Chapter 2 – Baccarat
Chuck left his suite in the Rio Hotel, mid-afternoon. He had bought a Gold package to the Supernatural convention there, which entitled him to attend as many events as he chose. Chuck had seen by the schedule he'd picked up at the box office that there was a writers' symposium panel at 3 p.m. He was extremely interested in this event, having of course been the original author of the Supernatural series.
He had been having a great time this past week in Vegas. It hadn't hurt that the man whose vessel he had taken over had been very well off. Once Chuck had seen the wads of cash and multiple credit cards in the man's wallet, he had decided to treat himself, and had been enjoying everything Vegas had to offer. Well, almost everything. Since Chuck had made up his mind to turn over a new leaf, he had not indulged in any pleasures of the flesh, although he had been sorely tempted. But Chuck figured he had sinned enough recently, and he didn't want to press his luck. Ever since he had decided to become a better man and to let go of all his old resentments, life had been good to Chuck, and he was sure he was now on the right path to redemption.
Gail had arranged to meet up with the guys an hour after they'd gone their separate ways, and she was sitting on a bench in the main atrium of the mall with her shopping bags at her feet, waiting.
Then she saw them walking towards her, and she had to do a double-take. Cas was wearing a bright blue shirt, jeans, and a charcoal blazer, and he looked amazing. Sam and Dean were wearing the same clothes they'd arrived in, but all three men were carrying shopping bags, so she supposed they'd all gotten some new clothes. Good. What the hell; that was what holidays were for, right? Treating yourself, doing things you might not normally do.
She rose from the bench and walked up to Cas as he approached. "You look fantastic," she told him, reaching out to feel the fabric of his shirt. OK, just looking for an excuse to touch him, really. Now that he was dressed the way he was, like a human man, she felt inexplicably shy.
"Thank you," he said, smiling, and put his arm around her waist. "I was hoping you'd approve."
The shirt matched his eyes, which were shining bright blue. He was killing her. Funny how after only a few hours of being human, Gail was suddenly so timid, but Cas seemed so confident.
Cas hadn't been confident at all when he and the Winchesters had entered the store. He looked around at all the choices of clothing available, and felt overwhelmed. He'd never really thought about clothes in terms of how they made him look, before. He'd worn the same things day in and day out as an Angel, and this fact had never bothered him. They were just something to cover his vessel for the sake of modesty, and that had been all. But now that he was human, Cas found himself wanting to look good; mostly for Gail, but for himself, too. But, what looked good?
Sam and Dean helped him, though, and they had bought a few things for themselves, too. Cas had insisted that they get something, also; he didn't want to be the only one. He realized that didn't really make sense. What did it matter? But he was human now, and human feelings were sometimes irrational.
As he'd put on the clothes he had picked out, Cas realized something: He and Gail had never been out on what humans called a "date", and this was suddenly something that he wanted very badly. Maybe they were putting the cart before the horse. Was he pushing her into a physical relationship way before the social norm? True, they had been living together for a while now, but in an almost entirely platonic way. When they'd watched the sun rise this morning and he'd kissed her the way he had, Cas had felt like he was finally free to express his love for her by being intimate. But was he making assumptions? She'd responded to him this morning, but then she had stepped away. Cas had no idea what that action of hers may have signified. He had never had any experience with this type of situation before.
So as he and Sam were waiting for Dean to make his purchases, Cas tentatively broached the subject to the younger Winchester.
"Has Gail said anything to you about...us?" Cas asked Sam.
Sam smiled. He thought he knew where this was going and, like Dean, he was amused by it.
"Like what?" Sam wasn't going to let him off that easily.
"Did she..." Cas was at a loss. He tried again, sighing. "How can you tell..." he floundered again.
Sam was grinning now. In a way, he felt bad for Cas. He knew the poor guy was like a fish out of water in this situation. But this was the most fun he and Dean had had in a while, and he couldn't help himself.
"Tell...what?" Sam prompted.
Cas sighed again. He had expected something like this from the brothers, but he was under the impression that friends were supposed to help, and he was feeling a little annoyed. No. He was human now, he could say it: they were starting to piss him off.
"Come on, Sam," Cas said. "Look, I know you and Dean are having some fun at my expense, but I'm looking for some advice, here. The least you can do is take me seriously. We've been friends for years, and I deserve better."
Sam's smile vanished. Cas was right. "Sorry, Cas, you're right," he agreed. "What do you want to know?"
Now that Cas had been able to stand up for himself, he found that the words came easier. "How can you tell when a woman is ready for a physical relationship?"
So, there it was. Sam had suspected as much. He smiled again, but this time it was a genuine smile, not a mocking one. He now felt empathy for Cas. What man hadn't wondered that, at one time or another?
