Book 2 - The Winchester Prophecies

by GailDunn2

Sequel to Book 1 - Playlist. Sam and Dean, Castiel and Gail face danger from both Demons and Angels. Crowley is back and more evil than ever, and Metatron wants his revenge.

1. Little White Lies

Chapter 1 - Little White Lies

CHUCK, 1.1

After leaving God's office, Chuck walked back to his own, nodding casual greetings to the Angels who passed him in the hallway.

Too many around right now to risk it, Chuck thought, entering his small office and shutting the door. Fortunately, Angels were generally company men and women, and would clear out by the end of the work day. He smirked to himself. Angels, he thought. More like sheep. Anyone who had a mind of his own stuck out like a sore thumb, here.

Like him. Chuck was well aware that no one in Heaven really liked him. He supposed he understood; as he had held the title of One True Prophet for a while now, Chuck had been steadily writing prophecies, until he had binders and binders of them. Enough for every Angel in Heaven, every Demon in Hell, and the special humans on Earth, the ones who God had designated. When Chuck himself had been on Earth, he had met some of these individuals, most importantly Dean and Sam Winchester. He had kind of liked them. Even though they thought he was a douche.

Chuck sat down heavily in his desk chair and sighed. It had been a shock seeing Castiel in God's office. Even though he was the Prophet, there were some things God had shielded from Chuck's eyes, and that had definitely been one of them. That damn Castiel. Of all the beings Chuck had written about over the years, Castiel was the most shielded. Chuck liked the feeling of knowing what was going to happen to the beings he wrote about before they did. It gave him a feeling of confidence, pride and power, qualities that had been lacking in him before the promotion. The fact that he was looked at as creepy by the individuals in question was just an unfortunate byproduct of the job. But it angered him that his file on Castiel was practically non-existent. He didn't like Castiel; didn't trust him, and Chuck knew the feeling was mutual.

As the Prophet, Chuck now knew that Castiel had elected to burn his manuscript, and he was furious. God had allowed Chuck to see their little exchange after he'd left the office. Chuck had been mortified to see all his hard work set to flame, but he was not particularly surprised. He did wonder what the hell the point had been, though. Surely God knew he had another copy stashed away.

That last thought cheered Chuck a bit, and he took another bundle of blank paper out of his desk drawer and grabbed a pen. The work day was not over yet, and he needed to keep busy until most of the Angels in his department left, so he could sneak over to Metatron's former office to retrieve his copy of the Gospels from the safe.

METATRON, 1.1

Metatron paced his cell, walking from side to side and end to end, trying to get some exercise. He wanted to stay in fighting shape, so to speak, for when he got out of here. He had seldom done any fighting himself, being the bookish sort, but he had stabbed Dean Winchester to death in a rare and wonderful testosterone-fueled moment. Imagine how crestfallen he'd felt when his one big act of heroism had turned out to be a lie. True, Dean had turned Demon for a while and, though that had been kind of fun to hear about, Metatron had been locked away in the Angel prison and unable to witness any of it.

He sat back down on his bunk, sighing. Metatron was a pariah in Heaven now, the most hated guy since Lucifer, and it made him sad. He was just misunderstood. His motivations for attempting to take over Heaven had been good and pure. Hadn't he been the one to create the portal that led back to Heaven, when no one else could? And if he were to be the one to lead the Angels once they were all back where they belonged, where they all wanted to be, then what of it? God had abdicated, and His flock had needed a leader. They could do a lot worse than him, Metatron reasoned. He was highly intelligent, self-educated, and only too happy to step in and fill the void.

He was not the bad guy he'd been made out to be. The only reason he had stabbed Dean was to prevent Dean from spoiling his plans. And yes, he had taken Castiel's Grace from him in order to facilitate the fall of the Angels from Heaven in the first place, but it had all been part of the master plan. Metatron himself had transcribed the Tablets, as per God's own instructions. And if he had taken certain liberties with the wording, well, that was a writer's job, wasn't it?

Then God had gone on vacay and Heaven had fallen into anarchy, war, and then with Metatron's help, just... fallen. But he had been there to pick up the pieces and reunite the factions, and what thanks did he get for it? Thrown here in jail to rot while God's Golden Boy Castiel got all the glory and the rewards.

Fortunately, Metatron had a pipeline to the outside. He had been allowed regular visitations after pleading cruel and unusual punishment by being stuck here in solitary confinement, and mercifully, God had relented. Metatron recalled how frightened he'd been when he'd heard that God had suddenly come back and retaken the reins. What did this mean for him? But luckily, things had remained status quo, and God had been merciful enough to allow Metatron to receive visitors. Somewhat tellingly, the only one who had come to see him so far had been the Prophet, Chuck.

Metatron had been surprised at first, but after some conversation he had realized they were of the same mindset. Suspecting their exchanges were being listened to, he had chosen his words carefully and noticed that Chuck was doing the same. But he could tell there was a common thread, a united way of thinking, between them. Even though Chuck was hardly the sharpest card in the catalogue, Metatron thought he could be very useful. Besides, a Prophet and

a Scribe? It was a marriage made in...well... Metatron smiled to himself. He loved wordplay.

So Metatron laid down on his bunk and closed his eyes, content to bide his time for the moment. There was much more to be written.

ROWENA, 1.1

Rowena opened the bag containing her son's bones, spreading them out onto the altar. Then she lit the candles that were placed all around the edges of the table and brought out the ingredients of the potion.

As she mixed the potion, Rowena hummed a tune, a lullaby she remembered that was centuries old. Maybe she'd even sung it to Fergus when he was a baby. Before she had decided that single motherhood was a drag and had taken off for greener pastures. She'd even tried to sell him before she left; but sadly, no takers.

So what was she doing here, mixing the potion that would bring him back? As she added the last ingredient, Rowena hesitated. Did she really want to open up that can of worms again? When she and Fergus, who'd called himself Crowley in present times, had co-existed before, she had planned to kill him and usurp his throne. Unfortunately, the Winchesters and Castiel had beaten her to it. Well, the former if not the latter part. And she was pretty sure that her son had had devious thoughts in mind for her, as well.

So why was Rowena on the verge of bringing him back? The simple answer was, of course, because she could.

The subtext was much more complicated. She supposed she did feel some love for him, after all. Or more likely, a measure of pride. Maybe even respect. Her son, the King of Hell. Before everything had gone sideways, she had been rather proud of him, proud of his accomplishments. And she now realized that he could be an ally in her fight to reclaim Gail and her powers. She planned to make Gail into a Knight of Hell, and with her powers and Rowena's own, they'd be unstoppable. Gail had so much potential, and Rowena was eager to mentor her. What good was living thousands of years without any goals, nothing to look forward to?

But first, there was her son...Before she poured the potion over his bones, Rowena hesitated once more. She could manipulate him easily enough, but she'd only been able to be around him for so long in his past existences. Could she really co-exist with Crowley for as long as it took?

Rowena considered her priorities, and then she poured the potion she had made over her son's bones. Maybe she'd even call him Crowley, on special occasions.

CASTIEL, 1.1

Castiel smiled as Gail disappeared, then re-appeared, in the apartment they were sharing.

"Very good," he praised her. He knew that becoming an Angel had been a difficult transition for her, but she would get the hang of it eventually. When most humans died and became Angels, the transition was usually harder for them, because they didn't have the knowledge or the background that Gail had.

And she was eager to learn, and to embrace her new purpose, and he was glad.

DEAN AND SAM, 1.1

The Winchester brothers were at the table in the bunker, having coffee. It had been a few days since they had returned to their lives, and they were kind of at loose ends. Castiel and Gail were in the wind, Crowley was dead, and they had their lives back. It was over. Wasn't it? Yes, Rowena was still out there somewhere, but if she left them alone, they'd leave her alone. For now.

Sam was on the computer, clicking away but finding nothing of interest. He was actually relieved; he felt that he and Dean needed some time off to process what had happened over the last couple of months. To regroup. So maybe he wasn't searching as hard as he could for a case, but it wasn't the end of the world.

Dean, on the other hand, was starting to feel antsy. He had started to prowl around the place like a caged tiger. The bunker felt like home, true enough, the only place he'd felt comfortable living in since their family home all those years ago. But he was used to taking action, not resting, and the silence was starting to get on his nerves. Truth be told, he thought everything had worked out a bit too neatly. He had spent nearly all of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Dean had the feeling that when it did, he and Sammy would need all of their skills to survive. They had blown their last chance at immortality.

CASTIEL, 1.2

Gail was growing by leaps and bounds ever since her first foray into the experience of being an Angel.

They had been walking back home, enjoying the night air, when she and Castiel had come upon a homeless man, sitting in the alleyway. He had looked up at them forlornly, extending his hand. Gail leaned down to him, as Castiel watched. His experiences as a human had taught Castiel that there were some humans who genuinely needed a helping hand, but some others, who were only looking to take advantage. God had truly made an assortment, when He'd made the human race.

So Castiel watched, curious to see what Gail would do. As Angels on Earth, they had enough money to work within the confines of social convention, but not an excess of it. Gail was free to do whatever she felt; theirs was an equal partnership. But he hoped she wasn't being taken advantage of.

