Chapter 1 - I'll Fight Hell To Hold You Again
Gail sat there, eyeing Crowley. "Why don't you seem surprised to see me?" she asked him.
"Because I'm not," he replied matter-of-factly. "Romeo and Juliet. Tristan and Isolde. Jack and Rose. Oops, I guess that last one is a bit of a bad analogy. Or is it? We both know you haven't earned a berth here. What's going on, sweetheart?"
"So you know that Cas is dead," she said flatly.
He took a drink. "Of course I do. He was my brother, wasn't he? I could feel it, right away."
Gail nodded. "Then I won't waste your time, or insult your intelligence. What'll it take?"
Crowley's lips twitched. "You entertain me, so much," he told her. "It's going to be fun having you around." He nodded to the decanter. "Go ahead, have a snort. I'm sure you could use it."
"I'm not interested in drinking, I'm interested in dealing," Gail said, shaking her head. "So, I repeat: What'll it take?"
"Nothing, sweetheart," the King replied. "Not a thing. There's no deal to be made here. What did you think was going to happen? Did you think that you were going to look at me with those vaunted doe eyes of yours, maybe make your bottom lip quiver a little, and I would just snap my fingers and bring your husband back to life?"
"Pretty much," Gail said calmly, although her guts were churning.
He was staring at her. "Now, why on earth would I do that?"
She gave him a half-shrug. "You did it before."
Crowley laughed shortly. "Yes, and it was the biggest mistake of my existence," he said harshly. "I suffered an inexplicable moment of sentiment. Believe me, it won't happen again."
"So, who's asking you to feel anything?" she shot back. "I'm trying to strike up a deal, here."
"Really?" he asked her, eyebrows raised. "And what could you possibly offer me that would persuade me to even consider bringing back the worst enemy I ever had, the greatest pain in my arse, the fetid and festering boil on my - "
"All right, I get it!" Gail interrupted him impatiently. "You're not a fan. So, to be redundant: What'll it take? Bottom line it for me. There's got to be something you want. There's always something you want. I could - "
Now, it was he who interrupted her. "If you say 'kill my mother', I'm going to laugh right in your face, and then I'm going to tell you to take a number."
Gail let out a frustrated breath. "Fine. We'll come up with something else, then. How about if I tell you some of Heaven's secrets?"
Crowley tilted his head, giving her an indulgent look. "Please. Do you think I don't know Heaven's so-called secrets?" he asked her in a bored tone. "Have you forgotten my origin story?"
She felt like stamping her foot now. "You know what? Maybe this is entertainment for you, but this is my life!" she said angrily. "We always do this stupid little song and dance. How about we just DON'T, this time? Just for something new and different, why don't you simply tell me what you want from me, I'll agree to it, and then we can be done here?"
Crowley sat back in his chair, regarding her coolly. "What do I want from you?" he echoed. "I want nothing from you. You have an exaggerated sense of self-importance. What makes you think that I give a tinker's dam about what you want? You're just some dewy-eyed girl who was able to play the victim long enough to get my brother's attention, and then you seduced your way into Heaven, to sit at his right hand. Don't you think, for one minute, that I care about what happens to you."
"You did, once," she pointed out. "You kidnapped me. Several times."
He shrugged, taking another drink. "So I did. You've got me, there. Turns out I could have just waited. So tell me, what sort of nefarious deeds did you have to confess to, to convince Bobby to send you here? Don't skimp on the sordid details. Did you filch a candy bar when you were a child? Curse in church? How about when you got to Heaven? I'll bet you were a huge hit with the Heavenly Hostesses. You should have raided Father's stash of sacramental wine and spiked the punch before talking to them. Loosened up the old bats a little." Crowley smirked. "Come on, you can tell me, sweetheart. How naughty did you get, exactly? How many sexual positions did you and Castiel invent in your Heavenly bed? My brother may have been a virgin for untold centuries before you came along, but we all know he sure as hell didn't die one."
"You're disgusting," she spat out.
"No, sweetheart, YOU are," Crowley said coldly. "You're God's wife, here to make a deal with the King of Hell. What are you doing? How do you think your Sainted husband would feel if he could see you now?"
Bitter tears stung her eyes. "I'm not going to think about that," Gail said stubbornly. "I can't think about that. I have to get him back. That's all I know. That's all that matters. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen."
"Then you're a fool," Crowley told her.
Gail fell silent. She and Crowley were staring each other down now. Who would blink first?
Bobby sat in his office, stewing. Laurel had tried to persuade him to move into the High Office, but thus far, he'd refused to do it.
It was hard to believe that Cas was really gone. Even when Heaven had executed him after the tribunal, he had come right back. Of course, Crowley had revived Cas then, although Bobby was sure he didn't know why. Maybe there was something between the brothers, something that people didn't know about. In a way, it had been only fair play: Cain had killed Abel, initially, so maybe Crowley had just owed Cas one.
Bobby sighed deeply. That was the real reason he'd sent Gail down to Hell. He knew she'd been spouting off partly due to her extreme grief, but also because she'd been trying to get Bobby to cast her down. When she'd realized she couldn't go in the front door, she'd decided to try to use the back door, instead. So Bobby had obliged her, but now what? Why on earth would Crowley ever bring Cas back again? Just because Gail wanted him to do it? Bobby loved Gail like a daughter, and he knew she had grown into a formidable woman. But, Gail was dreaming. If Bobby were Crowley, he wouldn't do it. Why would he? There would be no upside for him. None at all. What would Gail possibly have to offer him that would make Crowley willing to bring back the one individual he hated the most?
"I'll tell you what," Crowley said, pouring himself another drink. "Kill Sam and Dean Winchester, and I'll consider it." He lifted his eyes to her. "Oh, and kill your brother, too. He gets on my last nerve. You can leave Jody alive, though. I actually kind of like her. And she's been through enough recently, with her health problems."
Gail gaped at him, and after a moment, the King smirked. "You should see your face," he remarked. "So now, you're lying to me, as well. You're obviously NOT willing to do whatever it takes. How about this, then? How about you strip naked, walk over to that couch, and let me take you, right there? Completely have my way with you? Come on, sweetheart. You said you would do anything. Surely the return of the love of your life would be enough motivation for you to let me put my thingy in your whatsis?"