"She'll tell you," Sam replied honestly. Cas looked puzzled at that, so Sam elaborated: "Maybe not in so many words; in fact, usually not. But it'll be pretty obvious. Just in the way that she looks at you, and responds to what you're doing."
That was about all Sam could say without starting to grin again. It was kind of weird, having this kind of conversation with Cas at all.
But Cas looked thoughtful and nodded, as if having another conversation in his head. Human or not, he was still Cas, Sam thought. Cas clapped him on the shoulder then, in an eerie imitation of Dean, and smiled. And that had seemed to be enough.
When Cas had seen Gail looking at him with that shine in her eyes, complimenting him on how he looked, he was fairly confident that this was her way of telling him how she felt, as Sam had said.
So he put his arm around her waist and kissed her gently on the lips, and she smiled up at him.
Sam cleared his throat and Dean quipped, "I guess we should have worn our new clothes out of the store, too."
Gail punched him on the arm and said, "Shut up, Dean," but she was laughing.
They left the mall, and headed back home to pack for their trip.
Metatron was still in Las Vegas, and he had seen the ads for the Supernatural convention at the Rio Hotel. He remembered having seen mention of those, when he'd first come to Earth after having escaped from Angel prison. At the time, he had dismissed it from his mind as not worth his time, but now he was curious.
He had upgraded his vessel since having occupied the homeless man, and now he was inhabiting a bookish-looking, nondescript man, who looked to be in his late 30s. It was the perfect vessel for Metatron. He would blend into any crowd, because there was nothing at all remarkable about his appearance. The perfect cover.
He'd decided early in the week to make his way to the Rio and check out the convention, and had bought a general admission ticket to the event. His vessel had money in his wallet and a few credit cards and, though not as well-heeled as Chuck, Metatron had done just fine so far.
He had not yet made up his mind whether he was going to remain in Las Vegas or not. He thought not; he had been looking for an Angel to kill, and Angels were definitely in short supply in this town. Metatron hadn't minded keeping a low profile for a few days and regrouping after his time of torment in Hell, but he was getting eager to get his Grace and his powers back. He would attend the convention out of curiosity, then leave town after it was over.
He'd noticed that there was a writers' symposium at the convention this afternoon, and that session appealed to the author in him. Also, Metatron was not stupid; he knew that if Chuck was still in town and had heard about this, he probably wouldn't be able to resist attending. Metatron had thought that he was well rid of Chuck once they had escaped from Hell's portal and emerged here, but now he was rethinking this position. He didn't really like Chuck; he never had. But Chuck might still have his uses.
How to recognize Chuck, though? They would both be occupying vessels that looked quite different from the appearances they'd previously had. Well, he'd just have to figure something out when he got there. He was Metatron; he would find a way.
Sam and Dean belted themselves in and then looked over across the aisle, at Cas and Gail. They both looked a little freaked out, Cas in particular.
The brothers smiled. This had been the most fun vacation they'd ever had, and they hadn't even gotten to their destination yet. How funny was this? Their travelling companions were two Angels who were afraid of flying.
Actually, Gail wasn't really afraid of flying, per se; she'd just never done it before. She and Frank had never had the occasion, nor the money. As usual, she felt a pang when thinking of her brother, but Gail shook it off.
She was about to embark on a vacation with her three favourite men, and she didn't want to start it off in a gloomy mood. She would put her unresolved feelings about Frank on the back burner until they returned.
She looked at Cas, who was looking a little afraid. He, of course, had never flown before, either. Not the human way, anyway. The irony of an Angel being afraid to fly was not lost on him, but his human nerves were on edge. He didn't understand how such a heavy apparatus as this could stay aloft. Sam had tried to explain aerodynamics to him in the cab on the way to the airport, but Cas wasn't necessarily buying it. It wasn't that he wasn't intelligent enough to understand the concept, but as he looked around at the body of the plane, he just didn't see how it was possible. But he put his seat belt on and looked back at Gail, attempting a smile.
Gail put her hands on his arm, which was on the armrest between them. "I know; I'm a little nervous, too," she said to him. Truth be told, she thought he looked a lot more scared than nervous, but Gail wanted to spare his feelings. It was bad enough having those two dumb-asses across the aisle, grinning at their discomfort. Boy, were they gonna get it. She too got the irony of two Angels being nervous to fly, but Dean and Sam were having way too much fun at their expense, and she was getting a little irritated by it. So she ignored the brothers and focused on Cas.
"As soon as we take off, we'll get a drink," she said to Cas. "That'll calm us down."
Then they took off, and although the experience was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, both Angels made it through by holding hands and focusing on each other.
But when the plane levelled off and they were above the clouds, Cas and Gail stared out the window in wonder. Cas in particular was mesmerized by the puffy white clouds, and the sun shining above them. And to think, humans thought this was where Angels lived. It was a wondrous sight, but he found that funny, and he laughed.
