting, the Queen had never demanded any other kind of service from Castiel. If he could get that stick out of his rear end long enough, he might be quite good at it. But there was a part of Abbadon that remained leery of her lieutenant. He followed every order she gave him without comment, but if she ever allowed herself to relax her guard around him to that extent, Abbadon had the feeling that she just might feel a blade in-between her ribs, instead of a fallen Angel between her legs.

Lucifer and Abbadon clinked glasses as Raguel and Castiel stood guard over them.

"How are things in Heaven?" the Queen asked her counterpart.

Lucifer shrugged. "About the same. Not as interesting as coming down here and seeing you, of course. Oh, and Metatron sends his regards. He said to let him know if you need any more translations done. I'll give him permission to come down there and use your library, if you want. I'm bored of the little troll, anyway."

Abbadon rolled her eyes. Metatron. Raguel. Even Lucifer, himself. Where were all the fun, good-looking men? They had to be somewhere. There were a few of them in Hell, but Demons were also stupid, and slow. Where were all the good men? Well, "good" being relative, of course. Where HAD all the cowboys gone, anyway?

Castiel was still a good man, deep down, but he had given up. He had gambled and lost, thinking that once he took up arms against Lucifer, his Brothers and Sisters would join him. The Angels were all miserable under Lucifer's regime, but they had no one to blame but themselves. Lucifer had been a powerful Angel, but before he had become God, he might have been defeated, had Castiel had the numbers. But Cas had merely been a soldier, a member of the rank and file. Hardly a leader. There had been nothing to distinguish him from the millions of other Angels, except for a strong sense of right and wrong, and a desire for a better existence. But he had no idea that what he was experiencing was the struggle for Free Will. He had never met Dean and Sam Winchester, because when Dean had made his deal at the crossroads years later to save his brother, Lucifer had been God, and Lucifer didn't give the furry crack of a rat's ass about Dean Winchester. So Dean had remained in Hell, and Castiel was there too, but the two of them would never meet. Castiel was the Queen's lieutenant, and Dean was just an ordinary Joe, going through the tortures of the damned, just like so many others.

If you topple one domino, countless others will follow. But some of the biggest dominoes were yet to come, because it was not only Crowley who had never come into existence that fateful night.

As Rowena lay in her bed at the cottage, Raguel appeared before her. "I'm giving you one more chance to change your mind," he told her. "I could wave my hand over you right now and cure your ills, and you could still make the ritual in time."

"Now why on earth would I want to do that?" Rowena retorted. "I'm on the verge of getting what I want. I'm young, I'm sexy, and the world is soon to be at my feet. I don't want to be saddled with a baby, especially not that ungrateful brat, Fergus."

"Fine," Raguel said calmly. "I just wanted to make sure. People always claim they want things to be a certain way, but then when they get what they thought they wanted, they frequently find out that the reality is quite different."

"Yes, I'm sure," Rowena said irritably.

"All right," Raguel said, staring at her intently. "But, just remember, this is the future you have chosen for yourself. Free Will is a double-edged sword, my dear." He put his hand on her forehead, showing her the world he lived in now. Rowena shrugged. What did she care? Looked good to her. All of her enemies were either vanquished, or gone. What wasn't to like about that?

She saw Sam Winchester, living a lonely, empty existence. He was just going through the motions, working a menial job by day, and drinking himself to sleep every night.

As was Frank. In their other lives, he had met Jody through the Winchesters. But because he didn't know the Winchesters from a hole in the ground now, Frank had no family of his own. He'd lived with his mom and dad until they had decided to sell the house and retire to Florida. Now, Frank lived in a small one-bedroom apartment in town. He'd taken a menial job too, and like Sam, he drank way too much, falling asleep in front of the TV most nights.

Hmmm. What about Gail? Rowena wondered. But then, she realized: without her son in their lives, the siblings obviously hadn't gotten mixed up with Demons, or had to go on the run. Wherever Gail was now, she and Frank were probably not that close. But once again, who cared? It did her black heart good to see her enemies so unhappy. The more she saw of this world, the better she liked it.

