Chapter One: Good Omens

"Belleborn? Where the hell is Belleborn?"

Sam looked up from his laptop to where Dean was sitting at the tiny motel table, staring back at him from over the morning's newspaper. After saving the world a mess of times, the brothers Winchester had decided to make camp in outskirts of a quiet town one state over from Bobby's old digs. Sam shrugged. "Iowa. Tiny town east and west of nowhere that has suddenly had a rash of miracles."

"Such as?"

"Well, news report says it started with the small things – lottery wins, Jesus on toast..."

"Yeah, sounds charming. I'll watch it on Ellen."

"But yesterday an ICU patient taken off life support woke up." Dean went quiet as Sam continued. "Day before, an old guy with advanced glaucoma regained perfect sight. Day before that, a paraplegic got up and walked into his doctor's office. Before that..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get the point." Dean folded the newspaper and downed the dregs of his coffee. "So, what do we think? Angel involvement?"

"Don't think so, not this soon. They wouldn't normally do this kind of thing. Too much attention."

"Reaper shortage?"

"People aren't just not dying, they're getting better. If the reaper in the area wasn't present, they would retain their wounds."

"Any other theories? We know anything else that could have the juice to do this?"

"Not off the top of my head, no."

"Worth a trip to the library, then."

"Bobby was the one who sent the report, Dean. It's got him baffled, too."

"No need." The third voice in the room came from the rumple-haired man standing in the doorway. Castiel - angel of the Lord - looked over at Dean. "No ordinary angel has the power to accomplish the kind and frequency of the miracles you have described. We're looking at something much more powerful than an angel."

Dean felt his shoulders tighten. "What do you mean, stronger than an angel? What, like an archangel? I thought we iced most of those dicks?"

Castiel lifted his chin slightly. "True, we vanquished the ones we knew about. Perhaps there are more among my brothers than I originally suspected."

"Well, they seem to be on the good side." Castiel and Dean turned their focus back to Sam, who held up his hands in protest. "I'm just sayin', if whoever is doing this wanted blood, they've certainly got the megawatts for it."

"Sam is right," Castiel noted, moving to the table and grabbing a sandwich from the bag that Dean had brought home from his morning run to grab supplies. "I do not think this is a hostile force."

"Well, whatever it is, it has our attention now. Might as well go check it out," Dean muttered, picking his paper up and tucking it under his arm as he stood. Castiel hovered around the table for a moment, took a bite out of the sandwich half-heartedly, setting it back down. As Dean left the room to fire up the Impala, Sam closed his laptop up and pressed his fingertips together under his jaw.

"Cas."

The angel remained stoic. Sam pressed on. "Cas, what do you think it is?"

"You do not want to know what I'm thinking."

"If you've got some clue as to what's going on…"

"Sam," the finality of his tone shut the younger Winchester up immediately as Castiel's vivid blue eyes lifted to meet his. "You had better pray that I am wrong. What we're possibly dealing with here is something that you and Dean have not encountered before."

"Well, that's not generally a problem."

"Not under normal circumstances, but consider; the kind of power required to perform that many miracles hasn't been seen on Earth in a long time."

The way that Castiel intoned 'long time' threw up a red flag for Sam. He pushed his chair back and leaned on the table. "You're an angel. Define 'long time'."

"Two thousand years."

The 1967 Chevrolet Impala roared its way down the highway as the early morning sun beat down on the black paintwork. Dean shot a look in the rear-view mirror to where Castiel was idly staring out of the window. "Mind giving us a little insight as to what you think the hell is going on in Belleborn?"

Castiel remained silent. Dean huffed out a breath. "Look, I ain't complaining that it's something new. Hell, we've been gankin' these sons-of-bitches for a while now and we've had quite the education. A few years back, we didn't believe in angels and now we've got one sitting in the back seat. So forgive me when I say that any bull about archangels isn't going to fly with me. So I'll ask one more time – what do you think it is?"

The angel's eyes met Dean's in the reflection. "There are more than just angels in the Heavenly Host, Dean. Plenty more. Few as powerful, of course, but we could be looking at a group instead of just one acting alone."