Gail had her head on his shoulder, craning her neck to look out the window at the clouds, too. "What's so funny?" she said into his ear.
So he turned to look at her and told her what he'd been thinking. Gail found that amusing too, now that she'd been to Heaven and knew better.
Just then, the flight attendant arrived with the drinks they'd asked for. Cas dug into his pocket, but Gail put her hand on his arm.
"Those will be on these nice gentlemen over here," she said to the flight attendant, gesturing to Dean and Sam. She flashed them a grin and a wave.
Dean sighed. He guessed that was only fair. He gave her a mock salute and said, ""Yes, ma'am." He and Sam had ordered beers, anyway. So he paid for all four drinks, and once the quartet was served, Gail lifted her glass to her companions.
"Here's to a well-deserved holiday," she said. They all raised their glasses and drank. Truer words were never spoken.
Crowley was drinking, too. He had begun to drink so heavily that he passed out, from time to time. While Demons did not sleep, there was something in their makeup that allowed them to doze after a bout of rigorous sex or a drinking binge, and his was, somewhat regrettably, the latter.
He was laying on the couch of his office in Hell, where he'd been spending most of his time lately, closeted away from his subjects. The rumours were starting to swirl about the King, but he was oblivious to them. He'd been feeling stranger and stranger by the day, and emotions had been bubbling up inside of him that he hadn't experienced in years. Depression, moodiness and self-loathing were all doing battle in his head.
Tonight, when he'd passed out from drink, Fergus dreamt of his mother. The dream started out as it always did, with her mocking him. Telling him he was a failure, and always had been; that was why she had abandoned him as a small child and never looked back. "You're dead, you filthy whore," he muttered aloud, but she continued to taunt him unmercifully until he woke up, bathed in sweat and reaching for the bottle.
Sam and Dean threw their bags in the room and came right back out. No unpacking, no "getting settled". They were in Las Vegas, and it was time to party.
Dean pounded on the door of Cas and Gail's room down the hall. "Vegas, baby!" he yelled. "Let's go!"
Sam was bemused. He hadn't seen Dean raring to go like this in quite a while, and he was kind of glad they would have the opportunity to blow off some steam after their recent hardships.
Gail answered the door. "Oh my God, Dean," she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. She opened the door wider to let the brothers in. "You'd think you were excited, or something!"
Cas was standing at the window, staring outside. The room had a view of the Strip, and he was gazing out at the sea of neon lights, thoroughly amazed. In the time it had taken them to get here, dark had fallen, and the multitude of lights were spellbinding. As soon as he and Gail had entered the room, she had gone over to this window and pulled the curtains open, hoping for a view like this, and they had stood together and stared at it until Dean had knocked on their door.
The four of them took the elevator down to the casino, where more amazing sights awaited. None of them had been here before, but the Winchesters and Gail had at least had the benefit of seeing this scene represented in countless movies, whereas Cas's frame of reference had been very limited. He had long been an observer of people and places, but this was almost too much. Cas was glad he was a human; if he'd been an Angel coming here, he was pretty sure he would be going into sensory overload. There were people everywhere, it seemed; people of all ages, and in various states of dress. Or undress, in some cases: there were young girls in short skirts, and the cocktail waitresses were wearing the skimpiest of outfits. People were drinking and smoking and gambling, and the ambient noise of laughter, music and slot machines was pervasive.
But he was a human, at least for the weekend, and it seemed to mean a lot to Dean that the four of them have a few drinks to celebrate their arrival. Cas had been hoping to have some time alone with Gail, but he reasoned that they had lots of time left.
"Bar," Dean said succinctly, and propelled them to the first lounge he saw. So they hiked themselves up on bar stools, the three men sitting together, and Gail at the end, beside Cas. Dean ordered beer for the men and a glass of white wine for Gail, and four shots of tequila.
"Tequila? Really?" Gail said, making a face.
"No girly shots," Dean retorted. "Tonight, we drink like men."
Good Lord, Gail thought. He's really feeling his oats, isn't he? Sam was smirking, and Cas was smiling, too. Gail gave up; she was outnumbered. So when the shots came and Dean toasted to the beginning of their holiday, Gail got into the spirit and downed her shot.
Yikes. She'd forgotten how much she disliked the taste of tequila. Fortunately, her wine had also arrived, so she took a big swallow just to get the taste out of her mouth.
Cas had also downed his shot in one swallow, and he coughed as the strong taste of alcohol hit his throat. Gail patted his back, more for moral support than anything else. She knew that his experience with alcohol had to be very limited, but he wanted to be one of the guys, which she thought was kind of sweet.
But two more drinks and two more shots in, she was done. Gail had hardly been a lightweight in life, but she was starting to feel like she was intruding on some major male bonding. Poor Cas; he was pretty tipsy by now, and she could see that he was only going to get worse. But she was not his mother, and she was certainly not going to act like a nagging wife. Still, she was out of here.