Gail put her hand gently on the man's forehead and said, "You can go home now. Your daughter's been looking for you, and she forgives you."

When Gail removed her hand, the man looked at her with an expression of wonder. He scrambled to his feet. "How did you know?" he asked her.

"Because I know you're basically a good person who's just had a hard time of it, lately," she replied. Then Gail smiled. "And by the way, your daughter's a good person, too. You had a disagreement; so what? It happens with families, sometimes. Go home and make it right. Life's too short."

Gail smiled back at Castiel as the man hurried off. "I just...had a feeling," she told him. "I guess this is one of the perks of the job, right?"

He looked at her shining eyes and smiled back. He loved her so much.

SAM AND DEAN, 1.2

A couple of days later, Sam got a hit on the computer. But it wasn't a case. It was worse; much, much worse.

"Dean!" he called out.

Dean came down the hall. "What?"

"Jody's been shot." Sam sat back from the computer in shock.

Dean hurried over and stood behind Sam, looking at the computer screen. There was a photo of their friend Jody Mills, a Sheriff, who had been shot in the line of duty. Dean leaned forward to read the article. When he finished, he said to Sam, "What the hell? Some kid picks up a gun that was lying under a set of swings in a playground, then turns around and just shoots her with it, out of the blue?"

"That's what it says," Sam nodded.

"Gotta be a case," Dean said.

Sam sighed. He tended to agree. Had the kid been possessed by a Demon? He supposed it could be just a weird accident, but in their world, such things were rare. And this attack on their friend felt personal.

"Let's go," he said to Dean.

GOD, 1.1

God was very busy, of course, but He kept an eye on the events taking place on Earth when He had time.

He had watched the scene in the alleyway and was happy to see how well Gail's education was coming along. She had used her Angel powers in exactly the right way, and was well on her way to becoming a favourite of His.

By extension, His confidence in His Son Castiel was proving to be well-founded. Castiel knew when to instruct, and when to sit back and let Gail's instincts take over. God was glad He had taken the path of mercy rather than anger when it came to dealing with Castiel. When He'd first called the pair of them into His office, God had admittedly been wrathful. Gail had pulled quite the stunt in the Garden, and Castiel had not only taken the blame on himself but had subsequently told the Winchesters the whole story. Something God Himself had forbidden him to do. Free Will was perhaps something to be considered in the larger scheme of things, but too much of it led to chaos. Look at the mess that had happened in Heaven while He had been away.

But when Castiel and Gail had been ushered into His office, they had looked so contrite, and He had admired the way they had stood up to Him on each other's behalf. And God had always favoured Castiel. He wasn't quite sure why He had such a soft spot for this particular Son; was it the face? The eyes? The soft underbelly beneath the tough exterior? Who knew?

God turned back to his desk, where the paperwork was piling up. He sighed. He had come back to make a difference, not to be a pencil pusher. And He HAD made a difference; order in Heaven had been restored. But every once in a while, He felt a pang of wanderlust. Maybe this was why He also had a soft spot for the Winchesters.

ROWENA, 1.2

Rowena was uncertain if her spell would even work. As she poured the potion over her son's bones and murmured the ancient spell, she forgot the last few words of the incantation. Damn! Had this all been for nothing?

But the bones hissed and crackled, and then they started to move, as if reassembling themselves.

Rowena stood back as billows of black smoke issued forth from the table. She waited patiently as something seemed to be forming from behind all the smoke. Once it started to clear, she could make out the shape of a man lying on the table.

She drew nearer, looking down at the man. He was naked, pasty, and looked like death warmed over. Which, of course, was entirely accurate.

For modesty's sake, Rowena waved her arm and dressed her son in pants and a shirt. "Fergus?" she said tentatively.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. They were bloodshot, of course. He'd been an alcoholic in life, a wastrel with a mundane job and a surly attitude. She was regretting this already.

This was her son, but he was not the formidable adversary Crowley had been. But she'd had a plan for this, as well. Once Castiel had stabbed her son to death back in the den, Rowena had appeared in the room, just after the men had left. She was only there for a moment, telling herself that she was just there to make sure he was dead. But she must have had something in mind even back then, because she had disappeared from the den before the explosion occurred, taking his vessel with her.

And now she knew why. Only as Crowley could her son command the respect and fear she needed in her corner. So she performed another spell, giving Fergus back his costume.

Crowley turned his head to look at her, then sat up, swinging his legs off the table.

"Hello, Mother," he said in a casual tone, as if he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Let's go, then."

Rowena and Crowley appeared back in Hell. Much like Heaven had a while back, Hell had fallen into total chaos, with Demons killing each other by the hundreds in the battle for supremacy.

"This has got to stop," Crowley told Rowena. "There won't be a Kingdom to rule, if we lose many more."

"You'll have to restore order, then," she retorted.

He sighed. "It would appear so."

They walked into the office Crowley had used when not on Earth. It was an elegant room, lushly furnished, with a wet bar and a huge mahogany desk at the far end. He had missed the place; as a businessman at heart, it was where he'd felt the most at home.

Crowley moved around behind the desk and sat in his chair as Rowena sat in one of the big armchairs across from him. Her son took a deep breath, then punched the Speaker button on the phone, broadcasting his voice for all the denizens of Hell to hear.

"All fighting will cease immediately," he commanded. "Every Knight will report to me in my office, now." He sat back and savoured the moment, tenting his fingers. "Daddy's home," he said softly.

Rowena smiled.

GAIL, 1.1

She was missing Sam and Dean and wanted to know how they were doing, so Gail told Castiel they should go back to the bunker. They appeared in the middle of the library room just as the brothers were preparing to leave.

"Holy crap," Dean said, startled. "Now you're BOTH doing it!"

"Sorry, Dean," Gail smiled, "but I'm supposed to practice." OK, that wasn't strictly true; she just liked doing it.

She walked up to Dean and gave him a hug. "I've missed you guys."

"You almost did miss us," Sam said, walking into the room. "Hey, Cas." He and Gail shared a hug. "We're heading out on the road."

Sam told Cas and Gail about Jody's shooting. Gail felt badly about their friend, but Castiel's alarm bells were going off.

"Do you think a Demon might be involved?" he asked the brothers.

"It's a possibility," Dean replied. "It just sounds too weird."

"Well then, I'd better go with you," Castiel said briskly. "Gail, you should stay here until we return."

"What do you mean, 'I should stay here'?" she asked, annoyed. "I'm going with you."

"No, you'll be safer here," Castiel insisted.

Now, Gail was more than annoyed. "I'm an Angel, aren't I?" she retorted. "I thought that was the whole point: to help!"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. This was turning into something they were pretty sure they wanted to stay out of.

"We'll be - " Dean gestured " - loading the car."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "We'll wait ten minutes, then we'll get going. You two work it out, and we'll see you out there." He looked at their faces. "Or not."

Awkward. The brothers left the room in a hurry.

Castiel moved to Gail and took both of her hands in his, but she shook free.

"Please understand-" he started to say, but Gail interrupted him.

"But I don't understand!" she exclaimed. "Look, if you want to go out on a road trip with the boys, just say so. The Three Musketeers ride again. Fine. I get it. But I was under the impression I was here to DO something, not just sit around!"

He looked upset, and she felt bad for raising her voice to him. Castiel had been nothing but kind and patient since their return to Earth. He was good to her, courtly and polite, and here she was, yelling at him. But she had a point to make. She was not here to be window-dressing.

"You're not ready, yet," Castiel replied in a steady voice. "If a Demon is involved, we'd be putting you in danger." He sighed. "I was hoping to put it off as long as possible."

"Put what off?" she asked, puzzled.

"Teaching you how to fight," he said, frowning. His eyes were sad, but his stare was penetrating. "How to kill."

Her heart sank. Hadn't she known on some level that this would have to be part of her training? Crowley might be dead, but there were still plenty of Demons and other monsters out there.

Gail felt ashamed. He was right. "I'm sorry," she said, taking his hands back. "I guess I still have a lot to learn, about a lot of things."

He gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

She nodded. "Be safe. And keep Sam and Dean safe too, OK?"

"Always." They exchanged a smile. Then, his expression turned serious. "When I get back, I'll show you how to use a blade."

He winked out of the room, leaving an apprehensive and thoughtful Gail behind.

DEAN, SAM AND CASTIEL, 1.1

Cas appeared in the back seat of the Impala just as Dean was preparing to pull out of the garage.

Feeling his friend's presence, Dean turned around to look at Cas. He smirked. "Trouble with the wife?" Dean teased.

Cas's brow furrowed. He got that Dean was ribbing him, but he was still troubled at the prospect of teaching Gail to kill. He knew she was reluctant to harm another being; it just wasn't in her true nature. Truth be told, it wasn't really in Castiel's nature either, though he'd killed many, many times over, both during the Angel Wars, and since. But when Gail thought she'd killed a human child back in Crowley's den, she'd become suicidal. Of course, there was a distinction between cold-blooded murder, and a justifiable killing. Wasn't there?

"Earth to Cas," Sam said, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts.

Right. He needed to focus . So Cas gave Dean a wry look and said, "Very funny. Let's go."

Dean pulled the car out of the garage, and they hit the road.