"So you think there's more than one?" Sam asked. Castiel ground his teeth.

"What I'm hoping is that a few Cherubim got loose and decided to increase the faith in the area."

"Are they allowed to do that?"

"No."

Dean chuckled. "Not got the fear of God in them any more, do they?"

"That's not funny, Dean."

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood." Dean tapped on the steering wheel, mimicking the drumline that was playing from the car's stereo system. "So, you think it's Cherubim?"

"It's possible. Their ilk have not been on Earth in some time, but the war make have made them bolder and more inclined to walk among the people again."

"You don't say," Dean replied, rubbing at his forehead. "Well that's just great. How many other types of the high and holy are we expecting to drop in for dinner?"

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "I would not be expecting anyone for dinner. We have not invited anyone."

Sam suppressed a grin. "He means, other than the angels and archangels, what other creatures reside in heaven?"

"Seraphim and Cherubim are the ones that are most active. The last Seraphim I knew died in Africa, after a voodoo witch-doctor summoned a particularly hungry demon to swallow him whole. Of course, Seraphim tend to thrive where there is worship and he'd been sent into the battlezone. The Cherubim are a lot more cunning and they have the beauty and the power to truly be manipulative. We used to have the Nephilim as our answer to the Cambion, but Raphael destroyed them all. Abominations, he called him. Refused to listen to their cries and pleas for mercy." Castiel's face grew stern. "There is much that my brother did that was not righteous."

"Back to the subject, Cas."

"Apologies. There are others that count among the Heavenly Host, but if Bobby's news report is right, I would suspect the Cherubim are involved."

"So... do we kill Cherubim?"

"You'll have to find the Ophanim first, but it is possible. Not wise, perhaps, but possible and I'm hoping not necessary."

Sam looked confused. "Ophanim?"

"They contain the spirit of the Cherub. If you can destroy that, you can destroy the Cherub."

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Dean interjected, as he pulled onto the exit marked as the route to Belleborn. "Though I gotta say, they picked a town with a perfect name if they really are hanging out here."

"Belleborn. Beautiful birth. Apt." Castiel went back to looking out of the window. "You humans always did have wonderful names for things. In Enochian, words are tasteless and bland."

"I wouldn't recommend eating War and Peace, then," Dean quipped as the Impala passed the sign that signalled the city's outer limits.

St. Matthew's Hospital was usually a place of quiet repose and rest for the seriously ill and recovering. But today, the forecourt area was covered by television crews and curious onlookers as everyone tried to get a handle on what exactly was going on.

"Penny Middleton from WSNB, your cutting-edge news in Iowa..."

"... believe to be the first case of recovery for this type of tumor..."

"... are at a loss to explain the miraculous turnaround, the Chief Surgeon did not..."

"... the latest in a series of miracles to have happened in the small town. This is Douglas Allamby reporting."

"Well, this all seems lovely," Dean joked, getting out of the Impala. Sam and Castiel climbed out of the other side. The Winchester boys had changed into their suits, ready to impersonate the FBI. Castiel didn't need to. He always wore the same suit and trench-coat. Dean had once tried to get him to wear something else, but Castiel had complained that it didn't feel right, especially without his tan coat. Unwilling to upset their friend, the brothers had let him continue to wear the same thing, which wasn't an issue. Castiel seemed to shower only because he found the whole exercise to be a rather interesting one and for some inexplicable reason his clothes were never dirty or smelled. Oh sure, they got blood and dirt on them, but in the next moment, they were perfectly tidy again. Castiel had once explained that he tried to keep the body of his vessel as pristine as he found it. Sam remarked that it seemed to be his avatar default setting. The reference had gone clear over Castiel's head.

After making sure they had the requisite badges, the hunters cut through the assembled rabble to the doors of the hospital. Quickly making their way inside, they presented themselves to the receptionist on duty. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm Agent Schenker and this my partner Agent Meine. The man in the trench-coat is our trainee, Agent Kottak." Dean flashed his brightest and most dazzling smile at the receptionist. The tiny blonde behind the desk giggled nervously.