"You're being ridiculous now," she snapped. "If you were going to do that to me, you would have done it already, on one of the many occasions you've had me alone. With or without my consent. But you're not Lucifer, and I wouldn't expect you to descend to his level. And as for killing Sam or Dean or Frank, here you are, the King of Hell, and still, they live. So don't insult me by pretending that that's a real deal you're offering."
"Very good, sweetheart," Crowley said, toasting her with his glass. "Now you're starting to get it. Anything I could suggest would be ridiculous, because I have no intention of reviving Castiel. Ever. None. I will not do it. There. Is that clear enough for you?" He continued to stare at her. "Still, you have been a lot of fun over the years, and you were my sister-in-law. Therefore, I'm going to let you choose what you'd like to do here. I'm thinking you should be whipping people in the torture chambers. You wouldn't even need a proper whip. Just use that sharp tongue of yours. I've seen you wound more than just a few men, using that thing."
But for once, Gail was tongue-tied. Did he really mean what he was saying? Was he really not going to revive Cas? The fact that Crowley and Castiel hated each other was immaterial. Gail needed Cas back, and she needed Crowley to do it. Why wasn't he doing it?
"Do you really think you're going to keep me here?" she said in a quiet voice.
"I don't just think so, I know so," Crowley said. There was an edge to his voice now. "I'm the King, and what I say goes. You made the biggest mistake of your existence, Gail."
Bobby walked over to the High Office and stood in the middle of the room, looking around. His eyes landed on the desk, where Cas kept the olive branch that Gabriel had given him as a gift. There was no picture of Gail, but why should there be? The two of them had been practically joined at the hip. The jokes had circulated throughout Heaven that Gail should just pull up a chair next to Cas's here, and be done with it. That was, the rare times that Cas was actually in the office, of course. He wasn't too big on the administrative side of things.
This was unbelievable. What a balls-up situation. The common belief now was that Cas had gone to the Netherworld, which would make sense, considering his Exalted status. But then, why hadn't Gail gone there, too? She was an Original Angel, designated by God the Father Himself, and she was the reigning God's wife, as she had pointed out at her hearing in front of the Suicide Board. Technically, Cas had killed himself too of course, but because he had done it to stop himself from killing Gail, Death had obviously overlooked that fact, and taken Cas directly to his reward, as the expression went. Bobby barked a short laugh. Yeah, right. Some reward. Separated from Gail for all of eternity? That would be Cas's own version of Hell. How fair was that?
And poor Gail, standing in front of Bobby and the rest of the Board. Spitting out all that vitriol to get them to send her down to Crowley's domain, so that she could get down on her hands and knees and beg the King of Hell to revive her husband. That was a lost cause. Bobby was sure of it. But he'd loved Gail enough to let her try. What was going to become of her once Crowley refused, though?
Bobby lifted his head. "You coward, why don't you show your face?" he railed. "How could you just let Cas and Gail die like that? What's wrong with you? What have you got against them? Ever since you left here, you've been screwing Cas, right and left. Then you show up here, like a big hero, after the tribunal is over. But that was only after you gave me instructions to hang him out to dry. You killed him then, and you didn't even bother to revive him then, did you? Crowley ended up doing that! And what did Cas do when he saw you? He thanked you, and he told you he loved you. You know what? You're a child-abusing bastard. You're no better than John Winchester. When your kid needs you the most, you crap out on him. Anybody who thinks that you love your children clearly isn't paying attention. You could just wave one finger right now, one little finger, and fix this whole mess. But you've been giving us a different finger ever since you left here, haven't you? How the hell can you just sit back and justify taking Cas and Gail away from their family like this, and away from each other? Especially from each other. If you have some kind of mysterious, big-picture reason for taking them away from us, I guess we have no choice but to accept that. Soldiers die all the time. But to keep them apart like this, when you know how much they mean to each other? Well, that just makes you the biggest dick there ever was. You can just go take a flying leap."
But Bobby received no reply, of course. Why should he be any different than anyone else? He left the Office, slamming the door behind him.
"I wouldn't screw around with me, if I were you," Gail said to Crowley. She was seething now.
But Crowley was getting angry now, too. "It astounds me that you have the gall to sit there and threaten me, in my own Kingdom," he said through clenched teeth. "You no longer have the luxury of your husband's protection, or even of Heaven's. You are my little minion, to do with...well, whatever I want. You're an intelligent woman, or at least, I thought you were." He snapped his fingers, and she was handcuffed and bound. Then he pushed a button on his desk phone, and an instant later, one of his assistants appeared.
"Take her to the dungeon," Crowley ordered the Demon, who seized Gail, hauling her to her feet. She glared at Crowley, but she said nothing. "You will report to the Torture Master, and he will put you to work," the King said to her. "From what I hear, you're quite good. If you're even one-tenth as good as your husband was, you'll be a real asset to my team." Then he gave her a sarcastic smirk. "If it helps, you can picture my face on every victim that you go to work on. And if you do well under the tutelage of the Torture Master, maybe I'll move you up in the organization. Now: did you have anything else that you wanted to say to me? No? Good. Off you go, then."
Crowley sat down behind his desk, waving his hand at his Demon minion. The man dragged Gail out of the office, and the door closed behind them as the King poured himself another drink.
Frank let himself into the bunker and grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, completely ignoring the fact that it was only ten o'clock in the morning. He walked into the library area to find Sam with a carafe of coffee next to him on the hotplate, poring over the computer like he was researching a case.
"Am I interrupting something?" Frank asked his friend.
"No, not really," Sam said, frowning. He sat back in his chair, eyeing the beer in Frank's hand. But he said nothing, because he would be a hypocrite. They had all been guilty of a little day-drinking ever since Gail and Cas's funeral. "I was just doing a little bit of light reading."
Frank moved behind Sam, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. "Aztec cosmology?" Gail's brother asked. "What the hell is that?"
Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "It's a belief system that divides the world into thirteen Heavens, and nine layers of Netherworld, and several of them overlap."
Frank rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Who cares? Where's Dean?"
Sam frowned again. "He and your son went to the shooting range. Didn't Rob tell you that?"
"I was still in bed when everybody left this morning," Frank responded. "Jody took Angela to that Cops For Cancer meeting. What a dumbass name that is. Shouldn't it be Cops AGAINST Cancer? Anyway, I told her when she was getting dressed that she could leave Angela with me, but she told me to forget it. She said she couldn't take the chance of leaving our baby with somebody who was probably gonna be drunk by the time the soaps came on. Can you imagine?"