Gail hopped off her bar stool and went to stand between Sam and Dean. "OK, I'm gonna go play a slot machine, or something," she said to them.
"You're leaving?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," she responded. "You three need some 'guy time', I think." Then she turned to Dean and said, "Show him a good time, but please bring him back in one piece." There was more that she wanted to say, but they were grown men and presumably, Dean would be a good enough friend to make sure that Cas didn't get into any trouble.
Then she walked back over to Cas and smiled at him. "I'm setting you free," she said to him. He looked puzzled at that, so she continued, "Go have fun with Sam and Dean. Enjoy some 'guy time'. I'm going to go play a machine or some blackjack and I'll see you later, OK?"
He was looking at her with a strange expression on his face; a mixture of happy and sad, it looked like. "Why are you leaving?" Cas said. "Have I done something wrong?"
Crap. She would have to remember he was human, and he'd been drinking. Castiel probably wouldn't have been fazed, but this was Cas she was talking to, now.
So she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Not at all. I just want you to have some fun with these guys. Three human men, out on the town." Then, because his expression remained unchanged, Gail leaned forward and said into his ear, "We'll have our alone time tomorrow."
He smiled then, and she smiled back, thinking: If your hangover hasn't killed you, that is. She wanted to warn him about the consequences of drinking too much, but she stopped herself. He'd wanted to be a human in Las Vegas; he would just have to find out for himself. She wasn't being heartless. It was just that Gail knew that the male ego was a fragile thing. It had been decided a long time ago by whoever was in charge of these things that the adage was true: Boys will be boys, and she needed to let him be one tonight.
"I'll see you later," Gail said to Cas, grabbing her purse and turning away before she changed her mind. She stopped in front of Sam and Dean for a moment, debating another plea not to pour too much alcohol down Cas's throat. But Dean was ordering another round and she gave up, leaving the bar.
Bobby couldn't resist having a peek at the four of them on vacation, and he was watching them now. He saw Gail leave the bar and smiled inwardly, remembering his earlier thoughts about women being more sensible than men in these situations. It would seem that Gail was proving him right. As the three men left the Rio and went bar-hopping up and down the Strip, Bobby shook his head in amusement. Maybe he should try to arrange an extra weeks' recovery time. Maybe a month, in Cas's case.
Curious, he watched Gail as she meandered her way through the casino. It looked as though her walk had a purpose. Where was she going?
Gail had her convention ticket in her purse, and she wanted to check out the venue. As she had suspected, the activities had shut down for the day, but she picked up the brochure outside the box office and examined it curiously. As the newcomer to the group, Gail had the least knowledge of Chuck and his writings, which had apparently given birth to this whole thing. Perhaps that was why she found herself here, a place she knew the men wished to avoid. Why had Bobby wanted them to come here?
Aside from that brief glance at each other in God's office, Gail had never met Chuck, didn't know him personally. She knew now, of course, that he had conspired with Metatron to have them killed, and that God had cast him down into Hell, as a result. Yet these conventions were a solely human experience, as far as she could discern. The dichotomy was puzzling to her.
So she took the brochure with her to another, quieter bar in the hotel and ordered a glass of wine, sipping at it as she perused the brochure. Puzzling over what it could mean. Funny that she and Castiel had never stumbled upon the show, in his many nights of channel-surfing. She was amused at the idea of a series of books and now a hit TV show based on Sam and Dean's lives, but she was also troubled that the original source was Chuck, a former Angel who seemed to be on the same level of evil as Metatron. Gail was long used to being able to reason things out, and she felt frustrated at her inability to connect the dots, in this instance.
A man sat down on the bar stool next to Gail, and she heard him order a beer. Then he glanced at her and said, "Are you a fan?"
What? She'd been lost in thought, and didn't know what he was talking about. She looked at the man. He was a pleasant-looking guy with a sandy-coloured beard, and he was gesturing at the brochure she was holding.
Oh. She didn't really know what to say to that, but she found herself smiling. "Yeah, kinda." Well, she WAS a fan of the heroes of the story, she thought, the blue-eyed one, in particular. This thought amused her, too. Maybe she'd better lay off the drinking, for a while. But, then again, it was her holiday, too.
The man beside her smiled and put out his hand. "So am I. David," he said, introducing himself. Phew. He'd almost forgotten his vessel's name and said "Chuck", instead.
Gail regarded his hand for a moment, but she didn't want to be rude, so she shook it briefly, but did not say her name.
"I was at the writers' symposium this afternoon," the man continued. "I'm a writer myself, so I found it really interesting how they come up with those wild storylines."
Now she was really at a loss, never having read any of the books or seen the TV show. But Gail smiled to herself; if this guy only knew. Wild didn't even begin to cover it.
