Vacation, All I Ever Wanted...

The carefully folded and stapled papers hit the desk with a loud slap, sliding away from each other into a semblance of a fan shape. Crowley picked one up hesitantly and arched an eyebrow, looking over the top of the one he held in his hand at the person that had tossed them there.

"Are these...travel brochures?" he asked warily, his other eyebrow raising in question.

The girl standing in the conference room in front him crossed her arms over her chest and answered with a small shrug. She was dressed in a faded, opened up button-down plaid shirt, worn jeans, some off-brand sneakers, and had a well worn rucksack/computer bag slung over one shoulder. Her straight red hair went down to her shoulders, and her pale-blue eyes were red-rimmed from an apparent lack of sleep.

"Dude, you asked me if I could help you out...well, say 'thank you', then," she answered, stifling a yawn. "I've been at this for the past two weeks you know. It isn't exactly easy to locate those two...even when they aren't all kidnapped by demons, or teenage hell-heralds, or whatever it was that you called them," she finished, waving a hand in the air. Her eyes widened in sudden alertness and interest as she looked into the corner of the conference room. "Ooooh, is that espresso?" she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she darted past Castiel and Crowley, glanced for a fraction of a second at the Big Board, and began to pour herself a cup. She held up the drink in front of her face with both hands and inhaled deeply, smiling. She took a deep sip and her smile widened further.

"Ahhhhhh...dark roasted Mana," she murmured, her eyes half-closed.

Crowley looked at Castiel and shook his head.

"Ah...sorry, one question," he said, moving towards her, flapping the brochure in the air a few times before letting it fall back to the table. He held out his hand towards it. "Not to sound too dis-appreciative, but what on earth do travel brochures to..." He frowned and glanced back down at the travel pamphlet, squinting at the title. "Scotland?" He straightened up and frowned. "They actually make travel brochures for Scotland...?" he mumbled to himself before shaking his head and continuing. "Regardless, as I was saying, what do travel brochures to Scotland have to do with the whereabouts of Sam and Dean, Ms. Bradbury?"

Charlie Bradbury squinted over her coffee mug at Crowley. "You know something?" she answered. "That secretary of yours...Hudson?"

"Justin."

"Right, Justin," Charlie corrected herself, sipping at her coffee again before setting it carefully down on the small side-table. "He's a real pain-in-the-ass."

Crowley folded his hands in front of him and sighed deeply. "How so?"

"Well," she answered, crossing her arms. "For starters, he tried to play that stupid 'Take a Number' game with me when I showed up here."

Crowley nodded. "He's actually instructed to do that. Standing orders. Sorry. My mistake. I should have warned him to admit you."

Charlie smiled back at him bitterly. "Anyway, when I wouldn't go along, the little cretin told me you two were off on a 'meeting' somewhere and wouldn't be back for four hours or so."

Crowley frowned. "That's also Standard Operating Procedure...again, I apologize. My mistake. What's more interesting to me is this; how did you even know that he wasn't telling the truth?"

Charlie's bitter smile widened. "That's my 'Standard Operating Procedure', chuckles."

Crowley crossed his arms and glared.

Charlie rolled her eyes and sighed. "Um, how about that flaming-red phallus-mobile Ferrari parked outside on the street directly in front of the building? In a fire-lane? Just for starters, you know..."

Crowley smiled tightly back. "I see. Anything else? Or may we continue on to my question?"

Charlie let out a huff. "See? Way I figure it, you waste my time deliberately, I get to waste yours." She smiled at him evilly and poured herself some more coffee. "With interest," she added.

"Charlie...", Castiel said gently, moving over to stand in front of her. "I'd like to apologize. Profusely, for our offices lack of..." he looked over his shoulder at Crowley. "Hospitality. But Sam and Dean are in a lot of trouble, and we have a unique window of opportunity to rescue them now." He gave the Big Board a furtive glance. The screen was divided up into several separate square and rectangular views, the very center of which was monitoring the still smoking area over the open portal to Purgatory. There was apparently no further activity there at the moment, as the motion trackers and live satellite feeds indicated. "And, I apologize again, but I think time is an important factor here."

Charlie followed his eyes and frowned. "What's up then, big guy?", she asked, titling her head.

"Crowley has managed to...I believe temporarily...take out the the head of the particular snake that we're fighting. While they're recovering, we have to put as big a dent in their operations and plans as we can. And I think getting Sam and Dean back would be a big part of that."

"How so?"

"Because they kept them alive for some reason. If we can determine that..."

"Then maybe you get another clue as to what they're up to..." Charlie considered this and smiled back up at Castiel. She chucked him good-naturally on the shoulder. "I guess it's a good thing that I'm a sucker for trenchcoats, huh?" She looked around Castiel and narrowed her eyes at Crowley. "See? At little politeness never hurt anyone, right?"

Crowley grinned back. "Jury's still out," he answered grouchily. "So..." He reached down and picked up the brochure again. "Scotland..."