"I'm Katy Woods. I'm the junior administrator here."

Dean amped the charm up to eleven. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Woods. Now, since you seem to be the only one who knows exactly what is going on around here, do you mind if my colleagues and I ask you a couple of questions?"

Katy flushed slightly and looked around. "Well, um, we're not supposed to be talking about what's going on here."

Dean leaned against the counter, his voice dripping with his usual charisma and just a hint of steel underneath. "Ma'am, we are the FBI. We were sent to investigate this situation so that we can keep it under control. We're trying to protect the lives of not only the healed, but also the patients in this hospital who are not. If you can spare a few minutes of time, we'll be out of your hair and you can go back to running this place with your obvious efficiency."

Katy bit her lip and looked at Dean appraisingly for a moment. Sam and Castiel shared a brief glance and a slightly worried look that she wasn't buying their cover story. The administrator turned her gaze to them. "FBI, right? I guess it's okay, then. I could get into trouble for obstructing justice if I don't."

"Exactly!" Sam leapt in. "You don't want that hanging over your head. We do appreciate the assistance." He nudged Castiel in the ribs. The angel stared at him blankly, trying to work out what Sam wanted from him. Sam flicked his head almost imperceptively towards Katy. Castiel caught on and nodded.

"It is important to my development that I work with only the most cooperative informants. I have not reached advanced interrogation and torture in my training yet -"

"Thank you, Agent Kottak," Dean butted in before Castiel could say something even more problematic. As it was, Katy's eyes were wide and staring at the 'agent' in the tan coat. "He's a big kidder, funniest guy on the force. Never seems to understand when to hold back on the humour, though."

The blonde woman came out from behind the desk and patted Castiel on the shoulder, giving him a flirty look. "It's okay, I like a man with a sense of humour." She turned back to the brothers. "I can't be long – the administration manager will be back in ten minutes or so. We can talk in the break room, it should be quiet at the moment."

"It started a couple of weeks ago. Belleborn isn't a big town, so when the local convenience store sold two winning lottery tickets within a couple of days, we made the local news. A few days before that, one of the young guys on the council maintenance crew was running around, showing everyone a fuzzy image on his rye that sort of looked like Jesus."

"Sounds like divine intervention." Dean was trying to pay attention, but the claustrophobic nature of the room was making him antsy. Castiel had opted to stand in the corner and watch the proceedings like a hawk, while Sam was attempting to not dwarf the small, aluminium chair he perched on. Katy wrapped her hands around a steaming mug of coffee.

"I guess, if you believe in heaven and all that."

Castiel took a step forward and opened his mouth to rebuff her, but Sam waved him silent. "Yeah, you have a point there. So, before that… anything unusual happen in town? Any new people arrive?"

Katy shrugged. "It's a small town, but not that small. Strangers could still come and go without everyone knowing."

Dean let out a long, slow breath. "Miss Woods... Katy. You're in the perfect position to hear exactly what is going on around town. You can't expect me to truly believe that you didn't hear anything about any strangers in town." Katy looked at him dubiously as Dean gave her his best 'we're all friends here and I know you're the most intelligent person who works at this dump' look. She sighed resignedly.

"Okay, so maybe I did hear something a couple of nights ago after work."

"Go on."

"See, my girl Casey hangs out at this real dive, a bar called Trumpets Sound. She and her man Rick are always there. Anyway, Casey told me the other night that there's been a bunch of new biker types hanging around."

Sam leaned forward. "Causing any trouble?"

"Not that she said. Quite the opposite. Rick had trouble getting his pick-up started and they had it fixed in a snap. Didn't ask for anything, neither. Just said they were 'returning a bit of goodness to the world', whatever that means. I mean, usually those biker guys aren't in town long, but they've been around for a while now."

"As long as the miracles have been happening?"

"Probably a little bit longer."

"Interesting."

"Um, Katy?"