There was Rob, living with his father Mark in a big mansion in California. Mark had asked for and received his assignment there from Lucifer himself, as a reward for his years and years of loyal service. Mark was grooming his son to inherit the family business, and Rob was taking to the practice of Evil like a duck to water. There was no one to stand in their way. When Felicia had lipped off to Mark once too often, he had stabbed her several times and then handed Rob the Angel blade to finish her off.

This just kept getting better and better. Raguel winked Rowena over to the United States, where she roamed around with impunity, doing whatever she wanted to do, whenever she wanted to do it. This was fantastic. She wished she'd met Raguel centuries ago. But he had fixed her life for her now, and if he wanted something in return, she'd deal with it when he made his request. But whatever it was he could end up wanting, it would be well worth it, in Rowena's opinion. She was living in the kind of paradise she had always envisioned. The only regrettable thing was that she would never meet Bobby Singer. But aside from that, she was living the good life.

Or so she'd thought. But, there were those damn dominoes.

"I've decided I want more witches," Abbadon said over the rim of her glass. "Maybe you and I could work out some kind of a deal."

"I'm listening," Lucifer told her.

"I'm proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement," the Queen said, smiling. "You're going to like this. We send our lieutenants and their garrisons to Earth to kill all the witches, and then we divide up the spoils."

"Yeah? How?" Lucifer said suspiciously.

"This is the part you're going to like," Abbadon said, lifting her glass to him. "I get all the ugly ones, and you get all the pretty ones. I had my beefy assistant crunch some numbers, and surprisingly, I only get a small majority. The notion of green skin and ugly warts is so...Fifth Century."

"What do you want witches for?" Raguel piped up. As if he didn't know. But if Lucifer was too stupid to read the handwriting on the wall, it was too bad for him.

"Did you hear something?" Abbadon said to Lucifer. She waved her hand, and slash marks appeared on Raguel's neck, making him hiss in pain. "You're here to guard, not to talk. Consider that your only warning." She looked up at Castiel, who was standing at attention by her side. "Take your example from my ever-faithful guard dog, here." Abbadon ran her fingers up and down Castiel's arm and then she put her hand on his bicep, giving it a squeeze. She purred like a jungle cat. She'd heard that he worked out constantly during his time off. Well, if what she was feeling was the result, maybe she should consider relaxing her policy on sexual harassment.

Castiel stood stoically while his Queen touched him. She was repugnant, but he bore it, because this was what he deserved. He should have done more, fought Lucifer harder. To the death, if necessary. But in a way, that was what it had come to, anyway. Castiel was dead inside. Any spark that he might have had once had long since been extinguished, at the end of Lucifer's blade. God the Father was dead. He had to be. He would never allow these abominations to rule, otherwise.

Lucifer was too arrogant to pick up on Raguel's query. Instead, he asked, "Not that I'm complaining, but: why do you want all the ugly ones?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Abbadon said, smirking. "Despite all the millions of men I have down there, the selection is - shall we say - depleted, somewhat."

Lucifer answered her smirk with one of his own. "Well, maybe if you'd stop eating them after you mate with them, you'd have more."

Abbadon did a double-take. As rejoinders went, that had actually been a pretty good one. Point for him. "In any event," she said dryly, "I don't need any competition. But this is a big win for you. It means that you get all the beautiful, sexy ones, to do whatever you want with. So, what do you think?" She stuck her hand out. "Do we have a deal?"

Lucifer took her hand, as Raguel tried not to roll his eyes. Boy, was his boss stupid.

Castiel was thinking the same thing, but the thought held no joy for him. It didn't matter to him whether Abbadon annihilated Lucifer or not. Then Raguel would just take over Heaven, or Mark, or even Metatron. He knew that Mark had a son named Rob, who was an up-and-comer, as well. But as far as he knew, they were all in line to rule Heaven, not Hell. And even if someone were able to overthrow Abbadon and release Castiel from his bondage, where would he go? What would he do?

And so it came to pass that God and the Queen sent their armies to Earth to slaughter all the witches. Rowena lasted longer than most, but eventually, she found herself in Heaven, chained and bound. Now, her Paradise had become her Hell. They came for her and dragged her to Lucifer's office, chaining her to a chair in front of his desk.

Lucifer walked around the big oak desk and stood looming over her. "You're hot," he told her. "I love all that flaming red hair. So, tell me...does the carpet match the drapes?"

