Prologue: Whispers in the Dark
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or that Skillet title.
Crowley could almost hate himself for not realizing it sooner. He might not have been able to circumvent Castiel, or the Winchesters, but there were ways around them, ways through their defenses…if one was looking closely enough, of course.
He was amused by his thoughts: How interesting that he, a demon, the King of Crossroads and Hell, a born deceiver, would be outdone by a human's lies. And how interesting that those lies would lead him right to where he wanted to be: on the inside of that tight little ring of barriers and nets and traps that were the Winchesters' closely guarded loved ones.
He had seen that complicated little web as a challenge, at first. Something to be toyed with and worked over and broken when he got bored; but it wasn't that easy. He had quickly been frustrated by them, and the way that, despite his best attempts and his most clever schemes, they constantly won out. It had sparked some…interesting issues.
Demons, who had formerly sided with him, began to whisper that perhaps Lucifer had indeed been more competent. Naturally, of course, he put down the demons who he found to be spreading such filth. His mistake, though, had been to do it quietly. At first, he didn't want to bother making examples out of them. That took time and resources he needed elsewhere. What he hadn't foreseen was the creeping chaos that would ensue.
There were whispers in the gloom of the Pit and in the shadows of the world that angels and humans were winning the war… That the disappearing demons and unfinished projects were the result of divine intervention. And that, they reasoned, meant God was back. Fear began to infect the ranks, and soon he had just as many deserters as he did outright traitors or the dead.
He smirked as he fingered a picture of the pretty woman. She wasn't exactly young anymore, but she was pretty, for a human. Dark hair, caramel-tinted complexion, and a decent body. It wasn't his version of a wet dream, but he could understand how a human might fall for her.
She, though, was hardy important in his grand scheme. Her lie had paved the way, certainly, but now she was…disposable, at best. It was her son that was the real crowning jewel.
A descendent of the Sons of Adam. His father's father had been the same, of course, and that was hardly remarkable. What was remarkable, however, was the way the blood hadn't weakened. Genetic heritage tended to get watered down by other bloodlines and even the infusion of demonic and angelic lines. His, though, was almost as strong as Michael's intended vessel.
There was still the issue of opening the Cage, but that could be dealt with on the side. He first needed to subtly inject himself into the situation, get under the boy's skin and gain his trust. It would be easy now that his memories had been wiped. He would have no knowledge of all those lovely little tricks, those tiny little suspicions his father had planted. On the contrary, breaking that wall would help him. What better way to confuse and wound than with proof that Dean himself had been the way to take all that happiness away?
He could have his souls, he realized, even without finding the Gate to Purgatory. All he needed to do was nudge a few pawns this way or that way and, before anyone else knew it, he would have a checkmate.
He just needed to start carefully…
"Things have been quiet lately," Sam commented off-handedly as he popped open a beer.
"Too quiet." Dean replied.
"I agree."
Dean choked, sputtering beer.
"Damn it, Cas!" He shouted, "Don't sneak up on me!"
"My apologies." The angel replied with a contrite bow of his head.
"Um…you were saying…" Sam trailed off uncomfortably.
"Ah, yes," Cas responded, "There's been an interesting turn of events: Raphael's troops have started to pull back."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Sam asked.
"Perhaps, but it seems too…convenient." Castiel responded.
"You don't look like you think it's a good thing." Sam observed.
"I'm cautiously optimistic." The angel replied; it was dangerously close to a lie…
"Settle down, Cas," Dean said, passing him a bottle, "Have a drink."
"Unfortunately, this wasn't a social call." The angel said, "I was hoping that you might be able to help me. One of my garrisons disappeared a few days ago. I'm not sure if they're alive or dead."
"Why don't you zap over there?" Dean asked.
"I've conducted a preliminary search, but unfortunately, I can't get in."
"Sigils?" Sam ventured.
"Hundreds of them. Some of which I've never seen before."
"Great…demons getting creative." Dean sighed, taking a swill of his beer. "Where is this place?"
"It's just outside of South Carolina."
"Guess we're paying Bobby a visit." Dean replied as he tossed the beer bottle aside and opened the door of the Impala. "Are you two coming?"
"It would go much faster if you allowed me to arrange transportation."
"Cas, we've talked about this." The door slammed.
Sam shrugged, "Sorry…want to…ride along?"
"I have a war to fight." Castiel replied reasonably, "I'll meet you there."
Bobby grumbled to himself as he answered the first phone, quickly confirmed a fake ID, picked up another to demand the release of his "agent," and proceeded to pop open a beer as he snatched a third from the wall and said, "Yes, he's my best officer." He listened to the deputy, obviously a newbie, give a stammering apology and promise to release him immediately.
"What's a man got to do to get some peace around here?" He wondered aloud to himself as he scrubbed at his face with his hand.
As if taunting him, his cell phone suddenly sprung to life. He reached over absently and flipped it open, "Dean."
"Hey, Bobby." The Winchester replied. "We're headed down there."
"Does your girl need some attention?" He asked.
"She'll have to wait," Dean said with an echo of frustration, "Apparently, we have some missing friends down there."
"Friends?"
"The feathery kind."
"Angels." Bobby deadpanned.
"I guess some of Cas' people went missing down there. We're checking it out. I thought I'd call and see if there's been anything strange going down. It might give us some idea of what we're up against."
"Wish I could tell you something. It's been quiet lately."
"We're getting that a lot." Dean replied.
"So are all the other hunters."
"Good to know we're not alone."
"Let me see what I can dig up. We'll chat when you get here."
"Thanks, Bobby."
He flipped the phone down, tucked it back into his jeans pocket, and opened his computer. He sighed as the phones on the back wall started to wail, demanding his attention. For the lack of demonic activity, there sure seemed to be a lot moving under the surface…
He pushed the thought away as he tapped the "Enter" key and picked up the small white phone labeled "Marshall Sandoval." It was another hunter, of course, and he quickly arranged for him to be released.
He was just sitting down to a meager lunch when his personal cell rang again. Exasperated, he picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Don't sound so grouchy, Bobby." The female on the end of the phone replied; she was obviously irritated, "Not when I'm the one cleaning up your messes."
"Jodie?"
"No, it's Santa Claus." She replied sarcastically.
"Can we cut to the chase?"
"I have one of your guys down here." She told him, "They said you'd verify them."
"Who are they?" He asked.
"Which alias would you like?" She snapped back.
"Give me a description." He sighed gruffly.
"Middle aged African American female with a British accent."
"She's one of ours."
"Then come get her." Jodie replied, hanging up.
"My day just ain't gonna get any easier." He grumbled to himself as he threw on his jacket and pulled his keys off the hook.
TBC
