Angelus Mortis

Summary:

When Heaven shatters and the angels are forced to Fall, the Winchesters and their resident ex-angel, Castiel, are greeted by a vaguely familiar face from Castiel's past. Azreal, the Angel of Death, and the last remaining Archangel, requests their help in restoring Heaven to its rightful place.

Author's Note:

I have done a background research on Azreal and adopted customs and beliefs from various religions. There are several different views and references to the Angel of Death, one being that Azreal is the last to die, as Azreal records and erases names of men at their birth and death. The other is depicting Azreal as commander of God's legion, as well as having a 'profound bond' with God and God alone. So really, Azreal answers to only two beings in the Supernatural world; God and Death. The only thing I take credit for in the creative license of this story is how Azreal came into existence. Azreal is said to reside in Third Heaven, or 'God's abode'.

Take the time to review/follow after reading. I'd like to know what my readers enjoy about the story and what they'd like to see.


Chapter One
The Angel of Two Fathers


"You have seen what has happened," the velvety voice greets Azreal's ears.

"Yes."

"You know what must be done."

"I do."

"It will not be an easy task. Metatron has over-stepped his boundaries. He will be watching for any sign of anyone attempting to repair the damage he has done."

"What is my task?"

"Find the Angel with Heart of Man. He often resides within the company of the Two Chosen. They possess the ability to track and locate the Fallen Ones. With their help, you cannot fail."

Silence fills the air, until Azreal's voice breaks it, "The Angel of Thursday and the Winchesters."

"Yes. You have assisted them before. Perhaps they will be willing to help you with the task before you."

"Perhaps?"

"They are not too keen on trusting your kind. They have dealt with betrayal at the hands of Heaven's Warriors."

"I will do whatever is needed to succeed. With or without their help."

"Then it is time for you to find a vessel. I have located your chosen vessel. Good luck, my Child."

Golden-flecked green eyes snap open as a young woman in her late twenties sits upright from the bed. A quick appraisal of the open area of the single level loft apartment is taken before she moves from the bed. Finding appropriate clothing; a pair of lean-fit boot-leg jeans, a dark plum colored tunic-styled shirt and a black leather duster jacket, the woman grants her reflection a glance. Tilting her head, she observes her features with blatant curiosity. The last time she had walked among the Human race, Pagan worship was still in its prime, and the Holy Father was merely coming upon the cusp of acceptance as the Higher Power. Things have obviously changed. Her hair was as dark as a crow's feather, brushing over her shoulders in loosely-spun curls and seemed to carry streaks of a violent shade of purple. Curious, she muses inwardly. Her body was relatively compact, petite in all manners, and seemed to carry more of a runner's build. Well, her appearance is misleading, no doubt, but she figures it will come to work in her favor.

Glancing up toward the ceiling, she figures it is time to begin her mission. Closing her eyes, she feels her body shift through time and space before coming to a stop. Upon opening her eyes, she looks up at the large library towering over her. Climbing the steps, the woman enters the building and upon seeing the middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk, she calmly approaches the desk.

"Pardon me," she greets, the accented voice of her vessel causing the woman's eyes to snap away from the thin, square non-reflective mirror mounted on the desk. A computer. Her vessel provides. "I am looking for a pictured atlas of the Continental United States."

Receiving the directions, the dark-haired woman makes weaves through bookcases until she appears in the correct place. Locating the map, she removes it from the slotted bracket mounted on the wall and turns toward the table nearby. Spreading the map out, she immediately takes in the expanse of the country. Blinking, the golden flecks in her eyes flash and in an instant she locates a void located in a state named Kansas.

Wards against angels. Her lips twitch with bemusement. Maybe the Two Chosen and Thursday won't be as difficult to find as she first believed.


Castiel may not carry his grace, but that does not seem to stop his ability to sense when something is wrong. As he follows Dean and Sam Winchester into the 'Bat Cave', though he is still unsure why Dean calls it this, as Castiel has yet to find any bats in the premise, the hairs along the back of his neck stand up. Following the instinct, he pauses mid-step, silently keeping both of the Winchesters from advancing further. Motioning for them to remain silent, Castiel peers around, a stoic expression on his face despite the calculating gleam in his blue eyes.

His gaze immediately snaps back to the figure sitting at the long table seated in the middle of the foyer. Boot-clad feet rest on top of the table, the woman not acknowledging their presence as she carefully turns the page in an old tome. He can tell from the sudden spike of tension in the air that neither of the brothers recognize the dark-haired woman lounging casually in their lair. A small, humorous snort sounds from the woman, her head shaking as though she finds something amusing within the pages.

"Not even close," the woman murmurs, her voice melodic, and yet Castiel picks up on the dark undertone hidden in her tone, "Are you going to stand there all day staring, or are you going to introduce yourselves?" Golden-flecked green eyes lazily moves from the book to meet the three of them, "Although, the three of you don't need introductions, do you?"