Rowena glared up at him, and he laughed. "Ooooh. Me-ow. I think I'll make you one of my personal slaves. I need some eye candy, like Abbadon's got. If I have to look at my lieutenant's lemon-sucking, ugly-ass face one more minute, I think I might have to kill him. I like your spirit, honey."

"I'm not your honey, and I'm no man's slave," Rowena said angrily. "Now, take these chains off of me!"

"You're quite the little spitfire," Lucifer said, amused. "You remind me of a girl I would have met in another life, if you had screwed that guy, instead of screwing the pooch. You have nobody but yourself to blame for what's happening to you now, Rowena. But let's get one thing straight: I'm the Boss here, and what I say goes. You can use some of that spirit with me in bed, as long as you don't go too far with it. If you hurt me, I'll have you tortured beyond your wildest imagination. But please, please give me a bit of a challenge. The problem with these damn Angels - the girls AND the guys - is that they just lay back and submit. It's boring as...well, Hell."

He snapped his fingers, and her chains vanished. Then he grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, tearing at her dress. Rowena reached up and raked her fingernails down his face, making him bleed.

"How dare you!?" she exclaimed. "I told you, I'm a slave to no man! I decide who I sleep with, not the other way around!"

"Oh, yeah?" Lucifer shot back. "We'll see about that." He shoved her back down into the chair, then wheeled around, sweeping everything off the desk. "Lesson One: Don't piss off the Master."

Then he raped Rowena right there on the desk, then beat her, then healed her, then violated her again, just because he could. Then he had her thrown in Heaven's dungeon, and he starved her for a week. He went into her cell every day to taunt her, telling her that if she was hungry, he had something in his pants she could nibble on. She had spit at him, and when she became so dehydrated that she was unable to do that anymore, she cursed him in a dry, cracked voice. But, much like removing an Angel's Grace, Lucifer had drained all the witchcraft out of her, so it was to no avail. After nearly two weeks of this, Rowena finally capitulated. He gave her a drink of water, unzipped his pants, and made her call him "Master" while she was tending to him.

This went on for another week or so, every day. But in his zeal to force her to submit to him, Lucifer had broken her, in every sense of the word. She submitted now, but she was all skin and bones, and her eyes were hollow. The spirit he'd so admired in the first place had gone out of her, and she was starting to look her age. Her real age. Maybe the next time he went into her cell, he would just burn her. But only after she took care of him, first, while she was still good for that.

Raguel slipped into Rowena's cell just before dawn. Rowena looked up at him with her one good eye.

"What's the matter, Rowena?" Raguel taunted her. "I thought you were living in Paradise. You said you wanted this. In fact, you told me that, several times. Quite adamantly."

"All right, all right," she said wearily. "Fine. I suppose I should have thought it through just a little more."

"I did warn you," Raguel persisted.

"Aye, so you did. Did you come here just to lord it over me? Because, I can assure you, I've had my fill of male supremacy for quite a while," she said quietly.

Raguel looked closely at her face. She was bloody and unkempt, a shell of her former self. But, he could see what Lucifer had missed: there WAS still a spark left, albeit a tiny one. But Raguel had had an agenda, this whole time. "What if I told you that you could go back to the way things were before? Which existence would you choose now?"

Rowena continued to stare up at him. Had he been playing her, this whole time? Of course he had. That was what men like this did. But the pain and degradation she felt now were very real. "Please, I want to go back to the way things were, Raguel." There. That should be deferential enough for him.

"I don't know," he said airily. "I kind of like being a Prince of Heaven. It's got a nice ring to it."

"Please don't make me beg," Rowena said in a soft voice. She felt sick to her stomach. Raguel would pay. They would all pay. She sighed. "You win, my liege. I'll do anything you want me to do, if you'll just return me to my former life."

Raguel decided he had made his point. It seemed as though Rowena had indeed taken the lesson. He reached down and touched her shoulder and a moment later, her shackles clattered to the dungeon floor, empty.

So Rowena was back at the cottage now, and she was going through the throes of labour. There was no one there, of course. Unmarried women who were expecting were shunned by respectable people in those days, and Rowena had a bit of a reputation around town, anyway. And midwives cost money, money that she did not yet have.