The blonde administrator looked up towards the door. It was partially open and there was a hand on the outer door handle. "Yeah, Ri? What is it?"

"Katerina is going to be back soon. Wouldn't want to get into trouble. She's a bit fragile at the moment. We're going to need to be back on the floor before she gets back."

"Right." Katy pushed the chair back and got to her feet. "I'm sorry I can't be more help, but that's all I really know."

"It's fine, Miss Woods. If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call us," Sam replied, handing her a card with the dummy phone number on it. The number was connected to a phone they kept in the glove compartment of the Impala to keep in contact with potential witnesses. "If you hear of anything suspicious connected with the... occurrences, you know to contact us."

"Thanks, I will." She shot a look at Castiel in the corner. "I wouldn't mind if you brought funnyman with you next time either."

"Oh, that's... uh, really nice of you."

"No trouble, after all, it's a service to the public and it will help his training, right?" Katy threw a flirty wink over at Castiel, who looked a little confused. "You take care of yourself, then, Joker." As she sashayed out, Dean gave a low whistle.

"Cas, as I live and breathe, I'll never understand the fascination some women have with you."

"Well, the pious and the pure do tend to have a predilection to gravitate towards celestial beings..."

"Oh, trust me, buddy, she wasn't thinking pure thoughts about you and the only pious notion to cross her mind was being on bended knees..."

"When you two have had enough being the newly-inducted members of the innuendo squad, we need to think about what Katy said," Sam interrupted. Castiel straightened.

"Indeed. The Trumpets Sound sounds like the most useful place to start our search."

"Great," Dean grinned and rubbed his hands together. "I love it when a hunt starts in a bar instead of finishing in it."

The Trumpets Sound was just like every other little dingy bar that haunted the lower-class areas of every other small town. The owner was a fat man who spent most of his time in his untidy apartment, watching reruns of '50s shows and the barmaids were former high school drop-outs and travellers. The locals that frequented the place were not inclined to welcome strangers with open arms unless they had deep pockets and were stupid or were too big and angry to pick a winning fight with.

When Sam, Dean and Castiel walked in, the drop in mood was palpable. Trucker caps were pulled low, old men turned away to nurse their beers and the old monochromatic television showing the horse racing clicked off in an unfriendly display of hostility. Sam swallowed uncomfortably and took a seat as Dean and Castiel went to the bar.

"We seem to be... unwanted here."

"Well observed, Cas."

"I sense the Cherubim have been here, but they are not now."

Dean shot a quick look at Castiel as he dug in his wallet for a few bills. "Think they'll be back?"

"It's hard to say. Under normal circumstances, they would not linger in a place like this."

"Perhaps this is their pet project," Dean quipped. He peered down the bar at the barman cleaning glasses. "Excuse me! Can we have two beers and a glass of soda water, please?"

The barman ignored him and carried on cleaning the glasses. Dean sighed, slapped the bills down and walked over to him. "Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but we won't be long. We're just here for a beer and then we'll leave."

"Heard you were looking for Cherubim." The voice came from behind him and was gruff, like the owner had eaten gravel for two weeks straight. Dean and Castiel turned to face a wiry guy in his fifties, greying hair evident from beneath his cap and the sun-made wrinkles of a life outdoors evident on his face. "Ain't no Cherubim here."

"Like I said, we're just here for a drink."

"You were talking to young Katy Woods down at the hospital, weren'tcha?"

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out his badge. "Sir, if you are going to impede investigations, then I assure you I can and will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law, so help me God." He tipped his face towards Castiel. "I am really getting sick of interruptions today. Small-town America. Gotta love it."

"Hey pal, we don't need any of your big-city attitude here, now." A second yahoo had joined his crotchety buddy, sizing up the Winchester and squinting at Castiel to get the measure of him. "You can take your prying back on the road with you."

