I've wanted to write this since before I even finished Soul Men proper, though I only recently was able to get my arse in gear to write it. This takes place for the most part before the main story starts, around the time Lucifer rereleased the Croatoan virus unto the world, though the last scene takes place right between Chapters Three and Four. Enjoy, guys!

Soul Men
by Judanim

Gaiden: "Freedom is a Length of Rope"

Spring 2012:

Bela read over the reports again, just to be sure. Things didn't look good, but she couldn't trust the word of Lucifer's grunts. So she did the sensible thing—she closed her eyes and prayed.

"Oh aren't you sweet? Though you could've picked a better time to ask for a house call, love."

She opened her eyes to see Balthazar, blond hair perfectly out of place and gray-blue eyes twinkling with mischief. He looked impeccable for someone who should have been feeling the brunt of the weight of the Apocalypse, something Bela had always admired about him.

"At least I called," Bela said with far more acid than she intended. She took a breath to steady herself. This was not the angel she wanted to take her anger out on.

Balthazar raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening a bit. "I've been busy, and so have you as I understand it. Nice work in LA, even though it wasn't your style."

"Meg did most of the work, which brings me to why I asked you to come." Bela offered up one of the papers littered across the table in front of her. "What do you know about the newest batch of the virus?"

He gave the sheet a cursory glance before handing it back to her. "If you mean the rash of inexplicable demon deaths, apparently those were expected. Pestilence… tinkered with the formula."

"Damn it." Bela leaned on the table, palms flat against the solid surface, and for a moment it felt like it was all that was holding her up.

Suddenly there were fingers running through her hair, a gentle warmth flowing from them that almost made her recoil if not for its familiarity. "If you need a place to—"

"I'm not worried about me." Bela straightened, leaning into that touch, the fight draining from her. "I just don't know if she'll listen."

Balthazar swept his thumb across her cheekbone, a just barely-there caress, before taking a step back, putting the table between them. "You are very persuasive. I'm sure you'll think of something. I'd help, but you know."

And she did, and it was the very reason her stomach was threatening to abandon her now. Before she could come up with some sort of playful remark regarding his cowardice that they both knew was only half-true, Balthazar was talking again.

"Just be careful, all right? I—" He shook his head. "Nevermind."

Bela couldn't help the little half-smile that crept onto her lips. "You what? Are you worried about me?"

The angel crossed his arms. "No, God no. Well… Perhaps a little."

She let her smile grow into a full-on grin that was far more confident than she felt and sidled up to him, easing around the table with a smooth, practiced swing of her hips. "Aw, how adorable. I didn't expect chivalry from you, Balthazar, though it's unwarranted. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, believe me, I know." Balthazar took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Still. Tread lightly. And don't underestimate Lucifer or the loyalty he inspires."

With that, he was gone. Bela stared at the spot where he had stood and was hit with a pang of unexpected emptiness, though she didn't entertain the feeling long. She had work to do.

The LA office was a mess. Demons were running everywhere, papers flying about the place and scattered on the floor. Bela shook her head as she made her way to the top floor, missing not for the first time Crowley's efficiency and organization.

The top floor of the building was empty compared to the rest, only the odd high-ranking demon milling about, all of them too engrossed in their current objective to take notice of her.

She entered Meg's office without so much as a knock and gave a low whistle at the surroundings. The room was filled with furnishings made of rich leather and solid wood and pretentious artworks (knock-offs that tried so very hard to be the real thing, which Bela could tell even from a precursory glance), all set off by top-right sunlight streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows. On the ornate desk in the center of the room, one that was made for screwing secretaries on, was a tiny, pathetic plant that by some miracle wasn't dead, a gift from Balthazar from when the Apocalypse was just starting in earnest.

"This place is fit for a CEO, or even a king," Bela said, sitting down at the desk. "I'm glad Lucifer saw fit to upgrade the operation. That warehouse was unbearable."

Meg didn't turn from her place at one of the windows, staring down at the ruins of Los Angeles. "Mostly luck that we came by it. The owner's crossroads deal was up, and he'd been infected by the virus. Hounds didn't even have to come for him."

Bela ran her fingertips over a young leaf on the plant, like it might give her the strength to do this. "Some luck. Speaking of, have you seen the latest reports?"

"Who hasn't? All the morons downstairs are panicking." There was an edge to Meg's voice, a tremble that Bela had missed before.

Closing her eyes, the younger demon asked the million dollar question. "What are you going to do?"

A long silence stretched between them, settling in the room, muffling even the chaos of the lower levels. Bela could handle the clamoring and the screams of the Pit, all the anguished cries of humans falling victim to the damned Croatoan virus, but this? This could be her undoing, if Meg didn't say something, anything.

After several agonizing moments, she finally did, and Bela wasn't sure why she expected anything different. "I'm going to see Lucifer, inform him, get an explanation."

"You really think he doesn't already know?" Bela raised her head and swiveled the chair to face Meg, who was still gazing out the window. "The minions know that demons are dying from the virus, and Lucifer hasn't done a damn thing about it."

Meg turned on her heel, and Bela found herself clenching the armrests of her chair at the sight. Azazel's daughter was pale and shaking and clutching at her trusted angel blade (taken from Castiel during the last time the Winchesters tried to defeat Lucifer), looking at her with bloodshot eyes. "He wouldn't just let this happen, not to his most loyal."