She had gone to the Solstice celebration that night after all, laying off the mutton. And, as fate had decreed, she had gotten pregnant. Rowena writhed in pain now, moaning loudly, wiping her own forehead with a damp cloth.

Unbeknownst to Rowena, whose eyes were closed against the pain, there was another individual in the cottage that night. He was watching avidly as she lifted her skirts, opening her legs wide. Funny; the last time she had done that for him it had been a lot more enjoyable, for the both of them. But it was almost time now, and Vincent had wanted to be here for the momentous event. Maybe he would even give Rowena a cigar, afterwards.

Vincent was an ancient being, a lot older than any of them realized. Like a certain pair of Angels and the boy who was about to come out of Rowena's womb now, Vincent had been in existence in one form or another since just about the Beginning of it all. He didn't think he was going to stick around here too much longer, though. Maybe just a decade or two. But he would be back again, in an era of his choosing. Maybe World War I, or II, or both. Or maybe not until the Swingin', Psychedelic Sixties. Vincent could wreak death and destruction with the best of them if he wanted to, but he preferred to make love, not war.

He leaned forward excitedly now as the boy slid out, all bloody and sticky. The future King of Hell. It was funny how they all looked the same when they came out like this. Messy, gooey blobs. But the potential was where the thrill was.

Now, Vincent had a decision to make. Rowena was panting with the effort of having given birth, but then the pains started coming again, and a couple of minutes later, another baby came sliding out. Vincent nodded. He had figured as much. A boy and a girl, just as he had planned. But the question now was: Which one should he take?

Rowena looked down at the babies. Twins! No wonder she had been as big as a house. A boy and a girl. Now she felt a lot happier about the whole thing. She could mentor the girl, once she got old enough. Teach her proper magic. Maybe she would try to teach the boy as well, but it had been Rowena's experience that females were generally more adept at magical spells. But, the boy could be useful, too. The children could keep house and keep each other company while Rowena was out on the town, doing her thing. This might actually work out very nicely.

But suddenly, Vincent stepped out from the shadows. "Congratulations, Rowena," he said softly. "You did a very good job. I know this is years and years before the age of community property, but I'm willing to split the assets, right down the middle. Well, so to speak." He grinned. "But why don't you name them, first? I'm terrible at names."

Rowena was confused. What the hell was he talking about? "You show up now, all these months after the Solstice, claiming responsibility? Where have you been this whole time?"

"Around," Vincent said evasively. "Now, do you want to name them, or not?"

Rowena was too worn out to argue. She looked at the babies. "Fergus, for the boy," she said, "and Priscilla, for the girl."

"Great. Terrific. Now, say goodbye to one of them. Let's see," Vincent mused. "Eeny, meeny, miney...Priscilla." He picked up the baby girl, using the only blanket that Rowena had, to wrap the child in. He was a proud Papa, but there was no need to get that disgusting fluid all over his clothes, either.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rowena demanded angrily. She struggled to sit up as Baby Fergus began to cry. Vincent looked down at Baby Priscilla, but she was docile. He started to grin again.

"You'll thank me, later," Vincent said good-naturedly. "The boy is much better suited for your particular...temperament, anyway." He waved his free hand over her face, and the words to the amnesia spell were said. Then Rowena fell back on the bed, sound asleep.

"Good luck, Your Majesty," Vincent said to Baby Fergus, and then he winked out of the cottage with Crowley's sister in his arms.

One cold and snowy Christmas Eve years later, a woman named Priscilla stumbled into a pub, hungry, wet, and bedraggled. There she met a man called Fergus, who took pity on her, and took her into his home. But then, she met a handsome, blue-eyed stranger named John Alden, and the two of them sailed off to the New World together, leaving Priscilla's brother Fergus behind, to make his deal with the reigning King of Hell. Cursing Castiel and Gail for the remainder of their days.

Rowena stared at Raguel, open-mouthed with shock. He gave her a thin smile. "So now, you see. I asked you to be sure, because one little pebble can cause so many ripples. And two little pebbles? Well, they can alter an entire universe. If there is no Fergus, there is no Priscilla. Cause and effect, my dear. If you had no son, you had no daughter. Crowley and Gail have been through many incarnations, as has Castiel, since the dawn of the day of the Beginning. Without a Gail to be Castiel's mate, my Brother loses the final battle with Lucifer. And without Crowley as the King of Hell, Abbadon rules, and together, she and Lucifer seal your fate. So, I will ask you one more time: Which scenario do you prefer?"

