So I'm officially not-canon. Crying hysterically. Anyway, I'm gonna continue and then maybe cast off into season ten, still in this AU or with more canonical evidence, I'm not sure. RIP Abby, right? Ugh, she was such a good villain. At least we had her for a good two seasons, which is more than we got for Lilith (my actual number one).

Any-old-who, I'm off. Enjoy!

"You named

it after me

but I'm not yours to keep

because

you'll never see

that the stars are free."

-Marina and the Diamonds, Buy the Stars


Metatron liked a lot of things. He liked being in charge, he liked the ferocity of lady werewolves and the softness of the neieds, he liked killing nephilim and cutting his name in the world with an iron fist and a collection of tablets that probably would have been better left unfound. But most of all, Metatron liked an engaging plot. Characters that moved you and span you in circles you didn't expect. When Edgar Ellen Poe had written the first real mystery, he'd been enthralled. What would happen next? Where was the letter? Was the queen truly an adulteress? After that, they got steadily better. Agatha Christe had always tickled his fancy. Poiroit and Ms. Marple being his two favourite leading characters. Intrigue, suspense, all the clues pointing one way but the decision ending up another. Enticing stuff.

He liked making assumptions, he liked being lead one way , the Governess, the Chimney Sweep, and then being torn in the other direction, the warm hearted gentleman, the smiling old woman across the street. He liked suspense and change and intensity. He liked all of it.

Except when he didn't.

Metatron didn't need to sleep. He was an angel, nearly God, after all, and he nearly constantly wrote on his story. On Castiel and the Winchesters, on the chronicles that would wipe the Winchester Gospels out of existence. He normally strode around, thinking about how he would entrap the Winchesters this time, or how he would tear at the tender heart of Castiel, until he'd come up with a plot point and then happily sat down on his type-writer, keeping careful tabs on the earth below, watching as what he wrote became law.

Except when it didn't.

Metatron strode into his study with a glass of whiskey in one hand and the other clutching a muffin that he would pick to crumbs, brushing them along his desk as he struggled with the next surge of the plot. When would he kill of Hannah? She'd become suddenly important to Castiel and the Winchesters. What about the Trans? Would he turn Kevin vengeful, make him kill his own mother? Charlie? Would she make a reappearance, or would he leave her to wander Oz, companion to Dorothy? Or would he bring her back, place her in the careful hands of his new surrogate family, and then kill her off as well?

Crowley? What was happening with that bastard? When was he going to fall? And Abaddon? He honestly liked her tactics, her bright red lips and her careful war plan. Her chaos. She was appropriately Hell. A fearful enemy.

But now he sat and he looked to earth. Gadreel had set up the Horn of Gabriel (who's owner had long passed out of existence, killed by his own brother trying to save the Winchesters) and everything was going according to plan.

Except it wasn't.

Free Will called out to him like a beacon, like a towering lighthouse.

Metatron scrambled for the script and read through it, pacing again and again over what he had written.

Because they'll take the script, and they'll tear it up. Because that's what they do. That's what they'll always do.

And you can't stop them.


The Mark of Cain was a physical manifestation of the itch that the blade actually was, a turbulent, all too constant ache and crack on Dean's psyche. Every waking second, it was always at the back of his mind, the fear, the violence, the power; all rocked up into one half-assed jaw bone. Sam couldn't know, and Sam didn't know how utterly entranced he was by the thing. Sure, if Dean had been a few years wiser and little less on the internalized side, he might remember Sam's demon fiasco to a greater extent than he had. He might see himself in his brothers place, the demon on his shoulder dressed a little better, with a British accent and no hidden lack of regard for the human of its choice's safety, but everything was spelt out the same.

Maybe he wouldn't feel so hopeless. Sam had conquered it, hadn't he? Found his ground and pushed. To be fair, he'd had a reset button pressed when God or whoever had zapped them back into that plane after the Lucifer Rising special, but Dean hadn't known that it was still there, today. That it trembled at the back of his brothers mind, that it haunted him, that he'd never be rid of it. That addiction. At least with Dean there was the hope that one day it would be removed, that he'd pass it on, that the power and the fear and the weird strength.