"Who the hell are you?" Dean cuts in viciously, his moss-green eyes burning bright with distrust.

The woman's legs drop from the table and with one hand, she snaps the book closed and slides it across the length of the table. Castiel's gaze drops to the front cover, his eyes crawling over the script along the leather cover. The Zohar. Castiel's shoulders tense and his gaze snaps toward the woman in a flash.

"Something wrong, old friend?" The woman greets, her eyes never wavering from Castiel's.

"Azreal," Castiel greets cooly, eyes cold.

"Azreal? Who the hell is Azreal?"

At the two questions coming from Sam, the woman stands from her chair and bows mockingly, "I go by many names, but I prefer Azreal. Most cultures refer to me as the Angel of Death. I must say, Thursday. It has been a long time since we've last seen each other," Her head tilts, eyes crinkling, "Well, since you've seen me anyway."

"That's impossible," Sam states, "This place is warded against angels."

Azreal smiles, all three men tensing even more, "Oh I know. I have to say, it's quite impressive. I've never seen such a catalog of tomes cultivated in one place before."

"Azreal is not like other angels," Castiel states curtly, "While she is technically an Archangel, she was not created like the rest of us."

Obviously, Azreal sees the curiosity and confusion in both of the men and nods, "I am an angel born from two Fathers," Shock flickers through the two varying hazel eyes, "Obviously God is one, and Death is the second."

"Death? As in...Death? Old creepy guy that likes deep dish pizza?" Dean harks, earning a pointed glare from Castiel, only for the man to shrug, "What? He does."

"Death does carry a certain iffinity for pizza," Azreal agrees, her lips twitching at the comment

"Okay, so what the hell do you want? No offense, but we've had our fill of angels," Sam says in a tone that is obviously trying to not offend the being in front of them.

Azreal's eyes flash gold briefly before filtering back to their original green, her gaze settling on Castiel. Assessing him. Measuring him. Castiel's body tenses. Is she here to punish him for his crimes? He did help break Heaven. Again. Dean and Sam instinctively move to stand before him.

"No," Castiel murmurs gently, "Whatever she is meant to do comes from God. If Azreal is here to bring forth His judgment, then I will accept His will."

"Seriously, Cas? He abandons Heaven, doesn't try to fix anything that His angels have done and you're willing to follow His will? What the hell for?" Dean sneers, eyes flashing with anger.

Azreal's head tilts as she assesses the Righteous Man, a small giggle leaving her lips, "You're not wrong, but at the same time, you're not correct." Dean's glare turns on her, but she waves toward it with a dismissive hand, "God left Heaven for reasons, but that doesn't mean He has abandoned any of you."

"What the hell would you know about it? Where were you when those winged dicks tried to tear apart this world? Where were you when Cas had to take down Raphael and went about it the wrong way? Where were you when Metatron decided to kick all the angels out of Heaven?" Dean lashes out viciously.

"Guiding lost souls beyond the gates of Heaven," Azreal replies calmly, her eyes remarkably soft, "My orders come directly from God."

"So, He is alive?" Sam asks.

Azreal nods, "He is. Whatever reason that has caused Him to leave Heaven is not known to me and I do not question it. I follow His will, and His will alone. And I am here because someone renounced all of the angels from Heaven."

Castiel swallows thickly, his human heart pounding in his chest. He has never really experienced fear. Never this way. Angels do not have the capacity to feel emotions, but he is no longer an angel. His fingers twitch, his palms growing damp as his heart hammers in his chest.

"If all of the angels are renounced, then why are you still...mojo'd?" Dean asks, his shoulders squaring off in defense of his friend.

"I often reside in the only place this...spell cannot touch."

Castiel nods, "Azreal spends most time in Third Heaven, or God's abode."

"Yeah, well, regardless, whatever the hell you want, you aren't getting. If you want Cas, you're gonna have to take him by force."

Dean and Sam both tense as the woman steps toward Castiel, but with a wave of her hand, both of the Winchesters are thrown across the room and pinned to adjacent walls. Ignoring the curses thrown in her direction, Azreal manages to maneuver her way throw Castiel's defenses and with a combination, the ex-angel is pinned to the floor. Wide-eyed, Castiel peers into the glowing golden eyes of the archangel poised over him. Acceptance swirls in Castiel's eyes. He is responsible for most of the damage done to Heaven. All he has wanted to do is repent for his wrong-doings. Betraying the Winchesters. Opening Purgatory. Releasing the Leviathan. Killing thousands of innocents. Believing himself to be a God.

"No!"

A burst of light fills the room as Azreal's open palm connects with Castiel's chest, the ex-angel's back arching, his lips parting in a silent scream at the flood of impossible heat rips through his body. Despite the bright light filling the room, Castiel's vision floods with black and his mind falls blank.