But him having said he was a writer created a bit of a tickle in Gail's brain, and she looked at him again. In that moment, he seemed a little familiar to her, like she had seen him or met him somewhere before.
Chuck had that tickle too, but he misunderstood her look and asked Gail if he could buy her a drink.
Oh, geez, was he trying to pick her up? Gail was a tiny bit flattered if he was, but she wasn't going to go there. She was spoken for, even if her intended was running loose somewhere in Vegas right now tarnishing his halo, doing "Bobby" only knew what. She smiled inwardly at that thought, too. Then she drained the rest of her wine, and figured she'd better bail. Suddenly she didn't want to be sitting here with this man.
So Gail got off her bar stool then and told him, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'm meeting someone. Have a good night."
As she walked away, Chuck shrugged. You couldn't win them all. The old him would have been stung by the rejection, and maybe just resentful enough to remember where he'd seen her before, and in whose company. She HAD looked familiar to him, though for the life of him, he couldn't think why. He ordered another drink and started to think about the writers' symposium earlier this afternoon, forgetting all about the woman.
Metatron approached the same bar then, missing Gail by mere moments. He would have recognized her instantly, of course; you did not tend to forget the face of your own killer. Not that she would have had any idea who he was. He wore a different vessel now, giving him a distinct advantage.
He looked at the bar area and saw a man with a sandy-coloured beard talking to the bartender about the writers' symposium he had attended this afternoon. Metatron did a double-take. Chuck?
Metatron walked up to the bar and sat on the same stool Gail had vacated, moments earlier. He ordered a glass of red wine, studying the man with the beard. He saw now that this man didn't look exactly like Chuck, but the resemblance was still close enough to be unsettling. And, he had been talking about the Supernatural convention. Was it just an amazing coincidence? Metatron thought not, but he engaged the man in conversation, sussing him out.
He introduced himself as Ethan, the name on his vessel's drivers' license, and his barmate introduced himself as David. They made small talk about Vegas and the weather, and shared their thoughts about the symposium they had both attended earlier this afternoon. Metatron hadn't seen this guy there, but he'd been sitting near the back of the room, and there had been quite a crowd up front.
Just the way this "David" was talking about the material made Metatron think this might possibly be Chuck. Lovingly; possessively, almost. Speaking to the characters' motivations from an author's point of view. By the time Metatron finished his drink, he was mostly convinced. Should he show his hand, or not? Well, this was Las Vegas, after all; might as well gamble.
So "Ethan" looked at "David" and said: "Shame about poor Aurielle, though."
Bobby had not seen any of this, which was most unfortunate. In fact, he had not even seen Gail's brief encounter with Chuck at the bar. Just as he had been admiring Gail's attempt to investigate the convention, Bobby received a phone call.
It was Xavier, requesting a private meeting. He'd spoken with a modicum of respect, but Bobby could sense the hostility and condescension just underneath Xavier's careful tone. He sighed inwardly. He'd had a feeling this might be coming, but Bobby had hoped it might be later, rather than sooner. He'd barely had time to put his ass in the chair of the High Office, and already the hardliners were gunning for him. Well, it was best to face these things head on in his experience, and Bobby had never shied away from a fight.
Xavier entered Bobby's office carrying a scroll of some sort, and after a polite but cool greeting, he sat in one of the chairs opposite Bobby's desk.
Xavier didn't speak. He just sat there, regarding him. Bobby sighed inwardly again.
"Why are you here?" he asked Xavier bluntly.
Xavier responded in kind. "The Upper Echelon have had a meeting, and we've decided to resist your appointment to the High Office."
Bobby's eyebrows raised. This guy didn't screw around, did he? Under other circumstances, Bobby would have approved of his style. But Bobby was not going to be intimidated.
"So, the entire Upper Echelon met, did they?" Bobby asked Xavier, hoping to throw him off balance.
His gambit worked for a moment. "All but Castiel," Xavier replied. He had not attempted to contact Castiel for the meeting, of course. But Bobby was now God; was he aware of this fact? And how would Xavier explain the deliberate oversight?
Bobby was new to the job and to Heaven's politics, so he had just been attempting to needle Xavier. He knew full well that Castiel would be unreachable, as he was currently in Las Vegas, and currently human. So he let Xavier off the hook. "Never mind," Bobby said. "I know Castiel is currently off the grid. So, the six of you decided, did you?"
Xavier opened the scroll and set it on Bobby's desk. "This is a petition signed by all of us, requesting your resignation."
Bobby was equal parts angry and amused. "So, six out of seven of you want me to step down," he stated in a calm voice.
"Yes," Xavier replied shortly.
"Well, too bad you're outvoted," Bobby said almost cheerfully.
Xavier was puzzled. Was Bobby intimating that Castiel's vote was worth more than his own, or that of any of his colleagues'? Of course he knew that Castiel would stand behind Bobby, but six out of seven was a majority anywhere.