Sam raised an eyebrow, looking again at the beer in Frank's hand. "What, this?" Frank said casually. "Just a little hair of the dog, that's all." He sat down next to Sam, letting out a frustrated breath. "Quit giving me the hairy eyeball, Sam. I'll cut down on my drinking when your brother does; how's that?" He took a long pull on his beer. "It keeps the nightmares away," Frank added bluntly. "All I can see is Gail in Hell, being subjected to who knows what. No wonder Bobby never shows his face around here anymore. He's probably afraid I'll stab him in it."
"That wasn't Bobby's fault," Sam said reflexively, although his stomach clenched at the imagery. "He was trying to help."
"By sending her to Crowley?" Frank yelled. He banged his beer bottle down on the table. "How can you just sit there like that, Sam? Gail is in Hell, and you're reading about Aztec whatever. Like that'll make a damn bit of difference!"
"You're not the only one who's grieving, Frank," Sam shot back. "When I sleep, if I sleep at all, I have nightmares, too. Why do you think I have this pot of coffee here? It's because I'm scared to close my eyes. I'm afraid of what I'll see if I do. I'm afraid I'm gonna see her being tortured on the rack, or being forced to torture somebody else. Then I picture Cas in the Netherworld, waiting for her to get there. Just standing there, patiently waiting, with nothing but hopeful anticipation on his face. The way he used to wait for her here, whenever they were apart. Like a puppy at the door. Or, worse: What if he knows, somehow? What if he knows she's in Hell, and there's nothing he can do about it? Take that pain that you're feeling, and mine, and Dean's, and everybody else's, roll it up into a big ball, and shove it down Cas's throat, why don't you? Dean goes to the shooting range, because he needs to blow the crap out of things. I do research on the Afterlife, because I need to believe that there's some kind of a loophole, something we can do to help our friends. It makes me feel like I'm at least trying. Jody is helping to raise money to fund cancer research, because she needs to help people like her get through their own journeys. Dean is taking Rob under his wing, because Rob needs somebody to hang with and to talk to, to process his own grief. Somebody who's not drunk off their ass every day."
Frank rose angrily from his chair, and Sam sat stoically, waiting to see if his friend was going to punch him in the face. But Frank just grabbed his beer bottle, looked at it, and then hurled it across the room, smashing it on the bookshelves. "Fuck you, Sam," Frank said bitterly, and he stalked down the hallway, exiting the bunker.
A couple of days later, Crowley stood in the corridor outside the Torture Wing. "Good afternoon, Sire," one of the guards said, bowing deeply.
"Don't 'good afternoon' me," Crowley said irascibly. "It is most decidedly NOT a good afternoon." He gestured for the minion to open the door. "How many is that now?"
"Five," the Demon said, quaking.
"I thought it was four," the King Said.
"It was, until this morning," the guard said, leading him down the torch-lit corridor.
Crowley was fuming. That was five Torture Masters that she had killed now. Five. It was unbelievable.
The guard led him to the room in which they were holding her. "Did you at least disarm her?" Crowley asked the guard.
The Demon looked startled. "No, Your Majesty. She's killed five Torture Masters. Five. We're all afraid to go near her."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to be guards, are you not?" he asked the minion. "Fine. I'll deal with her myself. At least tell me where she's getting the Demon knives. We don't keep those in the torture rooms."
The guard's eyes widened in terror. He really didn't want to answer that question.
Crowley sighed in frustration. He reached out and grabbed the guard's utility belt, pulling the terrified Demon close. "Where's yours?" the King asked him in a clipped tone. But he knew the answer, of course. He snapped his fingers, disintegrating the guard instantly.
Then the King waved his hand, and the door to the cell where Gail was being held flew wide open. She was sitting on the stone floor, covered in blood, playing idly with the Demon knife. She looked up at him, smiling slowly. "Maybe you should check with your Human Resources department," she quipped. "This last one didn't even put up a fight. I think he must have lied on his resume, or at least, he exaggerated. That guy was no Master, believe me."
Crowley was enraged. The little bitch. Who the hell did she think she was? His eyes flashed red for a moment, but then he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. She was not going to make him lose his temper. He was the King, and she was a little nothing who only needed to learn her place.
"You are here to do what I want you to do, and you will do it," he said, tight-lipped.
"See, now, that's where you're wrong," Gail said, continuing to play with the Demon knife.
"How many have you tortured so far?" he asked her, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer to the bloody question.
"None," she said sassily. "Nada. Zero. Zilch. Oh, wait, that's only four. As of this morning, it's been upgraded to five." She counted on her fingers. "And counting. Keep on sending them, Crowley. I'm an eternal being, and I've got an axe to grind. I'm just not going to grind it on some poor slob who zigged when he should have zagged. I refuse."
"You can't refuse. I make the rules around here," Crowley said angrily. He snapped his fingers, and the Demon knife disappeared from her hands.
Gail shrugged. "Oh, well. I'll just get another one." She stared at the King. "When will you wake up and realize that I'm not the same little helpless cream puff you got ypur dirty hands on, all those years ago? I refuse to torture people for you, Crowley. Get that through your thick skull. Let's just say the pay sucks, and I don't like the dental plan. How many more Torture Masters are you willing to lose?"
Crowley nodded slowly. "All right, sweetheart. Okay. You're quite correct. I don't want to lose any more Torture Masters. I admit, I put you in the wrong position."
He snapped his fingers again, and suddenly, they were in one of the torture rooms, and she was strapped to a table. "There," Crowley said calmly. "That position suits you much better, I think." He waved his hand, and the door to the room swung open. Demons began to file in, one after the other, all with various weapons and instruments of torture in their hands.
"Line up in an orderly fashion," Crowley instructed the Demons. "There's plenty of work here for all of you. For those of you who don't know, this is Gail. Up until just recently, she was God's wife. You remember who God was, do you not? Our old friend, Castiel. The Angel who is responsible for all of you being here." Crowley looked at Gail triumphantly. "The lineup stretches down several corridors, and it's still growing. Your husband was a busy, busy man." He raised his voice, still looking at Gail. "Do whatever you want to her, but don't break her kneecaps, or do any harm to that wonderfully shrewish voice of hers. I want both in good working order when I come back, in a week or so. When you get down on your knees and tell me you'll be happy to do whatever I say. That's if you still have a voice left, what with all the screaming you'll be doing. See you around, sweetheart."