"So Gail's staying behind at the bunker, then?" Sam asked.

"Yes, it's the best place for her," Cas replied. "I wanted her to be under the Men of Letters' protections until we get back. Just in case," he finished lamely. Cas wasn't sure what exactly was concerning him, but if they were off to investigate Demon activity, he wanted her shielded. The fact that it was a friend of the Winchesters who had been shot was not lost on him.

"Cas, you know she needs to learn how to fight, right?" Dean said.

"Or at least to defend herself," Sam added.

Cas sighed. "Yes, I know. Perhaps I can enlist your help in that when we get back."

"Sure, Cas," Dean said in a softer voice. Since the Mark of Cain had been removed from his arm, he'd become a lot more introspective. He no longer saw killing as a necessity. If he had to do it, he would, but he now felt that every gratuitous murder he'd committed while under the Mark's influence had diminished him in some way. While he would never lose his edge, Dean wanted to become a better man. Though if it had been a Demon who had shot Jody, that son of a bitch was going down, he vowed grimly.

Sam was willing to help train Gail in combat, remembering how hard it had been for him at first. Even before Dean had acquired the Mark, violence had seemed to be Dean's go-to response, but Sam had often found himself at odds with this approach. Sure, sometimes there was no choice. When you dealt with the kind of monsters they had encountered in their travels, often it was best to stab first and ask questions later. But he had felt sympathy for some of the humans they had met who'd been turned into monsters, through no fault of their own. And as long as these individuals kept their promise not to harm any humans, Sam had in a few instances convinced his brother to spare them.

So Sam knew that hunting sometimes had to be tempered with mercy, and killing was not always the right answer. But Gail needed to be able to defend herself, at the very least. Too much compassion could also get you killed. And though she was an Angel now, that didn't mean Gail was invincible. He'd seen plenty of Angels tortured and killed, and not always by Demons. Cas himself had been killed by a Reaper when he was a human, and had once again been at death's door when Metatron had taken most of his Grace. So being an Angel didn't give you a free pass. Gail was like a sister to Sam now, and he was damn sure going to do whatever he could to help her protect herself.

The three men hit the highway, talking about the potential case and catching up on the events of the past few days. Sam had sent a text to Jody immediately after the shooting and she now texted him back, saying she was OK. The hospital was keeping her for another couple of days just to be on the safe side, but she was out of the woods now, and eager to go home. Sam texted her that he was glad to hear it, but they were coming anyway.

Their spirits lifted by the positive news, the brothers resumed their teasing of Cas and the nature of his relationship with Gail. He took it good-naturedly, welcoming the return to normalcy. It was good to be on the road again with these two, although the reason for the trip continued to concern him. Was Jody's shooting just a tragic accident, or were the Winchesters and their friends being targeted?

AURIELLE, 1.1

Aurielle sat at her desk, sighing. She had really wanted to finish today's work, but the day had gotten away from her. She had seen most of her fellow Angels leave for the day and had assured them that she too would be leaving, any moment. But the numbers just weren't working out and she dawdled, trying to figure out where she'd gone wrong, until her last co-worker had left for the day.

Sighing again, Aurielle finally gave up. She'd have to look at everything again with fresh eyes tomorrow. She started packing up for the night and was nearly finished when she saw a figure pass by over her cubicle wall.

Curious, she stood and watched as the man walked to the Executive Wing and proceeded down the hall. She now recognized him as the Prophet, Chuck. What was he doing?

Aurielle couldn't help herself. She followed him quietly, peeking around the corner, and gasped softly when she saw him entering Metatron's former office. As far as she knew, the place was restricted. A memo had been circulated stating that access to this office was strictly forbidden. But, Chuck was the Prophet. Was he exempt?

It wasn't for her to say, Aurielle thought. She was just one of the many worker bees and though she secretly longed for a promotion, this corridor held the offices of the Angels on High. Metatron had been in their company before his disgrace and subsequent jail term,

but Aurielle knew that she shouldn't be here now. She wasn't privy to many of the details, but there had been enough gossip and rumours to lead her to the conclusion that association with Metatron, however remote, was not a good thing.

Her legs moved as if of their own accord, and took her down the hallway. If she could just get one peek into the office, just to see what it looked like... She imagined it would be spectacular. She'd probably never get a chance like this again.

So Aurielle crept down the hallway and cautiously peered around the corner into Metatron's office. Chuck had left the door open, thinking he was alone; and in his haste to retrieve the manuscript from the safe, Chuck had not taken the time to close the door behind him.

Aurielle watched as Chuck hurried to the far wall beside the desk. He stopped beside a bookcase that was pushed up against the wall, then looked back towards the open office door. She pulled her head back, startled. There was something very furtive about his demeanour and it was making her even more nervous, wanting to avoid being seen.

Fortunately, it appeared that she hadn't been detected. A moment later, when she'd plucked up the nerve to take another peek, Chuck had turned away from the door. He pulled the bookcase away from the wall at an angle and opened the safe, using the combination that Metatron had given him.

The safe swung open, and Chuck retrieved the copy of the Winchester Prophecies he'd hidden there. This was the only remaining copy, and he wanted it with him. Chuck was very possessive of his prophecies, and this particular manuscript would be of great interest to certain parties. While he would protect it with his life from falling into the wrong hands, that didn't mean he couldn't...let a few details be known. For the right price, of course.

Chuck knew from his visits with Metatron that the latter was very interested in the prophecies, especially when Chuck had intentionally let it slip that his new friend Metatron figured prominently in them. There was trouble ahead, and lots of it, for the Winchester brothers, Chuck had foretold. Also, for their buddy Castiel and their new Angel friend, Gail. Chuck had never met her, but he assumed she had been the one who'd been sitting next to Castiel in God's office. So that probably meant she was now one of God's special little Angels. Too bad for her.

He closed the safe and moved the bookcase back to its original spot, being careful to leave no sign that it had been moved. Aurielle took this as her cue to leave, and hurried back to her cubicle.

She put her head down at her desk, pretending to be engrossed in her work, and saw Chuck pass by, out of the corner of her eye. He did not seem to notice her, and Aurielle was relieved. She wondered what those papers were that he had in his hand. It was probably none of her business, but something about it just felt strange to her.

Aurielle had worked at this same desk at this same mundane job for years now. She was ambitious and she was smart. But no one ever seemed to notice her here, let alone give her

any praise. or recognition. She wondered if what she'd just seen could be significant enough to change all that. But, what HAD she just seen?

Aurielle gave it a few more minutes, then left the office. She saw no one. She was just glad that Chuck hadn't seen her. The guy was creepy, and he knew way too much about everyone. To question God's judgement was blasphemy, but she'd secretly wondered why He had chosen Chuck, of all people, to be the Prophet. Why couldn't it have been someone else? Someone, like, say, Castiel? Every female Angel she knew, herself included, had a major crush on Castiel, and she suspected a few of the male Angels might, as well. He was just so...dreamy. But he was Upper Echelon and she was just a drone, too plain and too boring to ever be noticed by the likes of him. And the latest rumour going around was that he was "involved" with a new Angel named Gail, though in what capacity, no one seemed to know.

Aurielle left the office, determined to keep an eye on Chuck if she could. He probably wouldn't notice her; no one else ever did. But she would keep her eyes and ears open.

But Chuck HAD seen her. She'd had her head down, appearing to be concentrating on something. But he thought he'd heard a sound behind him while he was in Metatron's office, and he wondered if she had been spying on him. Chuck had glanced at the nameplate on her cubicle wall on his way by, and saw the name "Aurielle". He had never heard of her, but she was obviously a lower-ranked Angel, and therefore not likely to be a threat.

Still, he made a mental note to make some inquiries about her in the morning.

SAM, DEAN AND CASTIEL, 1.2

Dean pulled the Impala into the hospital parking lot and the three men got out. Sam stretched and groaned; it had been a while since they'd been on the road, and he'd been nodding off.

"Sorry," he said to the others.

"You all right there, Sammy?" Dean said sarcastically. "Need a nap?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Let's go."

Dean and Sam entered the hospital, Castiel trailing behind them. Hospitals always made Cas a little edgy. He could feel the pain and sickness within its walls, and it was all a bit overwhelming. But he pushed on, following the Winchesters to their friend Jody's room.

Jody sat up straighter in bed as the men entered.

"Hey, guys," she said brightly. "You didn't have to come. I told you, I'm fine." She winced slightly as she sat up, but covered it with a smile.

Sam approached her bedside. "Where did you get shot?" he asked.

"In the park," she deadpanned.

They smiled at each other. She had always felt closer to Sam than to Dean, though Jody liked both of the brothers.

She lifted up her T-shirt and showed them the bandage wrapped around her midsection. "One inch higher. and the vest would've caught it," she grimaced.

"But you're gonna be OK?" Dean asked her, moving to the other side of the bed.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Jody said. "I've had worse."

Cas said, "Was it a Demon that shot you?"

Jody raised her eyebrows.

Dean looked at Cas. "Have you met Captain Subtle, here?" he said to Jody.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Jody grinned. "Let me see...tan trenchcoat, serious expression...must be Castiel."

He looked a little taken aback, but as he saw the smiles on Dean and Sam, Castiel smiled too. "Hello," he said to Jody. Then, "I'm sorry."