Bobby leaned forward in his chair, staring Xavier down. Time to let this dick know who was running the show, around here. "God Himself offered me this job, and I accepted it. Then, He retired. So I'm God now, and you and your buddies had better get on board, or you can get the hell out."
He relished the shocked look on Xavier's face, but Bobby wished he hadn't had to be so blunt. But he could tell that this guy wasn't going to be someone you could work with. He had a yardstick up his butt and a self-righteous attitude, and clearly he'd already made up his mind about Bobby, even before giving him a chance to show he could do the job. Dollars to doughnuts Xavier had wanted the job himself, and had converted his disappointment at not getting it to this "petition". Like a piece of paper was going to make a difference.
Xavier stood abruptly from his chair, glaring at Bobby. "You'll be hearing from us," he said huffily, and then he turned on his heel and left the office.
What the hell did that mean? Bobby wondered, staring after him. How worried should he be about this? He was God; what could they possibly do to him? But he had enough challenges right now, just trying to learn the job on the fly, and keep all the plates spinning that God had put into motion before He'd left. And now this...what, exactly? Insubordination? Surely not rebellion? Balls.
After leaving the bar, Gail tried her hand at blackjack for a bit; then, about $100 up, she sat down at a slot machine and promptly lost half of it back. Her heart wasn't really in it, though. Everywhere she looked, there were groups of people laughing, having fun together, and here she was, alone. And while she'd always been OK on her own, Gail had to admit she was missing the guys. She should have just stayed with them, and risked the killer hangover in the morning.
So she cashed out and went upstairs, hoping that they wouldn't be back too late. She laid down on one of the beds, put on the TV, and promptly fell asleep.
A short while later, there was a knock at the door, waking her. Gail sat up, and she saw the door open a crack.
"Gail, you there? Are you decent?" Sam's voice.
Was she? She looked down at herself for a moment, disoriented from having dozed off, after being out of the practice of sleeping for so long. She was still fully dressed; the TV and the long day had lulled her to dreamland before she'd even thought of undressing for bed.
"Yeah, Sam, come on in," she called out, hopping off the bed.
In came Sam and Dean, with Castiel propped up between them. She could see that all three of them were the worse for wear, goofy grins on their faces. Gail smiled. She was glad that they'd had fun; hopefully tonight's fun had been worth the way they'd be feeling in the morning.
Sam and Dean deposited Cas on the nearest bed. He mumbled something no one could understand, and promptly passed out.
Gail was undecided between being amused, and feeling sorry for him. Then she decided on a bit of both. Well, at least he could sleep it off, now. She'd help him deal with the consequences tomorrow.
Dean and Sam were still grinning, swaying on their feet slightly. "He kept up like a champ," Dean said to Gail, and Sam looked at Dean. "Until that last club," Sam added.
Dean's smile vanished. "Yeah. Sorry about that, Gail," he said inexplicably.
She was puzzled. What did he mean by that? What was he apologizing to her for? Then she remembered where they were. Oh, no...
"Sorry about what, Dean?" she asked him, suspicious.
But he sat down on the other bed, and a moment later, Dean passed out, too.
Sam grinned at his brother. "Lightweight," he quipped. "Mind giving me a hand, here?" he asked Gail, attempting to rouse his brother. But Dean was down for the count.
"Never mind," Gail said, sighing. "If it's OK, I'll just sleep in your room tonight. I know a losing battle when I see one."
Without waiting for Sam's answer, Gail went to the bathroom to get her toothbrush. She threw her nightshirt and a change of clothes into her overnight bag. Luckily, she'd thought to buy modest sleeping attire, as she was clearly not going to be sleeping in the same room as her man of choice, tonight.
On cue, Cas began to snore, and a moment later, so did Dean. Gail shook her head and rolled her eyes, and she and Sam started to laugh.
"Come on," Sam said, beckoning her to the door. "Let's leave these sleeping beauties in peace."
Once in Sam and Dean's room, Gail looked at Sam curiously. "How is it you're not as drunk as those two?" she asked him.
Sam grinned. "Well, I'm not exactly sober, either," he replied. "But I had something to eat in one of the places we went to, and they didn't. And I snuck in a few glasses of water, too, so I won't be as dehydrated in the morning."
"You always were the smartest one," she quipped. "Well, I'm just gonna - " she gestured to the bathroom, and he nodded. "Sure, go ahead."
After Gail brushed her teeth, put on her nightshirt and had a pee, she came back out to the room, expecting Sam to be passed out, as well. But he was sitting up in bed with the remote for the TV in his hand. She got into the other bed and under the covers. She missed a lot of things about being a human sometimes, but peeing was not going to be one of them, Gail thought. She'd almost forgotten what a pain in the butt that was. She'd have to remember to joke with Cas about that. Well, that was assuming he survived the night, of course. Which reminded her...