Cas rose from the library floor, his head reeling. Had he been hit on the head by a piece of falling debris? But as he looked around, he saw that the bunker was intact, and all was quiet.

He looked around excitedly. Could it be? Oh, please, Father. Please.

A moment later, Gail appeared. Cas rushed over to her and pulled her into his arms, whimpering. "Oh, thank You, Father. Thank You so much for Your mercy." He covered Gail's face with kisses. "Are you all right, my darling?"

"I'm OK, Cas, you're just squishing me," she said, but she was smiling now, and she was clinging to him, too. He eased his grip, looking down at her face. "I didn't say I wanted you to stop," Gail quipped.

The two of them clung to each other for a moment, showering each other with love. "What happened, Cas?" Gail asked him, touching his face. "One minute I was here, and the next, I was...nowhere."

"Where did you go? What did you see?" he asked her, agitated.

"I told you, Cas, I don't know. I didn't see anything. Nothing. It was all black. That's all I can tell you. Why? Do you know what's going on?"

Cas frowned. "I think I might. We'll find out for sure, one way or another. But the main thing is that you're here. You're here." He crushed her to him again. "Raguel can't have the entire Book, then; only a small part of it," he murmured. "I thought I had truly lost you this time."

Gail had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but for the moment, she was happy just to be held by him. That had been really scary, whatever it was. "I love you so much, Cas," she said in a shaky voice.

"Promise me something," he said, and she realized with alarm that he was crying now. "Please promise me, once we get everything sorted out, that you will consider coming back to me. Please, Gail. I can't be without you. I would rather die. Please."

"OK, Cas. OK," she said. "Please don't cry." But she was being a hypocrite now, because she was crying now, too. It was breaking her heart to see him weeping uncontrollably like this, and it was scaring her, too. Whatever had just happened, it had obviously frightened Cas so much that he was reduced to the sobbing, shaking mess that was clutching at her now. His fear was contagious. She touched his face again, with both of her hands this time.

"Is that what you guys do when I doze off? Make out?" Sam said from behind them. He was back at the library table now, stretching and yawning. "Man, I had the lousiest dream," he said to his friends.

Dean had been tossing and turning on his bunk in jail, and he woke up now, bathed in sweat. He looked around at his surroundings, panicked for a moment. Where was he? This wasn't his bedroom at the bunker. Then he remembered, and he actually smiled when he realized that he was in his jail cell. The dream of being back in Hell had been so vivid that he could actually feel the torture, and hear the screams.

He sat up, checking his torso for wounds. Nothing. He wasn't in Hell; he was in the jailhouse. Thank Cas. He smirked. Actually, he guessed he could, technically. It was his friend's fault that Dean was here in the first place.

But, strangely, none of that mattered right now. He wasn't in Hell, and whatever happened in the morning, they would deal with it together. Cas and Gail were his family, and even though he'd been pissed off at them, he still loved them both. It was weird to think of, but when Dean had been in Hell for real, he hadn't known either one of them. Now he couldn't imagine his life without them.

And they would get Sammy sorted out, too. This was Dean's first offense, or at least, the first one he had actually been convicted for. He had initially been surprised that the jury had convicted him on such little evidence, but now, Dean had more or less accepted his fate. Bottom line was, he had killed that girl who the Demon was riding. Depending on how long she had been possessed, she might still have been able to be saved. But Dean had been consumed with a white-hot rage at the Demon who had shot Rob. The kid hadn't even begun to live his life yet, and that bitch had tried to snuff it out. What gave her the right? If Dean thought he and Sammy had had it hard, Rob could give them a run for their money, and then some.

So, instead of trying an exorcism, Dean had gone for the knife, and he could swear he'd seen a look of shock and fear on the girl's face before he'd killed her. So he'd told Sam, and he'd told Cas, not to spring him. Dean deserved to be punished. This had been a long time coming. That poor young girl had been only one of many of Dean's victims, but she was the one who had finally made him realize that he needed to pay a price. Cas would call it atonement. Well, bring it on. Dean was ready. Depending on how long he was sent up, maybe Dean would encourage Sam to go back to law school. It was never too late, right?