He snapped his fingers for the last time, disappearing from the room as the first Demon advanced on Gail, with a smile on his face and a gleam in his black eyes.
Oh, this was bad. This was so bad. What the hell was she going to do now? She should never have lipped off to him like that. She knew how touchy Crowley was about being obeyed in his own Kingdom, and all that junk. But she couldn't do it. She just couldn't. There was no way Gail could have taken a weapon and tortured any of those poor souls who had been strapped to the tables, as she was now. Some lines had to be drawn. So, when the Torture Masters had tried to force her, she had turned on them, instead. The so-called guards that stood around in the halls and in the torture rooms were a joke. They were lazy and complacent. Gail had put all that training she'd received at Castiel's hands to good use. She'd observed the guard's demeanour and lack of attention, and then, when the Torture Master had turned his back on her, Gail had attacked the guard, incapacitating him and taking the Demon knife from his belt. Then she'd stabbed the Torture Master, going immediately for the kill. This had gone on every time they had sent replacements. Again and again, they had underestimated her.
But now, she was going to pay the price. Gail watched helplessly as the first Demon approached her, grinning happily. He had a large, serrated instrument of torture in his hand.
"I'm gonna enjoy this," Omar said to her. "Castiel tortured me for information, and when I gave him the information, he killed me, anyway. And then, when I got here, Crowley had me tortured for giving Castiel the information!" He brandished the weapon. "But this is gonna be sweet. What is it you Angels always say? It's better to give than to receive."
Gail pressed her lips together. Suddenly, her quips and all of her bravado had dried up in her throat. Oh, why did she provoke Crowley like that? Did she think that this was some kind of a kids' game that he was playing? This was Hell, and torture and suffering were Crowley's stock-in-trade. That was all too easy to forget while they had been erstwhile allies on Earth, trading banter and sharing a drink. But Cas had told her more than once that she shouldn't let her guard down around Crowley, and of course, Cas had been right.
Omar pointed the tip of the weapon at Gail's eye. "Crowley didn't say anything about your eyeballs, though, did he? Maybe I'll scoop 'em out and eat them, just like grapes. Better still, I'll only take one of them, so you can still watch what I'll be doing to the rest of you."
Gail screwed up her face, bracing herself. She decided to picture Cas in her head. If she concentrated hard enough, hopefully her thoughts of him would help her get through the worst of the agony. She pictured Cas in his suit and trenchcoat, striding into the library area the morning after she had cured him. He was smiling, and his eyes had been a brilliant blue. He had made a beeline for Gail and hugged her to him, and it was the most trite, lamest, Harlequin-romance cliche in the world, but in that moment, Gail had found her home. She never felt warmer, or safer, than when she was in Cas's arms.
Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and slid down the sides of her face. I'm sorry, Cas, she thought to herself. You were always so sweet to me, and so strong for me, and I let you down. I should never have come back to Egypt after Gabriel took us away. I was so busy blaming everyone else for your death that I was in denial about the real truth: I killed you. If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't have sacrificed yourself. I killed you, sweetie, and that's the real reason I'm in Hell right now, about to be tortured. It's what I deserve. I have no right to ask you this, but will you please stay with me, and let me look at you? Somehow, I can endure my punishments if I can only just look at you, smiling down at me.
Cas extended his arm towards Omar. "You will not lay a hand on her," he said, and the weapon flew out of Omar's hands. "I tortured you for information because you and your fellow Demons were killing humans by the dozens, for no other reason than that you could. We ascended a girl who was no more than ten years old, who told me that you carved her eyes right out of her head before you killed her, just like you were about to do to my wife. Let's see if you enjoy how that feels." The weapon flew back into Omar's hand and he turned it towards his own face, his eyes bulging in terror. Then he dug the sharp end of the weapon into his own face and started to carve out his own eyes, screaming at the top of his lungs while he did it.
Some of the Demons started to run, while others stood their ground, frozen in shock as the giant hand that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere waved a finger at Omar. They didn't see Castiel, of course; only Gail did, because God knew that such a vision would comfort her.
God flicked his finger at the next Demon in line, as one would flick a tiny insect away. That Demon went flying into the others behind him, and when they got up from the floor, they set upon each other with the weapons that they were holding, like a pack of wolves fighting amongst themselves for a scrap of food.
One Demon broke free while all of this was going on, running toward Gail holding a buzzing chainsaw. "Really?" she said dryly, regaining her sense of humour as she watched Cas fighting all of those Demons. Protecting her, like always. How could she have ever lost hope? "That was a terrible, schlocky movie. Wasn't it, sweetie?"
"Yes, it was," Cas replied. He flicked another finger and the Demon turned the chainsaw back on Itself and cut off Its own arm.
"I suggest you run, while you still have legs," Cas said to him, and the Demon ran off screaming, the chainsaw still whirring in his remaining hand.
The Demons who weren't dead or dismembered had all fled the room by now. Cas walked over to the table where Gail lay, stepping on Omar's stomach on his way. Omar made an "Oof" sound. He had stopped screaming now, but he was feeling blindly around on the floor for his eyeballs.
"Looking for these?" Cas said to him, picking up Omar's eyeballs from the floor. He tossed them onto Omar's chest, then turned towards Gail. "I'm sorry, my Daughter," God said. "That last one was more Gabriel than Castiel. Please don't be too hard on Gabriel, when you see him next. He's a work in progress, much like you were when you faced down Crowley for the first time. You've come a long, long way, Gail. Don't give up now. Anything worth having is worth fighting for, wouldn't you agree? Believe in Me, and you shall be delivered. Use love to fuel your fight, not hate. There's already too much of the latter around." Then he smiled, turning back into Cas for a moment. "But don't hesitate to kick ass if you need to, either. Just like I taught you. I'm so proud of you, my darling. Our love will save us both." He leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then he waved his hand, releasing her bonds, and then he vanished.
Gail sat up, her body trembling. She looked down at all the dead and maimed Demons, stunned. Then she started to smile. "Thank you for the blessings, Father," she said out loud. "And thanks for the love. I'll be sure to pass that along to Cas when I see him."