If Bela had a heart, it would have ached for Meg in that moment. What remained of her human memories could recall a similar feeling, of being betrayed by a father figure you loved and trusted implicitly. She had been alone in that ordeal, but Meg wasn't. "He's also an angel, and—"

"Don't." Meg leveled her blade at Bela, the weapon trembling in her grasp. "I've heard that spiel before, and as I recall it got him killed."

Frustration, desperation, clawed its way from her stomach to her throat, and to keep it from escaping as a scream Bela forced herself to her feet. She reached for Meg, blade or no blade. "You saved me once. Let me return the favor."

The older demon lowered her weapon to her side, still keeping it in a death-grip, and allowed Bela's hand to cover her free one. "How?" she asked, voice defiant even in that one word.

Bela stayed tense, not for one second thinking Meg had given in. "Balthazar. He'll keep us safe."

Meg scoffed but didn't withdraw. "You were saying about angels?"

It was all Bela could do to give her an exasperated look, because they both knew that argument didn't hold.

"You're sure about this?" Meg seemed to lean in a little closer, almost swaying on her feet, and Bela stopped just short of raising a hand to catch her.

"He's with the Horsemen. He's untouchable by Lucifer or Michael." Bela bit her lip, hating herself for what she was going to say next, knew that Meg would hate it too, but she didn't know what else to do. "Please."

Any other time that might've cost her. And if it were any other demon she would've been dead or halfway there the second the word left her mouth. Instead Meg intertwined their fingers, her hands steady again.

"Let's go."

Two years later:

Bela settled into her favorite chaise in the living room, a first edition copy of Wuthering Heights in her lap and a fresh cup of coffee within arm's reach. She had scarcely started in on the misadventures of Heathcliff and Catherine when Meg came in from the backyard, clothes spattered in blood and boots caked in mud. The younger demon sighed and closed her book.

"You know, you really don't have to fight off the Croats. That's what the warding is for."

Meg smirked, leaning down to steal a kiss. "Makes for good practice. Wouldn't want to get rusty. Like you."

There was a time Bela would've taken offense to that. Now she grabbed Meg by the back of the neck and dragged her lips back down to hers. "Am I now?" she asked after they parted.

"Hmm. Against Croats anyway." Meg slid into her lap, dark clothes and hair a stark contrast against the white leather of the chaise. She ran her fingers through Bela's hair, pushing her head back just enough to expose her throat.

Bela shivered as Meg bit at her pulse point, just hard enough to bruise the spot but not quite enough to make it bleed, not yet. Her hands slid into Meg's back pockets, pulling her closer. "Perhaps I need some private lessons then."

Whatever Meg was about to say next was cut short by the opening of the front door and the sudden odor of sulfur. They shifted to see the disturbance.

Balthazar walked into the living room, adjusting the wards as he went. A growling bark sounded behind him, making the hairs on Bela's neck stand on end. She closed her eyes when the sulphuric smell worsened.

"Do I even want to ask?"

Meg tensed. "Isn't that Crowley's bitch?"

"Hmm." Bela reluctantly opened her eyes. Balthazar paused near the coffee table, face neutral in that careful way she'd come to recognize and one hand outstretched as a barrier between them and the hellhound at his feet. "It seems Crowley and Gabriel are going to try and stop Michael and Lucifer."

Meg and Bela exchanged a glance, both bearing a raised eyebrow. "And what does that have to do with us babysitting their mongrel?" Bela asked.

Balthazar crossed his arms, and the dog stayed put. "I might have helped them in exchange for the hound."

"Great. Those two idiots are going to get themselves killed. Again," Bela said with a little sigh. "And we'll be stuck with the mutt."

"Think we can do something about that?"

Bela met Balthazar's gaze, worry flashing in those gray-blue eyes, and for once it wasn't directed at her. In her arms, Meg was still tightly coiled, nothing in her expression revealing which way she might spring.

And then an easy smile split the mask, and Meg was the one giving them a skeptical look. "What? We're not going to let them have all the fun, are we?"

The angel chuckled, looking down and away for a moment. "Of course not. I just had to be sure, since storming Pestilence's stronghold isn't exactly an easy task."

"You can't be serious." Bela leaned back on the chaise, if only to get away from Meg's I-told-you-so smirk.

"It's better than trying to con Death," Balthazar said. "At least we have a plan."

Meg gave the angel an appraising glance. "Well, you aren't as useless as you look."

Balthazar tipped his head to her. "You didn't think you were the only one full of surprises, did you?"

Before Bela could stop it, a smile spread across her face and something warm settled in her chest at the exchange. Pushing it aside for the moment, because now was really not the time get sentimental, she said, "You two can flirt later. We have an Apocalypse to stop, remember?"

"Right," Balthazar said, grinning that all-knowing, angelic grin that he knew got under Bela's skin, mirroring Meg's expression in the most infuriating way. He snapped his fingers, and a set of blueprints appeared on the coffee table. "To work then."

They gathered about the table, Crowley's hellhound sitting down at the spare side, and started discussing guards and tactics and patrol routes, like it was a run of the mill jewel heist. Luckily for them, two of the greatest thieves in the world were behind it, and their third was rather good at improvising.