"It's OK, I'm a Sheriff, I can appreciate people who get to the point," Jody replied cheerfully. She'd heard about Cas from the brothers and had been curious to see what an Angel would look like. But he just looked like a man. Of course, he was in human form; she wouldn't have been able to look at him in his true form. But he was obviously here to help, and he looked concerned, so she continued, "I don't really know. I had entered the park to look for a robbery suspect and I was walking by the playground when I saw a young boy standing by the swings with a gun in his hand. I approached him slowly, afraid he'd hurt himself with it, and the next thing I knew, the gun went off, and I went down. By the time I pulled out my radio to call for help, he was gone."

The Winchesters and Castiel exchanged glances. Not much to go on.

"Any witnesses?" Dean asked her.

"Not that I could see," Jody replied. "Sorry I'm not much help. By the time my backup arrived, I was out cold."

Silence. Where did they go from here? Was this just a child picking up a gun he had found, and accidentally pulling the trigger?

"The gun was recovered, and ballistics is tracing it now," Jody added. "If we find out anything suspicious, I'll let you know. Guess you wasted a trip."

"Hey, we got to see you, didn't we?" Sam said, smiling. "Good to see you're going to be OK." He squeezed her hand briefly and she squeezed back.

"OK, get outta here, you guys," she said. "I need my beauty sleep."

"Should we stick around town for a couple of days?" Dean said, almost hopefully.

"Nah," she replied, yawning. Those painkillers really were making her kind of sleepy. "I'll call you if there's anything to report."

"Bye, Jodes," Sam said as the men left the room.

Jody smiled as she drifted off to sleep. Only Sam could get away with calling her that. She was lucky to have the Winchester brothers as friends.

The three men left the hospital building and stood around the car. Dean was reluctant to get in and just go home.

"Am I being paranoid, guys?" he asked Sam and Castiel.

"Not necessarily," Sam mused. His brow furrowed in concentration. "But I don't really know where we go from here."

Dean shrugged. "Home, I guess."

The brothers and Castiel got into the car and began the trip back home. It was a quiet ride, the silence broken only by the music on the radio. Each of the three men was lost in thought, and they were all thinking basically the same thing: This isn't over.

METATRON, 1.2

Metatron smiled ingratiatingly at Chuck. They were sitting across the table from each other and though he was still cuffed and shackled, Metatron had been in Angel prison long enough now that his guards had grown more relaxed around him. He had a bad reputation, but the guy was a bit of a wuss, really. The only one who ever came to see him was Chuck, and Metatron was so pathetically eager for the company that his guards had taken to leaving the two of them alone in the visitors' room. They stood just outside the door, of course, but where was he going to go? These Angel guards took their jobs seriously, but it was a bit hard to see this nebbish little guy as the maniac everyone made him out to be.

Metatron knew that this was the way he was regarded, of course, and he went to great lengths to perpetuate his sad-sack image. He knew himself to be a great writer; now, it seemed that he had

some acting chops, as well. He threw himself into the role with great gusto, looking forward to the day when he could exact his revenge on everyone, Angel or human, who had dismissed and defied him.

His role was already paying dividends. The guards had left him alone with Chuck in the visitors' room, closing the door behind them. And while he was sure that their conversations were being monitored by other means, Metatron was pretty sure that if they were careful, they would be able to truly communicate with each other.

"How are you doing?" Chuck asked, sitting down across the table. He too had noticed the guards' departure and raised an eyebrow to Metatron as part of their practiced non-verbal communication.

Metatron smiled briefly, then continued his act for the benefit of whomever might be listening.

"Lonely," he said in answer to Chuck's question. "I know this punishment is what I deserve, but I really do appreciate the company. More than you know."

Metatron glanced at the window of the visitors' room door but saw no one looking in, so he flashed Chuck another brief smile and extended his hand, palm out, being careful to move slowly and not rattle the chains.

Chuck took a brief look back at the door himself, then removed the folded piece of paper he'd stashed down the front of his pants and put it in Metatron's hand. The guards had searched him for any weapons before ushering him into the visitors' room, but no one was going to grope the One True Prophet, so Chuck had considered it an acceptable risk.

Metatron closed the hand with the piece of paper in it and slowly moved his arm off the table, stashing the note in his own pants. He'd be searched after Chuck left, but the friskings were merely cursory these days, and he didn't think it would be much of a problem.

He and Chuck kept up appearances by making small talk for a few more minutes, and then Chuck left. The guards did search Metatron before escorting him back to his cell, but it was a casual pat-down for weapons, and Chuck's message was not found.

Metatron waited until he was alone, then carefully extracted the piece of paper Chuck had given him and unfolded it to read. He felt safe enough; once he was back in solitary, he was generally left to his own devices.

"I've retrieved the Prophecies," Chuck had written. "Will contact our ally to make arrangements. More soon."

That was it? Metatron frowned. He was hoping for a more definitive message; he was growing tired of waiting.

But it wasn't like he had a lot of choice in the matter. At least there were "arrangements" in the works. He sat back on his bunk, visualizing his return to Earth. He couldn't wait to see the looks on Dean and Sam's faces, not to mention Castiel's, when he made his triumphant comeback.

ROWENA, 1.3

When she and her son had marched back into Hell, Rowena had been impressed with Crowley, and the brutal and decisive way he'd retaken the reins. He'd called a meeting of the Knights and, though they were small in number, the three that remained had pledged their continued loyalty to him, and professed to be glad he was alive.

Crowley had never trusted any of the Knights. Abbadon had been a Knight, and look how that had turned out. They were ruthless, which was certainly a point in their favour, but also ambitious, which spelled potential danger for him. Knights were infinitely more powerful than regular Demons, and therefore had an inflated sense of self-importance in the scheme of things. All Demons were afraid of them, which was fine, but there could be only one King, and he had to be sure that his Knights were still on board.

As the Knights walked into the throne room, Crowley eyed them coolly.

"Has order been restored, then?" he asked.

A Knight with a tall, broad-shouldered vessel stepped forward. He had taken the name of Dominic, and he appeared to speak for all three.

"Yes, my King." He smiled, and puffed out his chest proudly. "We have taken care of all those who stood against you, and we are happy to serve."

Rowena was standing behind her son, and she leaned down to whisper in his ear. "This is the one called Dominic?" she asked.

He nodded, annoyed at the interruption. He was holding court, here.

"He has been plotting against you," Rowena said softly. She did not bother to whisper this time, wanting to provoke a response.

And Dominic did not disappoint. "She is a liar!" he roared, pointing his finger at Rowena.

"Are you calling my mother a liar?" Crowley asked softly, menacingly.

"Yes...I mean, no..." Dominic stammered, not sure how to answer. What the woman was accusing him of was treason, punishable by death, so he'd be crazy to admit to anything. But, how the hell had she known?

Crowley saw the panic in Dominic's eyes, and that was good enough for him. Liar or not, his mother had helped to expose a traitor, and an example had to be set.

He stood from the throne and walked down the steps to where Dominic stood, with the other two Knights on either side of him.

"That's OK," he told Dominic in a reassuring voice. "My mother IS a liar."

Rowena's eyes widened. What was he trying to pull?

Crowley continued, "But that doesn't mean she's wrong." He pulled out a blade from his inside jacket pocket and drove it into Dominic's chest, killing him instantly.

He withdrew the blade as Dominic's empty vessel dropped to the floor. Crowley looked at the other two Knights, eyebrows raised. "Anyone else care to call my mother a liar?"

They looked at each other, terror-stricken, and Rowena smiled. It was her intention to weed out the "old guard" Knights and replace them with ones who would pledge their loyalty to her, and this was a good start. However, until replacements were in place, she supposed they'd better hang on to these two.

"It's all right, son," she said in a sweet voice. "All is forgiven." And then she gave the remaining Knights a false, wide smile, making sure they got the point that it was her words that had spared them.

DEAN, 1.1

Dean was growing more restless and agitated with every day that passed. There were no new cases coming in, and it seemed like things were too peaceful to be true.

So he passed the time trying to catch up on his sleep, but found himself wandering the halls at all hours. He tried to eat more regular meals, but found he had no appetite. They had set up one of the spare rooms as a gym, and Dean spent much of his time there, blasting music and lifting weights.

Dean had only ever pretended to be a cop, so he may not have been able to articulate the way he was feeling; cops called it "hinky". The instincts he'd developed from his years of hunting were telling Dean that something was wrong, even though there was no evidence to support the feeling.

He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

CASTIEL, 1.3

Castiel was sitting outside Chuck's office, waiting to be called in. He'd received the call from Chuck himself on Angel Radio this morning, saying that it was urgent that he speak to Castiel, and Castiel alone. Now Castiel was cooling his heels outside the office doors, after having rushed up here.