Sam watched Dean bristle with annoyance. He knew it wouldn't be long before his brother took a swing at someone. He rose to join his companions at the bar. "Gentlemen, please, don't take offence. We're only in town to investigate the miracles that have been happening. Katy Woods had nothing to do with it, but she did suggest we would find answers at this respectable establishment." Sam gave the assorted mob what he hoped was a winning smile. Several eyebrows were raised in answer to his hastily thrown-together story. "Since there's clearly nothing wrong, per se, we were just ensuring that the patrons were -"

"- committed to seeing justice served and respected in order to keep their town as safe as possible," Dean added helpfully. Castiel just stared around at the growing menace.

"I don't think they want to listen."

"We have to try," Dean hissed back. At the front of the bar, the door creaked open and a tall, burly man with a thick beard poked his head in.

"What in God's name is going on in here?"

The patrons relaxed. The barman pointed at the Winchesters. "These guys are asking about the Cherubim, Patrick."

"Well, I think we better sit them down and find out what they want to know without any of this getting excessively violent, don't you?"

Three beers found themselves slammed down hard next to Dean, making him jump. The barman pursed his lips. "You better not be causing trouble for Patrick, sonny. You're gonna come up against a whole world of hurt if you are."

"Don't worry, we're not," Sam interceded, picking up two of the beers and heading back to the table they had previously occupied, Castiel trailing in his wake. Dean picked up the beer and gave the barman a sarcastic wink.

"Cheers, buddy. Keep the change."

By the time Dean had arrived back at the table, the burly man had seated himself. He cut an imposing figure in leather and dark denim that seemed to be covered in oil smudges. The barman brought over a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks and departed quickly as Patrick sipped on it. He smiled gappily – he was missing a couple of his front teeth – at the group. "So I hear you're looking for the Cherubim."

"Yes, we need to find them and convince them to return to -" Castiel began, but trailed off at Dean's death stare. Sam picked up where the angel had stopped.

"To return with us. They aren't in trouble with the law, we just need to get them somewhere safe. We believe that they may have something to do with the miracles going on."

"I find that hard to believe, boys. The only miracles they're capable of is rolling out of bed before ten in the morning."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Patrick swivelled in his chair to show the group the back of his jacket. "Because I lead the Cherubim." He turned back to face them. "A bunch of biker ministers that travel town to town to preach the gospel." He shrugged. "We're not used to getting the kind of this kind of reception."

Castiel looked astonished. "You... you're a cherub?"

"Not a literal one, son. I'm an Anglican priest. Spreading the gospel on the back of a soft-tail rocker."

The angel shook his head sadly. "I was so sure."

Patrick patted him on the shoulder. "Hey now, don't be like that. It's nice to meet a devout man who believes in the heavenly host. Not a lot of those around these days, sadly."

"But, the miracles..."

"I believe in the power of faith, but really, the scale of what's going on here isn't something I've ever seen outside of a bible story." Patrick knocked back his beer and stood up. "Is there anything else I can help with?"

"Yeah, we might need to speak with the other fathers," Sam replied, handing the priest a card. Patrick took it and tapped it against his palm.

"You can come to service, if you like. The local preacher lets us preach on a Saturday night."

Dean's jaw twitched. Castiel lit up like a Christmas tree. "A proper service?"

"All the bells and whistles we can manage. The whole gang will be there."

"As will we." Castiel leaned over to Dean. "This will be the perfect opportunity to..."

"Yes, thank you for that, I know." Dean reached out and shook Patrick's hand. "We'll be there."

The priest left the bar, holding the door open for a barmaid who appeared to be running a little late for her shift, leaving the group a little deflated. Castiel still looked confused. "I don't understand. He smells like a cherub, feels like a cherub, looks like a cherub."

"I'll give you that he's a bit round, but I think that's where the cherubic influences end," Sam kidded. Castiel gave him an are-you-being-stupid-again look.

"I can see what you cannot, Sam. That man is giving off a particular kind of energy that most vessels do when they are housing an angel. He also smells slightly scorched, which is usually indicative of holy power crammed inside a limited space."

"I wouldn't call him limited space."

"Then there's his true visage."

"Wait, when Pam tried to see you, you burned her eyes out," Dean broke in. Castiel nodded.