"Want to watch some TV?" Sam asked her.
"It's up to you," she answered him. "But can I ask you something, first?"
"Sure, Gail," Sam said, putting the remote down. He had a pretty good idea what she wanted to know. He'd known he was going to end up telling her, anyway. Even if Cas remembered in the morning, he'd likely be too ashamed, and Sam had the irrational feeling that Dean had passed out on purpose, just to avoid his responsibility for the whole thing.
Sure enough, Gail said, "What was that last club you went to? And why did Dean apologize to me?"
Sighing, Sam swung his legs off the bed and faced her. "You've gotta understand, Gail, we were all pretty drunk by then - "
Funny, Sam had just said that he wasn't that drunk. Her eyes narrowed a bit, but she let him continue.
"It was Dean's idea, and we just kind of went along..." Sam floundered.
Gail was starting to get alarmed. This was Las Vegas, after all, and she was all too aware that certain types of establishments were legal here, that were not in many other places. No, they couldn't have. Could they?
"It was a bad idea," Sam said, stalling. Didn't he realize he was just making it worse? She wished he would just spit it out, already; then she would have to decide just how much forgiveness was in order, if any.
"What kind of place was it, Sam?" Gail asked again, steeling herself for the answer. "Just tell me, already!"
He hung his head and said, "We took Cas to a strip club."
A strip club! Gail almost laughed with relief. If only he knew what she'd actually been thinking. Although she felt a bit weird about it, likely quite irrationally, this, she could deal with. Probably.
"It was Dean's idea, but I should have said no," Sam continued. Then, in a rush: "But nothing happened, Gail, I swear. Dean got a lap dance, and he tried to get Cas one. But Cas refused, and he got mad at Dean for bringing him there, once he realized what kind of place it was, and then Cas said he was leaving. Dean didn't want to go, but Cas said he was going to punch Dean out if we didn't come back here immediately, so we did."
He looked up at Gail, and the expression on Sam's face reminded her of that of a child who'd just been caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar.
Gail couldn't help but laugh then, both at the look on Sam's face and at the relief she felt. She should have known better. Cas may be a human right now, but he was still himself, and she ought to have known that drunk or not, he wouldn't consider doing anything like what she'd been briefly thinking.
Sam smiled tentatively, relieved that Gail didn't seem to be upset by what he'd told her.
"So other than that, you guys had a good time, I trust?" Gail asked him.
His face brightened. "Yeah, we did. We talked over old times, and we laughed, a lot. Cas actually has a pretty good sense of humour. I never realized that, before."
Gail smiled at that. "He really does," she agreed. "He just has to come out of his shell to show it. And I guess he really did, tonight! We'll have to help him deal with the consequences in the morning, though."
Sam winced. "Yeah, it won't be pretty."
"Dean can suffer, though," Gail smirked.
They shared a laugh, then Sam said, "Let's just go to sleep." He put the remote on the nightstand.
"Sounds good to me," Gail agreed. She'd been looking forward to sleeping again, too. Just because you no longer had the need for sleep, didn't mean you couldn't miss the wonderful feeling of getting a good night's sleep every now and then. She burrowed under the covers as Sam turned off the light and said, "Goodnight, Sam."
"Goodnight, Gail," he replied. Then, just before sleep claimed her, Sam said, "He talked about you all night."
Gail smiled in the darkness, feeling a little flutter in her stomach. "Thanks, Sam," she murmured, and then she drifted off, still smiling.
Aurielle slept too, but fitfully. As she was in Purgatory, she was neither Demon, human or Angel, but a neutral being, just trying to survive. Purgatory was a brutal place, she had discovered. In a way, it was worse than Hell, filled with monsters who seemed to exist for no other purpose than to tear you limb from limb. It was lucky she had been trained how to fight in Heaven, or she never would have made it this long.
She was dreaming about Castiel, as she always did. About the two of them together, laughing and talking, holding hands. Aurielle knew that he didn't actually love her and he never would, but this fantasy was the only thing that she had to cling to, to sustain her in this horrible place.
Aurielle knew that she had been tricked and lied to by Chuck and Metatron, manipulated into torturing and almost killing the Angel Gail. She also knew now that Gail had not been plotting against Castiel; it had all been a story concocted and spoon-fed to Aurielle, to give her the motivation she'd needed to kill Gail. She'd been all too happy to believe the lie, wanting there to be a good reason, an excuse to get Gail out of the way so Aurielle could attempt to win Castiel for herself. But she now had to accept that at the very least, Castiel and Gail were fulfilling their mission on Earth together as partners, though in what sense, Aurielle still didn't know. Gail must be in love with him; after all, what girl wouldn't be? But how did Castiel feel about Gail? Could there be a chance for Aurielle, still?