He'd thought it was odd, Chuck summoning him like that. They had never had much association with each other. He'd met Chuck a few years ago through the Winchesters, when Chuck had been assigned to Earth to write his prophecies as a series of fictional novels based on Sam and Dean's lives. God had thought this amusing, and was curious to see how humans would react to real prophecies packaged as pulp fiction. But the experiment had worked all too well, spawning a cult of humans called a "fandom", that hung on every word of the books and lived their lives according to their contents. So God had pulled the plug, instructing Chuck to end the series. God had long disapproved of cults, many of which had been formed under the guise of serving Him, only to twist and pervert His ideals. Even though this "fandom" seemed harmless enough as cults went, God still felt the humans involved were a little too fervent. So He'd put the kibosh on the Winchester novels. But it wasn't Chuck's fault, not really; he'd only been doing his job. So God had taken mercy on him, and had allowed him to come to Heaven to continue his work.

Chuck opened the door to his office. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said to Castiel. He wasn't sorry at all, of course. "Come in, come in."

Castiel entered Chuck's office as Chuck closed the door behind them. Chuck crossed over to sit in the chair behind his desk while Castiel sat in the chair across from him.

"How are you, Castiel?" Chuck asked pleasantly.

Castiel frowned. He wasn't really in the mood to exchange pleasantries.

"What was so urgent that my presence here was required?" he asked.

Chuck felt a flash of annoyance. Not even a hello. Who the hell did this guy think he was, that his time was so much more important than anyone else's?

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he said tartly. Castiel continued to stare at him, saying nothing, until Chuck felt uncomfortable enough to continue speaking. "OK, OK, I'll get to the point. I've been to visit with Metatron."

Castiel was startled. "Why?"

"I just thought the poor guy could use some company," Chuck said casually.

Castiel's temper began to rise. "'The poor guy'?" he exclaimed. "You of all people know the things he's done, the - treason - " he sputtered in his outrage. What could Chuck possibly be thinking? Metatron was dangerous, prisoner or not. A master manipulator. Castiel himself had been duped by Metatron and had paid a hefty price for it; was still paying, to this day. Though order had been restored in Heaven and God had returned to take the reins, Castiel could sense the resentment and suspicion towards him from the longer-serving Angels. The only reason he was not shown overt hostility was that he was known to be one of God's favourites. So, yes, Castiel knew all too well that it was inadvisable to keep company with Metatron.

"He's not so bad," Chuck said, needling Castiel. He was enjoying this. "He's just lonely. I think he needs a friend. I thought the philosophy around here was to forgive."

Castiel was seething. Forgive? Some things were unforgivable.

"He is a megalomaniac, who presumed to think he was God," he said, teeth clenched.

"Sounds kind of familiar, doesn't it, Cas?" Chuck smirked.

Castiel launched himself across the desk then, grabbing Chuck by the shirt front with both hands. His eyes flashed a bright blue. "Make. Your. Point." His face was inches away from Chuck's, and Chuck felt a thrill of terror. He'd pushed too hard. The intel he'd received that Castiel had gone soft was clearly wrong.

"I'm sorry, my Brother. I shouldn't have said that," Chuck quickly apologized.

After one more contemptuous look at Chuck, Castiel released him and retook his seat. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his anger. "'Brother", indeed. This guy was getting cozy with Metatron, and he was calling Castiel "Brother"?

"Why did you call me here?" Castiel growled.

Just then, there was a timid knock on the office door.

"Come in," Chuck called, glad of the break. Maybe it would give Castiel the chance to calm down.

A female Angel entered the office, carrying a file folder. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, Sir," she said, walking up to the desk. "I was asked to bring this to you immediately, for your signature." She extended the file folder for Chuck to take, then looked sidelong at Castiel.

"I - I'm sorry," she said again, stammering.

"Castiel, this is Aurielle." Chuck motioned with his pen. "She's been transferred to my transcriptions department."

Castiel stood, as he always did when being introduced to a female. He extended his hand in greeting. "Hello, Aurielle."

She took his hand. "Hello," she said shyly. Wow, they weren't kidding; he was even better-looking up close.

"OK, all signed up," Chuck pronounced, extending the file folder for Aurielle to take. But she couldn't seem to move. She continued to hold onto Castiel's hand, staring at his face. Savouring the moment. Wait till she told the girls.

Chuck cleared his throat. "Aurielle? Having a meeting, here," he said pointedly. Secretly, he was amused. He'd sought out Aurielle after the night he'd been to Metatron's office; after making some inquiries, Chuck had thought she was the type of Angel he could use on his team. She was timid and mousy, and he thought she could be easily led. So Chuck had requested a transfer for her, to his own team. She'd seemed grateful and had vowed to work hard for him during their orientation meeting. Knowing from his intel that Aurielle would be in awe of Castiel, and wanting her to see that he had friends in high places, Chuck had prearranged this interruption. And now, seeing the moony look on her face, Chuck felt justified in his choice. This was something he could use.

Aurielle backed away from Castiel and took the file folder from Chuck. "Thanks. Sorry," she said again, with one more glance at Castiel. Then, she hurried out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Sweet girl," Chuck said to Castiel. "Shy."

Castiel sighed inwardly. Aurielle's interruption had been timely, as it had helped him to rein in his temper. But Chuck was sorely trying his patience.

"Tell me why you called me here," he said again.

I'd better stop playing around, Chuck thought. This guy looks like he could blow again, any minute. So he got to the point: "Metatron is planning to escape."

Castiel snapped to attention. "What has he told you?"

"Nothing," Chuck insisted, holding up his hands.

"Then how do you know?"

"It was in the Prophecies," Chuck replied, thinking: Yeah, the Prophecies you burned. You could have been prepared for what's to come, if you'd only taken a minute to read what I wrote instead of taking a match to all my hard work. Dumb-ass.

Castiel was confused. "The Prophecies you wrote?"

Chuck nodded. Way to go, Sherlock, he thought. But he put an earnest expression on his face and leaned forward. "Yes. I was shown that he would make an escape attempt, but not shown whether he'll be successful." This was not true, of course; at least, not the latter part. But it was what Chuck needed Castiel to believe. He continued, "God shields certain things from my eyes. So I don't know if Metatron will be successful. But I thought I'd better let you know."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "If he is your friend, why are you telling me this?"

"I didn't say he was my friend," Chuck replied. "I just said I went to see him a few times." He paused, then pushed on, selling it: "I was curious to see if he had any remorse. I know of all the horrible things he's done, to Heaven, and to you. We're on the same side here, Castiel."

Castiel sat back in his chair, considering. He didn't trust Chuck, of course, but couldn't see why Chuck would tell him about this unless he was trying to do the right thing. So he took the bait.

"I'll need as many details as you can give me about his escape plans," he said to Chuck, leaning forward. "He must be stopped."

AURIELLE, 1.2

Aurielle went back to her desk and dropped the empty file folder on it, then sat down quickly in her chair. Her knees were shaking.

Chuck had told her that Castiel was a friend of his, and that he could arrange for her to meet Castiel in person, and he had been as good as his word. He'd told her to bring something into his office for him to sign as a pretext, so it didn't look pre-arranged.

She'd been nervous all morning, checking the time every few minutes, until Chuck had buzzed her and advised her that Castiel was waiting outside his office. "Give us ten minutes," Chuck had said, "then come in."

After ten of the longest minutes of her existence, Aurielle had proceeded to Chuck's office and saw that the meeting was taking place, as her new boss had promised.

If she'd had a crush on Castiel before, Aurielle was totally besotted with him now. He was so handsome, and such a gentleman. When he'd taken her hand, she'd never wanted him to let go. Aurielle had always been shy around men, knowing she was plain, and had nothing special to offer. Though she knew it was a sin, she was jealous of pretty, vivacious girls, who got all the attention. Why had God made her like this? She was intelligent, loyal, a hard worker. If she'd been blessed with these qualities, why couldn't she have been given beauty, and a little confidence, as well?

But at least she'd been lucky enough to have met the object of her affection now, courtesy of her new boss. Aurielle was grateful to Chuck, and vowed to work even harder for him now.

Frankly, she would pretty much do whatever he instructed; especially if other meetings with Castiel could be arranged.

Aurielle stared into space for a few minutes, fantasizing: Maybe Castiel would need help on a project. and she could offer her services. Imagine working side by side with him. Helping him, helping Heaven. She could be a great champion for her fellow Angels. She could finally be noticed. Make a difference. She would do whatever Castiel asked of her. Maybe if they got to know each other better, he would see her for the quality woman she really was.

GAIL, 1.2

Castiel had been pacing the floor restlessly ever since he'd gotten back from Heaven, and it was starting to get on Gail's nerves.

Though she thought he was probably more forthcoming with her than with most people, Gail had been trying to get used to his enigmatic ways. At times he was a man of few words, and it was sometimes hard to know what he was thinking. She supposed this dated back to his first short-lived existence as Abel, a meek and gentle man who had spent more time with sheep than with people. Then, in his second life, Castiel had been a solitary and bookish young man, curious about people but never really able to connect with them. And then, of course, he had been an Angel for thousands of years, and had not interacted with humans until he'd rescued Dean from Hell and had been made his protector on Earth several years ago. Though his association with Dean and Sam had been beneficial in his growth as far as social skills went, Castiel was still who he was.

When he'd received the call on Angel Radio, Castiel had merely told Gail he'd been summoned by an urgent message, and he'd winked out of the apartment. Now he was back and pacing nervously, and he still hadn't said a word about the nature of the message, or why he was so agitated now.