But he threw it on the back-burner. Because they were nearly with Gadreel, and Metatron, as dumpy and stupid as he looked, was the front-runner of their problems at the moment. A never ending list of problems. And the damned mark just added some more weight to the package. Hopefully all of it would be worth it.

"Dean," Sam's voice. His anchor. Right? That's what happened at Magnussen's house. Drop the blade. Dean. "You right?"

Drop the blade. Dean shook himself and made sure that Sam didn't see him treating the Marked arm any more carefully than his other. "Fine. Dandy. When are we going in?"

"Soon," Sam whispered back, glancing around to where the other angels were readying themselves at the exits.

Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes and glanced up at his brother. Night had well and truly fallen by now and the worry lines only elongated in the low light, shadows cast across Sam's face like he was ten years older and a thousand miles away from where they were. "You ready?"

A steely look of determination took over the worry and Sam nodded, setting his jaw and looking adamantly to the ground, sticking his courage. "Yeah. Yeah I'm ready."

Cas appeared behind Sam, creeping through the dark like he had gotten his wings back. The angel was still wearing the weird new trench-coat and his bright blue eyes dimmed in the darkness.

Dean glared. "Jesus, Cas! Some warning, next time?"

"I thought the idea was to be silent," Cas said, frowning. "We do not want to alert Gadreel to our presence."

"Won't he know we're here anyway?" Sam asked.

Cas shook his head, glancing around to where the rest of the angels were ready."He will sense angels and assume that the horn of Gabriel is working. I would not be surprised if it were. It is quite..." he grimaced and glanced, half longingly and half sickened toward the centre of the warehouse. "Unnerving."

"Fair enough," Dean stated, glancing around and seeing Hannah and Romeo ready at their entrance. They weren't talking, but stood shoulder to shoulder. It jarringly occurred to Dean that this angel had killed their friends, their siblings, right in front of their eyes. "Everyone else good to go?"

Cas nodded. "As soon as you are."

Dean glanced to Sam. "You right, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed but nodded. "Yeah." He glanced at Cas hesitantly. "N...Now?"

Cas nodded. "As soon as you can. Time is of the essence."

Sam blinked a little before moving closer to the door and placing his hand on the wood. "Right. Yeah." He looked back and met both of their eyes for a second before taking a deep breath. "Wish me luck, right?"

"Don't need it," Dean assured him. "Everything'll be fine."

Sam nodded again, gave himself a moment and pushed through the door and entering the dark, abandoned building. The entrance snapped closed after he had disappeared through it.

Cas and Dean watched that space for a few minutes. Dean found his hands clenched, his eyes hard in his head, staring dead ahead.

Please, please; like a song, around and around in his head.

Cas noticed his friends discomfort. "He'll be fine, Dean."

Dean nodded, his jaw following the familiar line, up and down. Cas wasn't convinced though and cast his eyes heavenward, looking towards the skies, the stars, and wondering where it had all gone so wrong.


"Sam? Absolutely not."

"Dean. Come on, there's no other way."

"Not like this, Sammy. You could die."

"I could die anyway."

"Well, yeah. Thanks. Especially with that attitude."

"Can you please try and be reasonable for three minutes?"

"No."

"This could be everything, c'mon."

"I'm not letting my brother go in there alone."

"I won't be going anywhere alone. You'll be five seconds away."

"No."

"Let me do this."

"No."

"Dean. It is the only way."

"Cas, tell your second in command to shut her damn trap."

"Don't talk to her like that."

"She's saying we send Sam to the front line!"

"Everyone is saying I go out first. It's the best way."

"No."

"It's my choice."

"I-"

"Don't you dare say that you don't care."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

"The answers still no."

"Dean! Please, man."


Sam strode through the warehouse like he was supposed to be there. His hands shook though, and his feet ached to turn heel and sprint back to where he'd come from, to his brother and Cas and safety. The building was on its last legs, rickety and shaky and coming down around itself. Sam's boots tread through water and dust and his breath hissed through dust and howling whirls of dirt. The wood creaked and the cement was littered with graffiti.