Charlie nodded, moving over to the table and sitting down in one of the leather conference room chairs. She adjusted herself in the seat a little and let out a little sigh of pleasure. "Wow...nice...Italian leather?"

Crowley sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, OK, I think you've learned your lesson...for now, at least." she grumbled, then she smiled and winked at Castiel. "Scotland. That's where they are obviously, duh."

Crowley frowned. "OK, so what's with the brochures, then? Why not just give us an address? Or a Google Maps link? Aren't you supposed to be the tech-whiz?"

Charlie gave him a withering look. "That would be tech-goddess, thank you very much, and yeah, you're actually right – for a switch." She picked up one of the other brochures and flipped it open. "This place, " she said, shaking here head in wonderment before looking back up at the two of them, who were gathered over her shoulder. "It's like the Bermuda-Triangle of the grid."

"How do you mean?", Crowley asked, peering closer at the brochure on the table.

"I mean, no website, no online information. Nada. Zip-o. You mentioned Google Maps? Yeah, check this out – every time that you enter the address of the brochure, and refresh the page, you get a different location."

"What?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, exactly. Sometimes it pops up in the south, sometimes on the coast. One time it showed up smack-dab right in the middle of Loch-Ness, for crying out loud."

Crowley frowned, straightening up from the table. "I don't get it. How do you even know that the Winchesters are there then, if you didn't find them online?"

Charlie glared at him. "Hey, I can do analog too, you know!"

"Charlie...Crowley has a point..." Castiel replied.

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ok...fine," she said, reaching around and pulling her rucksack off of her back. She laid it on the table and opened the top flap, taking out a letter in a manila envelope. She handed it grumpily over her shoulder towards Crowley without looking at him.

Crowley pulled out the letter inside and raised his eyebrows, looking at Castiel.

"It's addressed to us, " he whispered. Castiel's eyes widened in surprise.

"What does it say?"

"Hello Misters Castiel and Crowley," Crowley began to read aloud. "I've recently discovered that this little hacker of yours was looking for a certain someone, or someones, as the case may be."

Charlie bristled and blew the bangs off of her forehead. "Hacker..." she mumbled in frustration. "Really? Seriously?"

"Go on," Castiel prompted.

Crowley cleared his throat. "You needn't have gone through all of the trouble. I, in fact, invite you both to come and, how does one say it? 'Come and get it', I believe the phrase is. I am looking forward to our imminent...meeting. Sincerely, T. Donahughe, Master of the Castle at Donnerbruck".

Castiel squinted. "Is that all?"

Crowley nodded, waving the paper. "A contact number for reservations, apparently, but that's it." He looked inside the envelope and pulled out a pair of tickets. "And airplane tickets," he said, reading them. "Private charter."

"Already looked it up," Charlie muttered. "Dead-end. Apparently the Donahughe Castle has it's own frikkin' airport or something. Also not listed." She looked up at Crowley. "This is a total loss of data, guys. I was thinking; you're from Scotland...I mean, originally, anyway. Ever heard of this place?"

Crowley shook his head. "New to me. It's not like my homeland has any noticeable shortage of wild myths and legends, to be certain. And then there's Meggernie Castle in Perthshire...nice haunted castle that one. Very flirtatious White Lady..." Crowley's eyes glazed over in reverie.

"Crowley!", Castiel and Charlie called in tandem.

Crowley regained his composure. "Oh, right, sorry." He shrugged and tucked the letter into his jacket pocket, after jotting down the telephone number on a Post-It. "As far as a disappearing, un-mappable castle, or a Mr. 'Donahughe', sorry, never heard of either one of 'em."

Castiel sighed. "So, this is an obvious trap...what do we do?"

Crowley smiled tightly at him and pressed the button on the intercom.

"We go on vacation, of course," he replied, smiling. "Ain't been home in a long time."

"Yes sir?", Justin's voice answered.

"I need you to call this number and confirm our flight and arrival," he replied, reading off the number on the memo.

"Yes sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Pack our bags, Justin," he said, winking at Castiel. "We're going on a little trip."

Mr. T. Donahughe hung up the phone and smiled to himself, then raised his head to his two companions - a young man and young woman, smartly dressed in hotel staff attire - smiling at them as well.

"Well?", the man asked. He stood with his arms crossed, seemingly irritated or impatient at something.

"That was their office in Atlanta," Mr. Donahughe answered smoothly. He watched them both, and was pleased to see smiles coming over both of their faces, the young man relaxing. "They're coming."

He rose from behind his desk and paced over to a dark, moldy stone wall covered in a medieval tapestry depicting the end of a rather vicious and gruesome hunt. He studied it and turned back to his company, his mouth turned up in a half smile, his fire-red hair muted in the torchlight from the room.

"Time to put an end to this," he whispered. He turned back to the wall and took a deep, slow breath. His clothes and body shimmered for a moment, then he casually stepped forward and through the wall, melting into it.

"We're going to do what our so-called 'betters' could not," his voice came from within the wall, echoing softly in the castle's ancient stone walls.

"We're going to kill Castiel and Crowley."