She hopped off the table and walked out of the room. She'd almost made it out of the Torture Wing when Crowley's men grabbed her.
The King of Hell was staring at Gail, and his gaze was penetrating. "I have no idea how you managed that," he said in a clipped tone. "Nor am I even going to ask. Fine. You win, then. You are free to go."
Gail started to smile, but then, Crowley smirked. "You are free to go wherever you wish - here, in Hell. Clearly, you have had your fill of the workplace. A little Princess like you isn't used to the grindstone, obviously. You've had big, strong men looking out after you, your whole life. I applaud your tenacity, but you will lose, Gail. Know this. You will lose."
But she was serene, even though her heart had sunk momentarily when she'd thought that he was going to release her. Fine. Let him be stubborn. Gail had her faith back. God had promised her deliverance. She would see Cas again.
"I see that look in your eyes, that little spark of hope," Crowley went on. "It'll soon be extinguished. I'm letting you loose in Hell, but I'm sending out a proclamation: There will be a bounty on your head. Any one of my minions who is able to kill you will receive anything they desire from me. Anything. Carte blanche. A blank cheque. That will be quite the motivation. You'll be beset at every turn. As you've said, we're all eternal beings here. Even your husband had trouble sustaining that kind of constant vigilance, when he and Dean were in Purgatory."
Gail continued to stare at him. She had vowed to hold her tongue, at the risk of inflaming him even further. She felt a flutter of fear in her stomach. Well, the Father had said that she would be delivered. He just hadn't said when. She sighed inwardly.
Crowley was looking at her suspiciously. She was being way too quiet. Normally, he would count that as a victory. But, this was Gail. She was the most obstinate, obdurate, infuriating woman he had ever met. At this point, he was actually on the verge of feeling a grudging admiration for her. But it had become a battle of wills now, and the King could be obstinate, too.
He snapped his fingers, and Gail disappeared from his office.
A few days later, Gail was standing over her latest victim, gasping for breath. Holy moly. Crowley hadn't been wrong. She ran her bloody fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face. Great. Now her hair was dripping with blood, too. She tried to remember what a nice, hot shower felt like. Hell wasn't big on cleanliness. That whole next to Godliness thing, probably. She was surprised her enemies couldn't smell her coming by now, before they even saw her.
When Crowley had set her to wander Hell unarmed, the first place she had gone had been back to the Torture Wing, to get a Demon knife from a guard there. Despite the victories she'd had there, it had been surprisingly easy. Thank goodness for slow, slack-jawed Demons.
Then she'd spent the next few days going on the offensive, killing every Demon she saw, just on general principles. Some of them had put up a fiercer struggle than others, and a couple of times, she had almost lost the gamble. But Gail had pictured Dean in her mind, telling her to take the fight to those sons of bitches. The best defense was a good offense. Do unto them before they could do unto you. They had talked about it many times in the bunker and again in Europe, during the year of the death squads. Gail had earned her stripes during that little tour of duty, that was for sure. She had been angry at Cas for a lot of things at that time, not the least of which was the fact that he had saddled her with the responsibility of being the leader of her team. But now, she could see why he had done that. He had prepared her for what she was facing now. Bless him for that. Bless him for a lot of things. She would endure this for as long as she had to, if Cas was the prize at the bottom of this messed-up Crackerjack box. She would kill every black-eyed bastard in Hell, up to and including Crowley himself, if she could just have Cas hold her in his arms again. If she could even just make sure he was okay, wherever he was now.
But, boy, was she tired. She looked around furtively, but there was no movement, so she bent down quickly to search the pockets of the Demon she had just killed. Sometimes they had weapons stashed on their person, even though they weren't supposed to. Occasionally, she found other contraband, too. Wow. Crowley had no idea what was going on behind his back, half the time.
She opened Its jacket and checked the inside pocket. For a second, what she was feeling didn't quite register. It was so far away from anything she had expected to find that she almost didn't recognize the cell phone when she pulled it out.
Dean sat at the library table, drinking from a big glass of whiskey. He was drowning his sorrows, yet again. Life had sucked for all of them since Cas and Gail's double funeral, and it just kept getting suckier and suckier.
Sam was in his room, pouting. When Dean had gotten back, his brother had told him about Frank's visit, complete with the sad eyes and the puppydog face. Then Dean had told Sam that he was contemplating going over there and kicking Frank's ass. The guy was being a dick to Rob, too. Dean had taken Rob out for a burger and a beer after their stint at the shooting range, and Rob had told Dean how much life sucked at their house now. His Dad was drinking way too much, and he was angry all the time. Dean understood Frank's pain, but Gail's brother wasn't the only one who was suffering, was he? Rob idolized his dad, and Frank was pushing the kid aside. That particular subject was a real soft spot for Dean, for obvious reasons.
But Sam had practically begged Dean not to do that. Think of how Gail would feel, to see two of her brothers fighting like that. Sammy'd had tears in the corners of his eyes, and he'd been talking about Gail in the present tense again, which worried Dean. Then his brother had rushed down the hall to his room, slamming the door.
Dean had poured himself a large drink of whiskey, slammed it down, and then poured another. Then he took the cell phone out of his shirt pocket. He'd been keeping it in his room on the nightstand, and every morning when he got dressed, he would slip it in his pocket, taking it with him wherever he went.
Dean laid the phone gently on the table in front of him now. Cas's cell phone. Just before they'd interred the couple's vessels, Dean had impulsively reached into Cas's pocket and taken his friend's cell phone out, transferring it to his own shirt pocket. Now, it never left his side. Dean had no idea why he was keeping it. What did he think, that Cas was going to call him from the Afterlife, or something? But if anybody tried to take it from Dean right now, anybody, he would probably have to kill them.
Suddenly, the phone rang, and Dean just about fell off his chair. Holy crap. It had to be a wrong number. And how was the phone even working, anyway? It occurred to Dean now to wonder how Cas had even been paying for the stupid thing in the first place. But then again, he'd been God. He'd probably had Kevin hack into the phone company website and pay the bill in perpetuity.
Dean leaned forward cautiously to look at the Call Display. Unknown Number. Of course. Ahh, what the hell. He picked it up.
Gail found an empty room and slipped quietly into it, moving to the far corner. She prayed silently as she turned on the phone. There was battery life, and as she swiped the screen, she saw that there was a phone icon. So far, so good. She touched the screen, and a dial pad came up.