"Castiel, what's going on?" she asked him, pacing alongside him in an effort to get his attention. "Talk to me."

He stopped pacing then and looked at her, as if only realizing just now that she was in the room.

"I'm sorry, Gail," he said. "I've just got a lot on my mind." He seemed to consider something for a moment, then said, "But, I suppose you should know. Dean and Sam, too. Just in case."

So he sat her down and gave her the background on Metatron. Since Metatron had already been in jail and God had returned to Heaven when Gail had come into their lives, she had no knowledge of the chaos Metatron had caused. Now that she was an Angel herself, Castiel supposed Gail had the right to know about this sordid chapter in Heaven's history. And though

Castiel had vowed to do everything in his power to make sure Metatron would never escape, Castiel's friends should be made aware that he meant to try.

He was tempted to gloss over his part, however unintentional, in helping Metatron to achieve the Fall of the Angels. Castiel was deeply ashamed of this, and he didn't want Gail to think less of him because of it. But, in the end, he told her the plain, unvarnished truth.

Gail was shocked by the story. Who would have imagined all this had been going on in Heaven and on Earth while she and Frank had been moving from town to town, leading their own lives, just trying to get by? It made her feel small; almost insignificant. There was a much bigger picture here, one that involved so many lives, both human, and Angel.

She was also shocked that an Angel like Metatron could be so, well, ...evil. Like most humans, she had always thought in general terms of black and white. Demons were bad, Angels were good. Though she'd learned a little bit about the Angel Wars during her time with the Winchesters and Castiel, Gail thought she understood that the majority of the Angels had been

fighting for justice. When God had gone away, although why He had done so and where He had gone, no one knew, there were a few Angels who had turned to the dark side in their hunger to take His place. She'd seen lots of movies; she knew what the promise of absolute power did to some horrible people, though she could never imagine feeling that way herself.

So Gail thought she understood why Castiel and others like him had had to go to battle with their own kind. But, this...the story was horrifying. Angels falling to Earth, splitting off into factions, and slaughtering each other. Metatron orchestrating the whole thing in his ambition to rule, not caring how many of his Brothers and Sisters were tortured and killed as long as he ended up with the ultimate prize at the bottom of the Crackerjack box. What kind of monster was he?

Gail didn't blame Castiel for any of it, and she didn't see how anybody possibly could. It was obvious that Metatron had played him skillfully, and in Castiel's eagerness to help Heaven, he had badly misjudged Metatron. But who hadn't had the experience of trusting someone only to have them stab you in the back? Obviously, that was not exclusively a human experience. Well, they always said that God had made humans in His own image, complete with flaws and negative emotions, and Angels had once been humans; at least, most of them had. Even Castiel, once upon a time. So she supposed it made sense that they were not perfect. But, still...

The only thing Gail didn't really understand was what Castiel felt he'd done so wrong in the first place, to be that desperate to want to make it up to his fellow Angels. She hadn't been told the full story, the one that went back even further. The one where Castiel had been so full of power and so full of himself that for a brief moment, he had imagined himself to be God. He had come to his senses almost immediately and had thrown himself into Purgatory to save humanity, and then, he had elected to remain there, as his just punishment. But it had been his fault that the plague of the Leviathans had been unleashed upon the Earth, resulting in many deaths. He would have voluntarily remained in Purgatory for all eternity if he had not been "rescued" by another power-hungry Angel named Naomi, who had also used him to further her own ambitions. That mess had also eventually been resolved, but Castiel had subsequently lost his powers, and had the humbling experience of being completely human for a while. More than anything else, though, that time in his life had opened his mind and his heart, and though

he had subsequently been restored to full Angel status and was favoured by God, Castiel now had a human heart, and human emotions to go along with it.

It was this part of him that had held him back from revealing his full history on Earth to Gail. He wasn't being dishonest, he rationalized. She needed to know about Metatron and their history, as he was a potential threat. But there was no benefit to bringing up that other ancient history. He was a different man now, a better one, and Gail didn't need to know how low he had sunk before he had rebuilt himself.

But in any event, Gail had all the information she needed now, and she was on board: "So, how do we prevent Metatron from escaping?" she asked Castiel.

His reaction was predictable enough. There was no way he was ever letting Gail near Metatron. He was a monster, and he had a way of seeing into people. Metatron would not hesitate to use

Gail to get to Castiel and the Winchesters. Castiel had already been through this torment when Gail had been kidnapped and used by Crowley, and he couldn't go through that again.

"'We' don't prevent it," he replied. "I will prevent it."

Gail's reaction was also predictable. "Oh, no, we're not doing that again," she retorted. He frowned, but she went on: "You've been going it alone for too long when it comes to this Angel stuff. I'm an Angel now too, and we're in this together. I want to help!"

Still, he protested. "How can I make you understand how dangerous Metatron is?"

"I'm pretty sure I get that," she bristled. Did he think she hadn't been listening? "All the more reason for you to have help." But even as she said this, she realized how lame it was. Sure, she could disappear, heal people, blast open doors...but she had never picked up a weapon and used it against anyone, not even to defend herself. What good could she possibly be, if things came down to a fight?

There was only one thing to do.

"We have to go to the bunker, right now," she told Castiel. "I have a lot to learn, and not much time to learn it."

Castiel got it. He didn't like it, but he got it. And he cared too much about her to refuse. Besides, it made sense, and it wasn't like he and the Winchesters hadn't talked about this very thing. If he wanted Gail to be safe, they needed to teach her how to kill.

A week later, Gail's training was progressing, but far too slowly, for her liking.

Even though she was an Angel now, she was still inhabiting her former human body as a vessel, and its muscles were aching. Nevertheless, she'd kept at it, hounding Castiel, Dean and Sam every chance she got for another workout.

The brothers had been very accommodating. They too realized how important it was for Gail to learn how to fight; if she was going to hang around with them, it was sure to come up sometime. So they had lugged all of the equipment out of the gym room and put down mats.

The first day of training, Sam had quizzed Gail about her past experiences. "Did you do any training with your brother?" he asked her. Gail felt a pang in her stomach. It still hurt to think of Frank. With all that had happened around the time of his death, she supposed she'd never had the chance to go through a normal mourning process. But what was "normal" about her life, anyway? She was an Angel embarking on a program to learn how to kill people, maybe even a fellow Angel. Normal wasn't even on the radar, these days.

"Truthfully, not much," she answered Sam. "When I was little, he taught me street smarts, but as far as the physical stuff goes, I was never very interested." She grimaced. "I'm regretting that, now."

Dean was a little annoyed. How were they supposed to train this girl in combat? She was a little slip of a thing, and she had zero experience. But, then again, it was something to do. And he did care about Gail, and wanted her safe. People in his life had a habit of getting in harm's way, and he didn't want anybody else hurt on his watch. She did have the Angel juice now, so that should count for something.

When Cas had told him and Sam that Metatron was trying to plan an escape, Dean was furious. That little douchebag! Dean had no love for Angels, and that guy was the worst. Cas had vowed that he would never let that happen, but Dean knew that Metatron was a sneaky bastard, and there were no guarantees.

So, the brothers had been taking turns working with Gail. They started out slowly, teaching her basic street fighting techniques. She was small but feisty, and she actually had pretty good reflexes.

"Remember, when in doubt..." Dean said to Gail after their first session. "...Kick 'em in the junk," she finished for him. They laughed. After their rocky start that first night, Dean really had grown to like Gail.

Sam had had his doubts, too. He was even bigger than Dean, and Gail was so small...But her instincts seemed good, and she seemed to be getting the hang of the pressure points and vulnerable spots he was showing her.

"It's not all about size," Sam tried to reassure her.

"That's not what Dean told me," Gail quipped. She and Sam laughed, and Dean had to laugh, too.

Castiel had been an observer at most of these sessions, but he had not participated in any physical training, preferring to leave that up to the brothers. Being more fragile, humans out of necessity fought differently than Angels. Since Gail had up until recently been a human herself, Castiel thought she would benefit by receiving training from humans. It was only logical.

Once she had come along a bit more, he would have to supply her with an Angel blade. It was a formidable weapon and could be used to kill any being. He hoped she would never have to use

it, but knew he would be foolish and short-sighted to think that way. He would just have to swallow his emotions, and make sure she was prepared.

Sam was at his usual spot at the computer in the library when Gail plunked down next to him.

"Still quiet?" she asked him.

"Yep," he said. "No suspicious activity, no supernatural events, nothing."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Gail said.

He closed his laptop and frowned. "I guess so," he mused.

"But you're thinking it's too quiet," she remarked.

He sighed and looked at her. "Yeah."

After a moment, Gail glanced around to make sure they were alone and said tentatively, "Sam, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he replied.

Gail wasn't sure quite how to put it. "This business with Metatron..." she began.

Sam waited for her to finish.

She tried again. "I just get the feeling there's more to the story than Cas is telling me."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Gail glanced around again to make sure they weren't being overheard. She felt a little funny about this, like she was talking behind Castiel's back, but she had to know. The whole thing just didn't add up.

"Why was Cas trying to help Metatron in the first place?" she asked Sam.

Sam wasn't sure what Gail was getting at, but he felt uncomfortable with the question. "Hasn't he talked to you about that?" he asked.