Then Dean lay back on his bunk, and a few minutes later, he fell into a deep sleep. Mercifully, he did not dream.

"That was some very good, dime-store magic," Rowena said scornfully. Now that she realized that whole scenario had only been in her head, some of her bravado was back. "Maybe you should give Las Vegas a call. Me, I prefer real magic to illusion."

"Illusion?" Raguel said, bemused. "Is that what you think? Why don't you check the place on your body where Lucifer branded you, and then tell me that it was all in your mind? Go ahead. I won't look."

Raguel turned his back on Rowena as she lifted her skirts and checked her leg. Sure enough, there it was, the "L" that Lucifer had branded on her inner thigh, to signify that she belonged to him. Then Raguel snapped his fingers, and the mark glowed, red hot. Rowena hissed in pain, remembering the utter agony that receiving that mark had caused her. Lucifer had watched avidly as his man had put Rowena on the rack, naked, and cranked the wheel to spread her legs wide. Then he had come at her with the burning hot brand, and she had screamed before it had even touched her. Lucifer had laughed. "It's not what you're thinking, Red," he'd said, "but that'll be the next place, if you don't do as I say, when I say it."

Raguel turned around slowly. "I used one page, just one page, from the Book of Life. Regrettably, that's been all I have been able to recover, as of yet. But just think, then, of the potential of the entire Book, if just the overleaf was enough to do all of that. Your experience was quite real, I assure you. But there was a reason for that entire exercise. I know that you wished your son out of existence, but you can see now that that would have been a mistake."

"Fine," Rowena fumed. "He had to have been born. But then, why don't you just kill him NOW?"

"Because I need him," Raguel told her. "Like it or not, I need him to translate some passages of the ancient language that I cannot. Now that Metatron is dead, Crowley is the foremost expert there is on linguistics. I am looking to propose a partnership with him, and I did not want your interference."

"So you branded me and dragged me through that living hell with Lucifer, just so that I would shut up and get out of the way?" Rowena exclaimed, incredulous.

Raguel nodded. "Yes," he said dispassionately.

"Fine," she said again. "Return us to the status quo, then. Please," she added, although the word made her want to vomit.

"You think that I am a cruel individual, don't you?" Raguel asked, with no expression in his voice.

Rowena continued to look at him, but she said nothing. Anything she could say right now about what kind of individual she thought he was might well get her thrown back into Lucifer's dungeon.

Raguel snapped his fingers, and they were back in the room where the spell had been cast. The bowl was still on the table, but Crowley's chair was empty. "The spell has a bit of a delay," the Archangel told her. "In the interim, you may wish to use the Book's ashes to remove that brand from your thigh. Unless you wish to keep it, of course." As Rowena started towards the bowl, he caught her by her wrist. "But rest assured, I can always arrange for you to have another one, if you defy me."

He released his grip on the witch, and she strode over to the bowl, trying to hold her temper. She dipped her fingers in the bowl. The remnants of the ancient paper, Rowena and Fergus's blood, and whatever other ingredients had been in there had combined to make a sort of paste. She hiked her skirt up with her other hand, not caring if he was looking or not, and touched the paste to the brand mark. An instant later, it disappeared, and the pain was gone.

Gail was her daughter. Rowena was still reeling. The girl who had killed her, in Crowley's den. God's wife was the daughter of an ancient practitioner of the dark arts and a centuries-old witch who had once been a member of the Grand Coven. Castiel's wife was the sister of the King of Hell. It seemed there was a black sheep in the family. Or, was it a white one? Doubtless, Gail would feel that it was the other way around, if she were ever to find out. And how would Castiel react to this particular little news bulletin?

This was going to take a while to process, and it was also going to take Rowena a while to plan a fitting revenge to take on Raguel for what he had put her through. Fergus was lucky; Raguel had now supplanted her son as Public Enemy Number One, as far as Rowena was concerned. She walked slowly back to the chair she had been sitting in and sank down into it.

So when Crowley suddenly appeared back in his chair and picked up his drink as if nothing had happened, Rowena did not react. Nor did Raguel, but he did wave his hand, and then he waved it again, re-installing Rowena's chains. "I'll be in touch," he said to Crowley. Then he waved his hand and disappeared.