But then, she froze. What was Dean's number? Or Sam's? Frank's? Crap. Crap! She couldn't recall any of them. Cas had had all of their numbers programmed into his phone. Sure, Gail had been the one who had actually done that in the first place, but that didn't mean that she remembered them now.
Dammit! She was wasting valuable time here! Somebody was going to find her, any second. Think. Think! The only cell number she knew off by heart was Cas's. Which was kind of dumb, when you thought about it, because she'd never called him on the phone. Why would she? They were almost always together, and even when they hadn't been, they had just talked to each other over Angel Radio, or on their own frequency, if they'd wanted a private conversation. Angel Radio didn't work in Hell, of course. She'd tried it when she had first gotten here, just to cover all her bases.
In desperation, Gail dialed Cas's number. Maybe, just maybe, one of the guys had it. It could happen, she told herself. It could happ-
"Hello?"
Silence. "Hello?" Dean tried again. Nothing.
Gail was so surprised that she had been shocked into silence. But then, when she heard the gruff baritone a second time, she started to cry. "Dean?" she wailed.
Dean snatched the phone up from the table, gripping it so tightly that he was afraid it would shatter to pieces in his hand. "Gail? Gail! What the hell? Where are you?"
"Ummm...Hell," she replied. "Didn't Bobby tell you?"
"Yeah, of course he - " Dean started to say irritably. Boy, had he ever. Bobby had gathered them all here right after the hearing and told them, explaining what Gail had said, and what he had ended up doing. Predictably enough, Frank had been livid, but it was Sam who had actually grabbed Bobby by the shirt front and came within a hair of punching their old friend right in the face. Bobby had growled, "Try it, Boy," and Sammy had backed off. Yeah, Dean remembered that day, all right. The beginning of the suckage.
"How are you even talking to me, right now?" Dean asked her.
"It doesn't matter," Gail said, eyeing the door nervously. "I've got to get out of here, Dean. I'm lucky I'm still in one piece, but I won't be for long if I stay here. Crowley's pulling out all the stops. Not only did he refuse to revive Cas, but he's got a vendetta against me now. I'm gonna be toast if I don't get out of here somehow."
"Crap," Dean muttered. He was sweating bullets now. Crowley with a vendetta? Not good. He could only imagine what she was being subjected to there.
"You and Sam have both been here. Frank, too," Gail said pleadingly. "There's got to be a Portal, like Heaven's got, doesn't there?"
Dean frowned. How the hell should he know? Cas had come into Hell and gotten him. His stomach hurt now. "Gail, I don't know," he said, thinking furiously. "Sam! Sammy!" he yelled. "Get in here! Now!"
"I can't stay on the phone, Dean," Gail said shakily. "Someone's gonna find me in a minute. I have to stay on the move. It's like Europe here. Like Purgatory. I have to watch my back every second."
Dean felt sick. "OK, do what you have to do. Can you call me in an hour?"
Gail checked the display on the phone. Incredibly, it showed a time. Although whose time it was, was unclear. Still, she blessed the Father. This had to be His doing. None of this should be working. None of it. "OK, Dean," she said. She lingered a moment, reluctant to sever the connection. This was literally her lifeline that she held in her hand. "I'll call you back, Dean," she said hurriedly. "Please, try to figure out anything you can. Please." Then she hung up.
Sam came tearing into the library area just as Gail was hanging up on her end. Dean told him about her call, and Sam's heart stopped. "And you hung up on her?!" Sam yelled.
"Slow your roll, Sammy," Dean growled. He explained quickly about Gail's call. "She's gonna call back in an hour. We've got to figure out what to do by then."
But Sam knew of no Portal, either. The two brothers sat there, wracking their brains.
"Bobby," Sam said suddenly. "He was in Lucifer's cage too, remember? Plus, he used to be God. I guess, technically, he is again, if Heaven's got rules of succession. Maybe he'll know."
Dean called Bobby, but Bobby had no clue. He was excited that they'd heard from Gail, but horrified to hear about the rest. He could read between the lines. Wait until he got his hands on Crowley. "Wait a second. Lemme ask Chuck. I'll call you back."
Bobby popped over to the library. Chuck's heart raced when Bobby told him, but he tried to focus. "Yeah, they used to have a Portal, Bobby. I escaped from it. But Crowley sealed it after that."
"Yeah, he did. But there's another one," Paul said. He came out from between two bookshelves. "Sorry, gentlemen. I just happened to overhear."
"There's another one?" Chuck said, his pulse quickening. "Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure," Paul said emphatically. "When the King and me were tight, he told me there's another, secret Portal, that nobody knows about."
Paul was getting excited now. He'd been crushed when they had brought poor Castiel's body to lay in state here in Heaven. It was funny, really. Paul hadn't shed one tear when Castiel had killed his father. Not one. Yet when Paul had looked at Castiel's body on that bier, he had wept unashamedly. And the worst part was that his little Boo hadn't even been there, because she had been sent down to Hell. And while Paul understood maybe more than most why she had done what she had done, that didn't make it any less heartbreaking.
"Where is it, Paul?" Bobby asked the former Demon.
"In the closet behind the coal room," Paul replied.
Bobby and Chuck looked at each other. "OK, I'll bite," Bobby said dryly. "Where's the coal room?"
Paul shrugged. "Beats me. My face might be black, but I never picked up no shovel when I was there." But then, he frowned. "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean that." Henri had talked to Paul about making those types of comments, and the younger Angel was getting better, but he still had his moments. He needed little Gail here, shaking her finger at him. Paul's heart was heavy. So were the hearts of a lot of the Angels right now.
Bobby and Chuck both let out frustrated breaths. Neither of them knew, either. Bobby swore viciously. They were so close to being able to help her. "Come on, boys," he said. He grabbed both men and winked them down to the bunker.
The whole group of them were talking animatedly about Hell a minute later, like it was a bank, and they were planning a heist. Each man was putting aside his personal feelings about the place, focusing on helping Gail. But it was frustrating. None of them had any freaking idea where the coal room could be. Would Gail know, maybe?
"Holy crap!" Dean yelled suddenly. "I can't believe I forgot! Chuck, go get Frank, and bring him here."
Under ordinary circumstances, Chuck would have been a little put out by Dean's ordering him around like that. But, the clock was ticking. He popped out and came back a moment later, holding Frank by the arm.