But then she remembered the look on Castiel's face when he'd seen Gail in danger, and the hatred and anger in his eyes for Aurielle as he'd stabbed her to death. Those had told her pretty much all she needed to know.
Still, Aurielle retreated into her fantasy world as a means to cope with the nearly constant horrors of Purgatory, and she was slowly starting to lose her mind.
Cas awoke in the middle of the night, dizzy and disoriented. He had to urinate, so he stumbled into the bathroom but did not turn on the light. Like Gail, he would definitely not miss this aspect of being a human. Once he'd finished, he experienced another new sensation. His body was rebelling against all of the alcohol he'd consumed, and he was suddenly feeling very ill. For the first and thankfully only time in his existence, Cas vomited. It was a horrible thing, the worst feeling he'd ever had. But once he was done, he actually felt a little better. He should have known not to drink that much. He promised himself he would never do so again. Much like many humans in his situation had done since the invention of alcohol, he suspected, smiling wryly. He wondered if Gail had ever had this experience when she'd been a human. He'd have to remember to ask her. She'd certainly had a lot more sense than he'd had, tonight.
Cas came out of the bathroom and looked over at the other bed, expecting to see Gail there. But instead there was Dean, and he was snoring lightly. Cas was confused. Where was Gail?
He lay back down on his own bed, trying to remember returning here last night and found that he couldn't, not really. He remembered Gail leaving him and the brothers, in the hotel bar. He had thought that she was angry with him, but she'd assured him that she wasn't. Then he and Dean and Sam had gone to a few places on what Dean had called "the Strip", and they had had more drinks. Cas remembered laughing a lot,
reminiscing with his friends, and talking to them about Gail, and how much she meant to him. Then, everything else was a blur. Now Dean was here, but Sam and Gail were not.
Cas fell back to sleep, still trying to figure it out.
In one of those weird turnarounds life sometimes has on offer, at the same time as his long-ago Brother Castiel was drunk, Crowley was stone cold sober. This was a rare condition for him since his return to Hell, but it was early in the day, and he had just received some news that had momentarily paralyzed him into inaction.
Metatron had escaped from Hell? Why was he just finding out about this now?
It was his own fault. Crowley had let the files and the status reports pile up on his desk since coming back, and he'd finally decided to go through them early this morning, when he could no longer stand the nightmares.
According to the report, Metatron had just simply disappeared. Crowley knew he had no powers here, so how could that be? As two of God's Originals, Crowley and Metatron had extensive knowledge of the way these things worked, more than most. If anyone could have found a way, it might be Metatron, Crowley mused. But as he read more of the report, he noticed that Chuck was also missing, and so was one of the receptionists, a girl named Becky. Crowley smelled a rat; or, more to the point, a conspiracy. He did not particularly care about Chuck or the receptionist; they were a dime a dozen, as far as denizens of Hell went. But he was angry about Metatron. The last time they'd met, Metatron had had the nerve to refer to Crowley as Cain, the persona he'd kept carefully hidden for all these years. Metatron was not the least bit frightened or intimidated by Crowley, a fact that both infuriated and intrigued the King of Hell. And now he had escaped Crowley's dominion, seemingly with ease, probably laughing at the King behind his back.
Could this trio have found the portal to Earth? That had to be the logical explanation.
Crowley made his way to the portal and stood there, deep in thought. Metatron's escape could not be allowed; once word got around, there would be no stopping the amount of gossip and speculation that the King was losing his edge, and could not keep control of his charges. Besides, he'd thought then and still thought now that a being as evil as Metatron might have his uses.
So Crowley stepped through the portal and into the Las Vegas alleyway, where the others had come before him. He waved his hand behind him, sealing the portal. No more. If any of the other tormented souls thought they could just walk out of his domain, they were sorely mistaken. Crowley would find Metatron, and make an example of him.
Garth and Bess had been integrated into the pack of Hellhounds by now, and the trainers were just waiting for word from the King before sending them to Earth to claim the unfortunate souls whose time had run out. Crowley had specifically ordered that the two Werewolves not be sent along with the pack except on his say-so, but as of yet, no such instruction had come. Maybe he was saving them for a special occasion. It wasn't for the trainers to know, or to question. But the souls had been starting to pile up, so they'd begun releasing the Hellhounds back to Earth to do their job, but had held the Werewolves back. Even though there were reports that the King might be losing his grip, they were not about to disobey a direct order.
So Bess and Garth were spared for now, but they lay on the bottom of the cage, whining, fearing it would only be a matter of time until they were forced to uphold their unholy end of the deal. Even though Garth could no longer speak, he prayed fervently in his head. He did not know whether Crowley had succeeded in killing the Winchesters after all, as he'd promised Garth he was going to do on his last visit. Garth really didn't want to take a soul, and he certainly didn't want Bess to do it, either. But he couldn't see a way out of it. Soon they would be set upon humans, and their hunger would overtake them.