Azreal stumbles away from the unconscious figure on the ground, her legs shaking and knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her vessel's body. Even as the two Winchesters are released from their bound state against the walls and immediately rush to Castiel's side, Azreal shakes away the heavy darkness. It has been a long time since she has had to do that. Blindly putting more distance between herself and Thursday, the back of her legs smack against a random table, causing her to stumble and give into the pressure of gravity. Hitting the ground, she stares blankly at the dome ceiling of the underground bunker and everything stops. Her heart stops beating. Her lungs stop breathing. Her brain falls numb. Her senses blank.

"You realize what you have done?"

"Yes."

"And you accept?"

"I had no choice."

"No choice?"

"You wish me to over-throw Metatron with their help, but they will not accept this mission without some kind of...proof."

"You could have received it on sense of good faith."

"They would have to have faith. This small offer will be beneficial."

"Very well."

Awareness returns. Her senses are the first to return, her blank eyes taking in the figure kneeling over her. Calloused fingers leave the side of her neck. The word 'dead' trickles in her ears. Seeing the moss-green eyes staring down at her with hard mistrust and confusion, her eyelids slide shut before opening once more.

"Jesus Christ!"

As Dean Winchester jumps away from her prone body, Azreal slowly sits upright, eyes immediately landing on the still unconscious Castiel. Groaning as her vessel's body begins reanimating, she slowly climbs to her feet, only to come face-to-face with both Winchesters.

"What did you do to Cas?" Dean demands.

Azreal says nothing as she snaps her fingers. The single sound seems to do something as Castiel's body snaps upright, gasping for air and eyes wide. The sudden movement pulls the attention off of her, giving Azreal enough time to gather herself. Rubbing the sleeves of her leather jacket, Azreal shudders at the loss of warmth.

"W-why?" Castiel's voice breaks through her inner musings, her attention to the man being helped off the ground by both of his friends, "Y-you.."

"It isn't full. Some of it returned to Third Heaven, but most of it remains in the hands of Metatron," Azreal explains, "It should be enough to heal and smite low level demons."

"What is she talking about?" Sam questions.

Castiel's hand gently clasps over his sternum, a look of awe in her eyes, "My grace."

Azreal nods at the stunned looks she receives, "God has commanded me to remove Metatron from the Host. In order to do it, I must return the grace of those that have Fallen and I was told you had information on their whereabouts."

I must speak with you, Little One.

A familiar chill travels up her spine and her eyes raise toward the ceiling once again, "I'm afraid I must go for now. Take this time to come to a decision. This mission will continue with or without your help."

"Then why come to us?" Sam asks, glancing over at his companions.

Azreal's head cocks slightly, a crooked smile tugging on her lips, "Why not you three?"

Without another comment, Azreal closes her eyes and shifts from the mortal plain. Reopening her eyes, she exits the alley, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacekt as she calmly stalks across the busy street. Pushing against the entrance door, she enters the quite restaurant and calmly takes the seat across from the only patron. The older man, dressed cleanly in a classic black and white suit, pays no mind to her presence as he quietly cuts into the meal before him with a fork and knife.

"Hello," she greets calmly.

The older gentleman looks up from the personal deep dish pizza, "Hello, Little One."

"You wished to speak with me."

Death nods slowly as he chews the mouthful, swallowing it before he responds, "Yes. You must return to Third Heaven. The Judgment has ended."

Azreal's blank expression shatters as a broad grin appears on her face, the gold flecks in her eyes sparkling with joy, "That's wonderful news."

"I want you to be careful. There are some that have been cast from the Host who will not approve of Thursday's unfortunate assistance, whether he was led astray or not. You will have to assess, and be vigilant, when performing your duty."

Azreal nods, "I will take that into account. Thank you. I will leave you."

"Of course."

Azreal grins as she stands from the table, "Stay classy, Old Man."


Returning to Third Heaven, Azreal feels her shoulders relax. Her gaze takes in the spherical wisps of light hovering in the air as she calmly weaves around each. Taking account of them, one in particular causes her to freeze. Gently, her nimble hands cup the white-blue wisp. A gently, saddened smile touches her lips as her eyes take in the gold and amber glistening among the light. Joy and mirth floods through her core, her eyes brightening as echoes of laughter rings through her head.

Hello, brother.


Author's Note: Gah...another plot bunny gone rabid with mad desire to be written. This is obviously post season 8 and will most likely not be canon with season 9. Leave a review and let me know what you think. Azreal is not all powerful, as you've seen, it takes a lot out of her in order to restore a fraction of Castiel's grace. Doing this is actually taxing on her, spiritually as well as physically, and it leaves her vulnerable for a brief period of time; depending on the level of grace restored.

Read. Review. Let me know what you think. Not sure what canon character/OC romance will happen, but we will see as the story progresses.

Until Next Time!