"Frank, you worked in the coal room in Hell, right?" Sam said without preliminary.
"Yeah," Frank answered, just as succinctly.
Sam slid a pad of paper and a pen over to Gail's brother. "Draw us a map, and make it as detailed as possible," he instructed Frank. "Gail's supposed to be calling us back in about ten minutes. We'll have you explain to her how to get there, if she can tell you where she's at." His lips twitched briefly. "And then you can tell me to eff off again, if you want, once we get our girl back. Deal?"
Frank smiled grimly. "Deal. Better still, I'll just get Gail to do it. Give me that." He grabbed the legal pad and started to sketch.
Gail found another deserted room from which to call, and she was thrilled to hear Frank's voice when she did.
"Are you OK, kiddo?" he asked her, and the tears started to flow down his cheeks when he heard her voice.
"Yeah," she said over the Speaker, "and, no. Did you guys figure out how to get me out of here?"
"There's a Portal in the closet by the coal room, Boo," Paul spoke up. "Do you know where that is?"
"No," she replied, frustrated.
"Don't worry. Frank drew us a map," Bobby said. "He's gonna walk you through it. Are you OK, Gail? Did that bastard hurt you?"
"I"M gonna hurt you, if you don't shut up," Frank said through gritted teeth. "We're wasting time now. Besides, I think you've done enough."
"Settle down, Frank," Chuck admonished him. "I was there at the hearing, too. It wasn't like that."
"Do you need me here for this conversation, or should I just call back?" Gail said tartly. "Remember me? Running for my life, here?" She sighed. "Look, when I get back, we'll all have to have a kiss-and-make-up session. But don't blame Bobby for my predicament, Frank. I asked for this. But it backfired on me, big time. I guess I'd better go easier on Cas, the next time he makes a mistake."
The men all looked at each other, alarmed. Cas? What the hell was she talking about? Was she delusional? Chuck's guts were churning. He remembered when she had sat beside Cas's body in Heaven, after the tribunal. She had held his hand and talked to him as if he was still alive, and she'd had to be dragged kicking and screaming away from him.
But they ignored what they'd heard. The priority right now was to get Gail home, away from Crowley and whatever he was subjecting her to in Hell. Then they could help her through the grieving process, once she got here.
"OK, I'll get you there," Frank said, focusing on his map. "Stick with me, kiddo. Where are you right now?"
"I'm in the Machiavelli Wing, near the snake pits," she replied.
Sam rolled his eyes. The Machiavelli Wing? Was Crowley kidding with that? Sam would have to congratulate the King on his wit, just before he stuck the Demon knife in his chest.
Frank's heart sank. "Crap. You're in the Southwest area." He pointed to where she was on the map, as the other men craned their necks to look. "You have to be in the Northeast corner." He moved his finger across. "Here."
"You realize I can't actually SEE you now, right?" Gail said dryly, and Frank smiled wearily. "Sorry, kiddo," he said to his sister.
Gail looked at the phone screen for an instant. "I'm almost out of battery life, you guys."
At that moment, Dean felt a sharp pain in his chest as he remembered Cas, telling him that he was almost out of minutes on his phone. The pain was so bad that he thought he might actually be having a heart attack. He missed his best friend so damn much. Losing Cas had been like losing his right arm. How could Dean be expected to go on living without Cas in his life?
"Just tell me the best you can the way you think I should go, and then I'd better hang up and try it," Gail was saying now. "It's a miracle I haven't been discovered yet."
Frank started giving her directions, but Paul came around the table now and stood shoulder to shoulder with Gail's brother. "No, you're wrong," Paul said bluntly. "There's a shortcut." He pointed to the map and then lifted his head towards Cas's cell phone, which was on Speaker in the middle of the table. "It's Paul, here. Your brother's giving you the long way. Go left, not right. Cut through the oil boiling area, take a right at the hellhound kennel, and then you've got a long corridor to get through, which leads to the coal room. Be on your guard in that corridor, though. Quite a few of my former co-workers know about that shortcut."
Frank frowned. "I didn't."
"They probably never really saw you as 'one of the guys'," Paul said to him. "You have to be a real Demon's Demon to get into the club with some of these guys." Then Paul looked at the phone again. "OK, kiddo?" he said. "You got that?"
"Hey! You can't call her 'kiddo'!" Frank quipped, unable to help himself. "That's OUR word, not yours."
Gail laughed, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth. She blessed Frank for the first genuine laugh she'd had in forever, but she couldn't really afford to make noise, either.
"I've got to go," Gail said into the phone. "I love all of you. With Father's help, I'll see you soon." Then she hung up, putting the phone in her pocket.
It was only after she'd set out that Gail realized that she had no idea where that Portal led to.
An indeterminate amount of time later, an exhausted Gail was finally standing in front of the coal room. She was even more saturated in blood than she'd been before, and she was almost out of breath. She leaned against the wall, panting, elbowing the blood out of her face. Boy, Paul hadn't been kidding about that corridor. She'd had to hack and chop her way out of there. There were only two things that had helped to give her an advantage: the element of surprise, and the fact that none of the working stiffs who used the shortcut had been armed. Demons were Demons, and Crowley had a strict No Tolerance policy. The King didn't want his worker bees to get into petty squabbles and the like with weapons handy, because the King didn't want to run the risk of having disputes solved with lethal consequences. Therefore, the worker Demons had been caught unprepared for a short little kamikaze woman, going down the corridor like a buzz saw. As it was, Gail was bruised and battered, extremely bloody, and she thought she might have a dislocated shoulder.
But she was finally here, and she realized she'd better not rest for too long. However, just as she was reaching out to open the door to the coal room, she heard a man clearing his throat behind her. Oh, no.
She turned around slowly, and sure enough, Crowley was standing there. "Oh, come on!" Gail wailed. "You have GOT to be kidding me!"
He just stood there, looking at her. Not saying a word. Just staring, as if...As if what? His expression was impossible to read. Oh, crap. She was screwed.
Finally, he said, "How many did you kill?"
She was disarmed by his calm demeanour. But there was no sense in lying. It didn't matter if the answer was one, or one thousand. Her punishment was still going to be the same. Crap. They would have to invent a new number for how many different ways of screwed she was.
"I didn't stop to count," she said matter-of-factly. "Dozens, anyway."