"Well...yes and no," she replied. "I just get the feeling he's not telling me the full story, for some reason."

Now Sam thought he knew what was going on, and although he liked Gail, he wasn't going to go there.

"You know how Cas is," he answered evasively.

"How am I?" Castiel asked, strolling into the room with Dean behind him.

Dammit, Gail thought. She was always glad to see him, but couldn't he have waited just a few more minutes?

METATRON, 1.3

Metatron had taken to pacing his cell, again. He was full of nervous energy, impatient to be free. Chuck had assured him via subsequent notes passed in the visitors' room that the plan was almost in place, and to be patient just a little longer.

On Chuck's last visit, Metatron had raised his eyebrows in a non-verbal inquiry: Well?

Chuck knew what he was getting at, but couldn't give a non-verbal answer, so he had placed the latest note in Metatron's hand and shrugged, keeping up the flow of small talk so as not to alert the guards outside with a sudden silence.

So, here Metatron stayed. Chuck had better not be yanking his chain. He had been here for too long, and had suffered too much. In Metatron's mind, he had always been the hero of the story, and it frustrated him to have been defeated by two mortals and a self-righteous Angel hypocrite. Sure, it worked as a temporary plot point; it was practically mandatory for the hero to suffer a setback or two along the way. But the good guy was supposed to win, and he had been on the sidelines for too long.

Of course, the fact that God had returned to Heaven complicated things immensely. As long as the Big Cheese remained at the helm, Metatron had no hope of ruling Heaven. Disappointing as that may be, he'd had to set his sights on another goal. Once Metatron returned to Earth, he was going to ward himself against his fellow Angels, and then go on an extended road trip. Maybe visit the Smithsonian, or Disneyland. And on the way, he was going to kill as many humans as he possibly could, and any Angel that tried to stand in his way. And Dean and Sam Winchester and the insufferable Castiel were at the top of his list.

CASTIEL, 1.4

Cas had just come back from yet another visit to Heaven. He had been popping in at regular intervals ever since Chuck had clued him in about Metatron's possible escape plot, but Metatron was still in solitary and his guards advised Castiel every time he inquired that everything was status quo. Like Sam and Dean, Cas was uneasy. The quiet unnerved him. Was there an imminent threat, or not?

So he arrived back at the bunker once more and, seeing no one in the main area, proceeded to the gym. Sure enough, the three of them were there. If he hadn't been so concerned, he would have smiled. He had to hand it to Gail; she was tenacious.

They had graduated to using simulated weapons now, and as he watched Gail's progress, Castiel was glad to see that she had improved.

Gail smiled and waved as he entered the room, then wiped the sweat away from her forehead. How funny that she was an Angel, but strenuous activity still made her vessel perspire. She wondered if there was anyone she could complain to about that...

Suddenly, Dean grabbed Gail from behind and put a plastic knife to her throat. "Surprise, I just killed you," he said in her ear.

"Who are you, Cato?" she retorted. Silence from Dean, but Sam laughed. He looked over Gail's shoulder at Dean's puzzled expression. "Really?" Sam said incredulously. "Pink Panther movies?"

Dean released Gail then, and she wheeled on him. "Not fair!" she teased, but he was not smiling, and neither was Castiel.

"Oh, and you think that whoever's attacking you is gonna be fair? Give you a warning, maybe?" Dean said sarcastically.

Gail was crestfallen. He was right. And just when she thought she'd been making such good progress, too.

"You're right, Dean," she admitted. "But that's also the first time either one of you has come at me like a real attacker would. I need you and Sam to step it up. You're treating me with kid gloves." The brothers exchanged looks, but she was on a roll: "Oh, and we should start using real weapons, too."

Dean threw up his hands at that. "Oh, no," he said, "I'm not attacking you with a real weapon."

"Why not?" she asked.

"You're kidding, right?" he retorted.

"No, I'm not!" Gail was frustrated. She knew she had improved from where she'd started out, but Castiel's unease was contagious, and she was starting to feel an urgency.

"What if we hurt you?" Sam asked.

"Well then, so what? I'm an Angel, aren't I?!" Gail exclaimed. "Unless you plan on killing me with an Angel blade, if you stab me with a regular knife, Cas can just heal me, right?"

Gail looked to him for confirmation, and Castiel nodded. He felt sick at the prospect of her being hurt, but the practical side of his nature agreed with everything she had said. If she was going to be properly trained in possible life-or-death combat, the gloves needed to come off.

"Get a knife, Dean," Castiel said evenly.

Dean looked at Cas as if he was crazy, then gave up and got a real knife off the table.

"OK, now really attack me," Gail said to Dean.

After a moment's hesitation, he did, but his attempts were still half-hearted, and Gail was able to avoid him easily.

"Come on, Dean, you can do better than that," she said, but her attempts to goad him failed.

"I can't do it," Dean said. He walked up to Sam and handed him the knife. "You do it, Sammy."

Sam took the knife from Dean, but he was even more tentative than his brother had been.

Gail gave up. "Give the knife to Castiel, Sam," she said, rolling her eyes. Sam stared at her, but he didn't move.

Sighing, Cas took off his coat and dropped it on the floor. He walked up to Sam and extended his hand for the knife.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asked him.

"No," Cas answered simply.

Sam put the knife in Castiel's hand, and he and Dean backed away to the far wall. This should be interesting.

Castiel and Gail faced each other. "You'd better not wimp out on me," she told him, looking directly into his eyes.

He was staring back at her, his face grim. "I won't."

Suddenly she was scared, regretting this. There was something about him, standing there with the knife in his hand, and the way he was looking at her. Gail had to remind herself that she was an Angel now, and she would not be permanently harmed, no matter what happened.

He lunged at her then, but her reflexes were good and she avoided his charge. He tried to grab her from behind, but she applied the pressure point Sam had shown her to Castiel's wrist, and he dropped the knife. She glanced quickly at Sam, who gave her a thumbs-up. Then she wheeled around to see Castiel picking up the knife, and he came at her again without hesitation. She was able to deflect his attack just once more, but then he came at her from the side, and stabbed her in the chest.

Gail went down to her knees, mouth open in surprise, the knife still sticking out of her chest. Was this what getting stabbed felt like? She'd had no idea it would hurt this much. She looked down at the knife and out of reflex, she grabbed the handle and pulled it out of her chest. But that was stupid; now the pain was worse, and she was bleeding. Should she be bleeding this much?

Castiel fell to his knees in front of her and placed his hand on her chest. His hand glowed, and a moment later the bleeding stopped. Her wound was healed, the pain gone.

She looked at him and her body started to shake, with equal parts fear and relief. He grabbed her upper arms. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she breathed, "I think so."

"Never ask me to do that again," Castiel said, then got up and left the room.

Sam and Dean rushed to Gail, taking one of her arms each and helping her to stand.

"Holy crap," Dean said in a hushed voice.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Sam asked.

"I seem to be," Gail replied shakily. "Wow. I think I'd better sit down for a minute, though."

Sam helped her to a chair and he leaned against the table, watching her.

Dean left Gail with Sam and went to find Cas.

Castiel was sitting at the library table, bent over, his head in his hands. He knew Gail was all right and that she'd needed a real test, but he was sickened by what he'd done.

By the time Dean got there, Castiel had lifted his head and was staring at the wall, tears streaming down his face. Dean understood. He retreated quietly, leaving his friend alone.

CROWLEY, 1.1

Crowley was sitting in the throne room, blessedly alone for a change. His mother had been hovering over him constantly since they'd returned, and it was really starting to get on his nerves. He'd done just fine without her for hundreds of years, flourished even, and now she was acting as if he couldn't make a move without her.

True, she had brought him back from the dead. Anyone in his situation would have been grateful for that, but though he was glad to be back, Crowley was baffled by Rowena's action. He knew bloody well that she aspired to the throne, and he was the obstacle that stood in her way. So, why bring him back at all? Why had she not just left him dead and then taken the throne for herself? He had no doubt she could do it; his mother was a cunning and formidable woman, with centuries' worth of magic spells at her disposal. So, why?

Crowley sat back and took a sip from his drink. Single malt Scotch on the rocks. It had been his drink of choice in life and even though he had no need for food and drink as a Demon, he did enjoy the taste. And it was a good prop; when he took a meeting and needed to consider his next choice of words, Crowley would take a sip from his glass. When he'd been Fergus, he used to guzzle cheap whiskey from a bottle. Now he was Crowley, the King of Hell, and he drank the most expensive Scotch, from a crystal glass. He had reinvented himself as a man of culture and good taste. One did not have to be a boor to rule, not even to rule Hell.

But since Rowena had reanimated Fergus MacLeod's bones, Crowley now had more of his old self in him than before. Gone were the human emotions, such as compassion and the capacity to love, that Crowley had experienced in his former existence. The blood cure that the Winchesters had inflicted on him had worked all too well, and by the time Castiel had dealt the final blow that had ended his life, Crowley had been a shadow of his former self. Oh, and there was the Angel blood, too. When Crowley had told his Brother to kill him, he'd really meant it. In a fit of compassion, Crowley had removed the Mark of Cain from Dean and taken it back on himself.