"Other angels can usually see if there's one in a vessel. Either there's a cherub in that human or there has been one in there recently."

"So... you're saying that it's definitely angels, but that they may have moved on since then?"

"Inhabiting a gang of bikers, travelling around the country? Can you think of a more perfect way to hide from the war?"

"Either way, I think we need to check out this service tonight," Sam interjected. Dean nodded.

"Time to go to church."

Belleborn was a small town, not an old town. The church was at the end of the main street; a tiny, whitewashed timber construction with an old iron weathervane on the roof. The Winchesters headed quickly inside, but Castiel lingered, smiling to himself as he looked it over.

"Humans. You have have grandest cathedrals in the world yet the best of faith comes from a pauper's offering. You never cease to amaze me."

"Cas, you comin'?" Dean poked his head out from around the door. Castiel nodded and followed suit.

The interior of the church was as decrepit as the exterior. The whole place smelled like mothballs and the seating was at best some recycled old school chairs that were donated in the seventies. The hunters grabbed a couple of chairs and sat against the wall towards the front. Slowly, the room began to fill with the usual suspects – devout families, elderly and disabled people, reformed addicts, local businessmen and women as well as a couple that looked like politicians.

Then the not-so-usual suspects arrived.

Young people, in droves, appeared and sat at the back, their faces anxious. Punks and goths alike sat with their normal nemeses – jocks and cheerleaders – as if the other did not exist. Within the half-hour, the entire room was packed out. Sam looked around in shock.

"The... the whole town must be in here."

"Nearly the whole town," Castiel murmured. His gaze flicked over the congregation. "There are a few who aren't here."

"Only you would know, Cas," Dean groaned, sliding down in his chair. "I don't like this. Do we have to sit in here for the whole goddamn spiel?"

"I'd appreciate you showing my father a little more respect, Dean."

Sam suppressed a grin as Dean frowned. "Fine, okay."

"You sound like you're really looking forward to this, Cas," Sam smiled. Castiel nodded.

"I rarely get to listen to sermons. The last one I sat in for was all the way up on this drafty mountain a few centuries back. I was crowd control."

"You gotta be kidding – you were a heavenly bouncer?"

"There's not a lot for a warrior to do in between wars. We have... other uses."

"Well, I suppose you live and learn," Dean replied, his eyes catching Patrick entering from a side door. He spotted the group and gave them a hearty wave. Taking a place in the front, he sat and watched as the preacher for the evening got up and starting talking.

An hour later, Dean was nodding off to sleep on Sam's shoulder as Castiel sat to rapt attention, hanging on every word. Sam's eyes scanned the crowd, trying to pick out a likely candidate for holy possession. As the service finished up, Dean snorted awake.

"What did I miss?"

"Pretty much everything." Sam stretched out, rubbing the fatigue in his joints. "Just your stock-standard service. Cas, you see anything amiss?"

"No... but there's something else. Something close by. Not an angel."

The hairs on Dean's neck stood up. "Gotta be something with a bit of juice to cross onto holy ground."

"Indeed." Castiel gave Dean a level look. "I think we should wait here. I think it's looking for us."

The room emptied out, the general consensus going that there would be a meet-up at the Trumpets Sound inside the hour. Sam had assured Patrick they would lock up after them. For a little while, the three sat in silence.

Then they heard it.

A soft scraping of the front door opening gently and gentle footsteps padding across the wooden floor. Dean lifted his chin, his eyes darting to Sam's face. Sam nodded. Castiel's breath hitched and his eyes went wide.

"Oh no..." he whispered.

As if that were the cue, all three shot into a standing position. Dean drew his gun from his waistband and brought it level with the forehead of the person behind them as Sam yanked Ruby's knife out of his belt and readied it to be thrown. Castiel powered up his exorcising energy, but felt it slip away almost immediately.

"It's you," he breathed.

The girl in front of him smiled brightly.

"Well of course it's me, silly! I've been chasing you three all over town!" She planted her hands on her hips. "It's about time you got here, I've been waiting nearly five hundred years."