"Dozens," Crowley repeated. "Huh." He waved his hand, and Gail flinched, but a moment later, she was merely completely cleaned of blood.
Crowley walked slowly, nearing her, looking her up and down. "And barely a scratch on you," he remarked.
Gail was looking at him with trepidation. This was eerie. He was too calm, too soft-spoken. This was almost more cruel than yelling at her, or putting her in chains. The dread was building inside her. What was he going to do to her now?
"You really are a clever little thing," Crowley continued, still in that calm voice. "However did you find out about that Portal?" He snapped his fingers, and the Demon knife and cell phone she'd been using were in his hands. "Been calling an old acquaintance of mine, I presume?" he said, waggling the cell phone. "How IS Paul, anyway? Has he assimilated, or is he still seeing racists around every corner?"
"He's getting better," she said, still eyeing him warily. "I guess it helps that Heaven's not all white any more. I mean...you know what I mean."
Crowley nodded. "You know, I tried everything I could think of to break you, and yet, here you stand."
"Actually, I'm just about ready to fall down," Gail admitted. Screw it. "That last corridor was a doozy."
"And here you are, on the precipice of victory, and here I am, spoiling it all," Crowley said in this new, casual tone he had apparently adopted. "But I can't let you go through that Portal."
Gail sighed. "Of course you can't. So just tell me, already: What are you going to do to me now?"
"I'm going to give you what you want," he replied. "Well, partly, anyway. I'm going to let you go. But, there are conditions."
She rolled her eyes. She didn't believe him, not for one moment. But she supposed she could play along, if for no other reason than to prolong the start of the inevitable torture she would be undergoing soon. "Yeah? Well, if your conditions are for me to kill any of my loved ones, I'll just stay, thank you."
"You're such a heroine," Crowley said sardonically. "No, it's nothing like that. In fact, one of my conditions is just the opposite. Whenever any of your many Knights in shining armour tries to kill me - and we both know they will - you will stop them. Consider yourself my personal bodyguard, from now on. The Kevin to my Whitney. And that includes your husband, when you get him back. And I have no doubt that you will. None. Just think how much sweeter it will be when you do, knowing that I didn't lift a finger to help you. Knowing that you don't owe me for that, too."
Gail glared at him. "Okay, you said conditions. Plural. What else?"
Crowley shrugged. "You will owe me a favour. I will decide what I want, when I want it, and you will be unable to refuse. If you agree to both of these conditions, I will take you to my office, we will seal our pact, and then I will send you back to Earth. Agreed?"
She eyed him suspiciously. "You sound like you might even mean what you're saying. What changed your mind?"
"You. You're a troublemaker. A giant pain in my arse. I'm letting you go because I just want to be rid of you. It's that simple," Crowley lied.
Gail still didn't really believe him, but really, what were her alternatives? She pointed to the coal room door. "Just out of curiosity, if I had made it through that Portal, where does it lead?" she asked the King.
Crowley smirked. "Oh, you don't want to go through there. It leads to a terrible, agonizing death."
Her mouth fell open. "What would be the point to that?"
He shrugged. "Occasionally, I let slip to certain individuals that the Portal exists, just to test them. If they take the bait, it's an excellent way of taking care of any traitors, or deserters."
Gail shook her head, laughing shortly. "Wow. I have no idea what to even say about that," she said, astonished.
"You SHOULD say 'thank you'," he retorted. "I could have let you walk through it. In fact, I almost did. But I think this new arrangement will be much more beneficial to me, in the end." He waved his hand, and the two of them were standing in his office. "So, do we have a deal?"
"What did you mean when you said we have to seal the pact?" she asked him warily.
"You have trust issues. I suppose I can understand that," Crowley said, smirking again. "We have a drink together, and I put a teeny-tiny mark on you, and then you'll be entirely free to go."
"Mark?" she said, alarmed. "What kind of a mark?"
"Just a spell," he said offhandedly. "It will ensure that you don't have an attack of conscience, once you and hubby are lovingly reunited and he restores you to Angel status."
Gail was startled. She hadn't even thought of that. "What am I now?" she asked him, dazed. "A Demon?"
Crowley barked out a short laugh. "Hardly," he said scornfully. "If you were, I could have worked with that. But it would appear that you are still afforded certain...protections, which I did not foresee. When I send you back to Earth, you will be a human. But I have no doubt that the next time I see you, you will have been returned to your former Angelic glory. Do we have a deal?"
Gail sighed. "Yes. Fine. We have a deal."
"Good," the King said. He reached out to touch her and she cringed, but held her ground. "Where would you like it?" he inquired.
She looked at him blankly for a moment. Oh. Right. If his stupid tattoo or whatever was the only thing standing between her and the bunker, she would wear it. As far as being human, that was going to be weird after all this time, but she could deal. She had a plan. All she needed to do was get to that bunker.
"Put it behind my ear, under the hairline," she said to him.
Crowley nodded. She didn't want anyone to see it. Fair enough. It would still work. If he asked her for the favour and she refused, the mark would glow red hot, and then it would burrow into her and poison her, right up until the favour was performed, or she died. He reached around her head and touched her where she had requested. She felt a momentary sharp pain, and then he took his hand away. "Now, we'll have a drink to seal the pact, and I'll send you on your way," the King said. He waved his hand, and she was holding a drink. "It's rye and ginger. Your favourite. Drink up," Crowley prompted. "No poison. I promise."
OK, this was getting creepy again. It was almost as if they were standing around at a party, or something. Crowley's tone was pleasant, almost as if they were on friendly terms. She clenched her glass tightly, resisting the urge to hurl the drink right in his stupid, smug face. But she was so close now. If he was going to deliver. If. Then again, if there WAS poison in the glass, at this point she would rather drink it than have to stay here for one more minute.
Crowley snapped his fingers, and there was a drink in his hand now too. He clinked his glass against hers, and the two of them drank. Then Crowley snapped his fingers again, and both glasses were gone. "I'm sure you're anxious to be on your way," he said to her, "and I will oblige you. I just wanted to say that there may come a time when you will look at things from a slightly different point of view. When that day comes, remember that I spared you now, when I didn't have to."
Then, before Gail had the chance to figure out what he might mean by that, the King of Hell waved his hand over her, suffusing her with the red glow. Then he snapped his fingers again, and then she was gone.