Then he had informed Gail that she had not actually killed a human child, freeing her of her guilt. He would have only performed these deeds while under the influence of the cocktail of benevolence that had been surging through his veins. He shook his head in disgust. Imagine trying to rule Hell with all of that going on inside you. Killing him had been an act of mercy.

So he supposed he did owe his mother a debt of gratitude, as well. This new, regenerated version of himself was no longer burdened with human or Angel virtues. He did feel some emotions, though. As Fergus MacLeod he had been a petty and vindictive man, prone to jealousy and rage, and Crowley had now reacquired these feelings as a result of his regeneration. Qualities that could serve him well as a Demon, but he needed to ensure that these emotions did not consume him.

Crowley considered his position. The fact that his mother had not shown up in the throne room yet could only mean that she was busy elsewhere, poisoning minds against him. He was well aware of her tactics. He did owe her for bringing him back, so he had allowed her to live, for the time being. But he had to do something to tip the scales back in his favour. He'd been given another chance, a chance to get it right this time, and he meant to take full advantage.

What he needed was a protege, someone who was wholly loyal to him. Who would stand with him against his mother and any other comers, if it came to that. If Crowley had a formidable adversary at his side as a deterrent, a battle for the throne might be avoided. Wars were so messy, and his number of subjects had already been significantly diminished in his absence.

He'd thought once that Gail could be such an ally, but he had been wrong. He had underestimated the wellspring of goodness in her. She was no killer, and though his efforts to make her into one had appeared successful on the surface, he now realized that his methodology had been flawed. He had let his human side get in the way, treating her with kindness and patience. He supposed he'd even felt love for her. That was no way to cultivate an assassin. He should have just had the Winchesters and Castiel tortured while she watched; that would have been a much more effective motivational tool. That had been the original plan, and the reason why he had ordered her brother Frank taken alive. There was no better way to obtain compliance from humans than by having them witness the pain and suffering of their loved ones, knowing they need only obey, to end it.

But the Demons he had assigned to the task of holding Gail's brother Frank had allowed the man to die, and Crowley's bargaining chip had died with him. There had been a simple elegance to the original plan involving Frank, though...

Crowley's head snapped up. Frank. Crowley had a sudden inspiration. It was a wonderful, totally awful idea. Could he really be considering this? It would be the most outrageous thing he had ever done.

He smiled. Just because it was outrageous didn't mean it wasn't a damn fine idea. Satisfying, on so many levels.

After the massacre at the Demon safe house, the first thing Crowley had done upon his return was to deploy a team of Demons to watch the bunker, 24-7. He knew that Gail would return there, and had wanted to recover her. He eventually had, of course, but he was not thinking about her, now. Crowley was thinking about something else that had been in the surveillance report: The Winchesters had buried Frank's body behind the bunker. And they hadn't burned his bones.

Crowley's smile widened into a grin.

ROWENA, 1.4

Crowley's mother was indeed sowing the seeds of unrest at that moment, as her son had suspected. Demons were so easy to manipulate. Most of them had not exactly been Mensa members in life, a fact made obvious by the choices they had made in their lives which had led them to here.

So she'd been weaving in and out of rooms in the den, initiating discussions, sussing them out. Some were steadfastly loyal to her son, so she did not bother to engage with them. But there were others, too, and her gentle but probing questions served to isolate the ones who could be swayed.

Though his absence had been brief, there were some Demons who had been questioning his competence as a leader. What kind of ruler just took off, without any instructions to his followers, never being heard from, while his subjects succumbed to chaos and started murdering each other in droves? Rumours had flown around, and were still being circulated. Crowley had been killed. No, he couldn't be dead; he was the King. He must have had his reasons for being away. Others heard he had gone soft before he left. Maybe he was still soft, now.

Even though the Demon-on-Demon violence had ceased, there was plenty of unrest. Many had already lost confidence in their leader, and others had thought of treason. The only thing that had held them back from acting on those thoughts was a basic underlying fear. They had heard about Dominic's murder, by Crowley's own hand. This seemed to contradict the rumours that he was no longer the ruthless King he'd once been. The fact that he'd so boldly dispatched one of his own few remaining Knights, apparently at just the hint of possible treachery, gave them pause.

Rowena now admitted to herself that she'd made a miscalculation, there. Perceiving the Knights as her only other real threat, she'd wanted them gone. But her goading her son into the killing of Dominic had perhaps been ill-timed. She was trying to incite a rebellion, sway the numbers to her side. But if these minions were too afraid of Crowley to commit, she had a problem.

She would have to find another way.

METATRON, 1.4

By the time of Chuck's next visit, Metatron had reached the end of his patience. If Chuck did not have a definitive plan for Metatron's escape, he was going to casually reach out and wrap his hands around Chuck's neck, slowly choking the life out of him. Maybe he'd do it anyway, after his escape, just for the sheer pleasure.

Once they were alone, Metatron reached out his hand to receive the piece of paper he had come to expect, but Chuck gave his head a slight shake. What the hell?

As Metatron tensed his body, preparing to launch himself across the table at Chuck, the latter held his hand up and mouthed one word: "Tonight".

Metatron relaxed. Good boy.

CHUCK, 1.2

Chuck walked away from the prison wing, never knowing how close he had come to losing his life. He was the Prophet and therefore he knew many things that were about to happen, but he was not meant to know everything. And maybe that was just as well.

He'd sensed that Metatron was just about to blow, though, and he had been laying the groundwork for the escape for weeks. It was finally time to pull the trigger.

Chuck called Aurielle into his office as soon as he got back. When she entered, he asked her to close the door, and lock it behind her.

Because Chuck had laid the groundwork, Aurielle did not react with surprise; merely did as he instructed.

Since Chuck had arranged Aurielle's meeting of Castiel, he had been grooming her for a very special role in the operation. Subtly flattering her, telling her how smart she was, that she was the best worker he'd ever had, and that she was destined to go far. Then, the coup de grace: Chuck told Aurielle that Castiel had a special project coming up and that he, Chuck, had recommended her for it. The look on her face had been something to behold: a cross between excitement and fanaticism. Then, he'd known that he had her.

So he had been juggling them all, ever since. Seeing Metatron in prison, and telling him his escape was imminent. Massaging Aurielle, using her infatuation for Castiel and her yearning to

be important. And most delicately of all, keeping Castiel on the string, telling him just enough truth to serve Chuck's purposes.

"The mission is tonight," Chuck advised Aurielle.

Her eyes widened. Chuck had been dropping little bits of information to her here and there, but making her believe she was drawing the information out of him. How Castiel needed help with something on Earth, and there were few people or Angels he could trust. Since he and Chuck were friends who had a rich history together, he had enlisted Chuck's help, of course, but they needed one more. Most Angels who had been here at the time of the Fall blamed poor Castiel for it, although it wasn't his fault, Chuck had told her.

Aurielle's heart broke for Castiel. How could people be so judgmental, so mean? Why would they have ever thought that a hero like Castiel would have done anything so horrible? Everyone knew it was Metatron who'd caused the Fall, and he was rotting in prison, where he belonged.

Chuck had made a show of hesitating, and then he had "confided" in Aurielle that things were not as black and white as all that. Heaven had been in a real mess back then, and Castiel and Metatron had actually been working together to help their fellow Angels. Then an evil Angel called Naomi had caused the Fall, and they had all been cast out of Heaven, Castiel and Metatron included. But they had worked together heroically as a team to create the portal back to Heaven, and when Metatron had killed Naomi to stop her from harming more Angels, he had been put in jail for murder.

Aurielle couldn't believe what she was hearing. How had she not heard about this? Because anyone who has talked about what really happened back then is either dead or has gone missing, Chuck had whispered conspiratorially. Now it's only me, Castiel and Metatron who know the truth...and now you, he'd told her. Metatron's been trying to clear his name, but no one will listen to him, and...he motioned to her to come close, and when she did, Chuck administered the final blow: "Castiel will be assassinated next."

She looked up at Chuck, alarmed. No! They had to stop that from happening! In her panic, Aurielle didn't stop to analyze Chuck's story.

Then, Chuck had told her the most shocking thing yet: A group of Angels were conspiring to murder all of the Upper Echelon, and take their places. And that new Angel, Gail, the one that had been assigned to Earth with Castiel? She was one of them.

Aurielle seethed. That traitorous bitch.

"What can we do?" she asked Chuck. "We have to help him!"

"I spoke to Castiel, and told him you were on our side," Chuck had told her. "But you can't mention this to anyone. We don't know everyone who's a member of the group, so we don't know who we can and can't trust. One word may put all of our lives in danger."

So of course, Aurielle swore secrecy. She would have died before letting anything happen to Castiel.

Later, Chuck had sought her out again. "We have a plan," he'd told her. She was all ears. "But I don't know if we should involve you any further," he continued. "It's extremely dangerous."

But she'd put her hand on his arm and insisted, "No, please, I want to help."

Sure she did. Of course. Anything for her precious Castiel.

Chuck went for broke. It was now or never. Either she was on board, or he and Metatron would be playing gin rummy in adjoining cells before the day was out.

"What do you need me to do?" she had asked him.

He took a deep breath. "We need to help Castiel get Metatron out of prison."