Woe All Who Enter Passed This Point, some kid trying to be clever and unique had scrawled out in big red letters. Sam glared at it and trudged passed, trying not to look back at it, trying not to picture a demon, eyes glazed with madness, slitting open their wrists and painting the message in gore and pain. Tried not to give it any weight at all.

The darkness prickled at the back of Sam's spine and sent him shooting suspicious glances into rooms.

"Sam Winchester," the voice jarred at him, not because it was the voice he'd heard purring away in his subconscious whenever he recalled the months as an angels bitch, but because of the tone, the lilt around his name, the eyes, wide and careful as they took in their old vessel.

Sam looked around and saw Gadreel, in the vessel that he had first been in, the vessel he'd picked up immediately after falling to earth. Not all vessels were strong, and he was lucky he'd gotten one so quickly. He was luckier that the next one had been a Winchester and luckier still that he was still alive, despite having tricked the brothers.

Sam stared at him coldly. Not alive for much longer. "You still remember me, then?"

Gadreel smiled a little. "Do you greet all previous possessors in that way?"

Sam's face was unmoving. Kevin. All those angels and their vessels. Tricked Dean. He ignored the other pounding thoughts, him healing Sam, saving Charlie, Cas, fighting off Abaddon's demons. He had done that to keep up appearances. Nothing more. "No."

Gadreel dropped his smile and looked at Sam more keenly. "Why are you here, Sam? You brought the angel, didn't you. Castiel? He found the heart of the Horn of Gabriel and followed me here."

Sam didn't feel like lying, so he stiffly inclined his head.

"Interesting," Gadreel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "I feel him, and other angels are nearing. The Horn calls them all. Why are you here, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. The angel blade hidden up his sleeve fell into his hand. "To kill you."


"Why? Don't you think I'll be able to handle it?"

"Of course not! No one could handle this!"

"It's one angel."

"So?"

"So, I can take him."

"No, not this angel, Sammy."

"What, you think I'm just gonna fly off and kill him or something?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I think."

"Fuck off, Dean."

"Sam, be reasonable. You don't exactly have the best track record."

"Excuse me?"

"Does 'Jake' ring a bell? That Crossroads Demon? Hell man, you thrive on confrontation."

"Don't say that. Don't say that and give me two examples."

"Sam, your brother does have a point."

"No, not you too, Cas. You know that this is the only way."

"Cas, seriously?"

"Sam's right, Dean. We have to trust him."

"Yeah. I've damn well earned it."


"Other angels are coming," Gadreel said, eyeing the blade slowly. "They see you attacking me, who are they going to help?"

"I don't care," Sam bit, hating how much emotion was stealing into his words. "You've ruined everything."

"That was your brother," Gadreel reminded him, urged him. "He talked you off the edge of the cliff, not me. He was the one that let you in, not me."

"You tricked him," Sam snapped. "You made him believe that you were truly there to help."

Gadreel faltered. "At...at the time. I was."

Sam pulled back. "What?"

"Metatron approached me when I was already possessing you," Gadreel said.

Sam shook his head. "You sent Cas away to save your own hide. You really think I'm gonna believe that was heroic behaviour?"

"They do not understand," Gadreel spat bitterly, he couldn't meet Sam's eyes. "None of them. He would have seen me for who I was an casted me out of you. There was no other choice."

"There were other choices," Sam hissed. "Dean didn't know-"

"Who I was, yes?" Gadreel pressed, finishing Sam's sentence. He looked at Sam eagerly, like he'd found a flaw in his argument. "But he called off to Castiel as soon as I made contact with him. Castiel would not have allowed me to come near you, nor your brother."

Sam's lip curled and he looked at Gadreel in disgust. "You are hearing yourself, right? Our friendly, trusted angel would have given alarm to a dangerous and treasonous angel, and you think that we'd be wrong to back off?"

"I served my time," Gadreel assured him sourly, his jaw held tightly. "I served more than my time. I let a lonely traveller into Eden. You call me a fool, perhaps I was. Naive and young. But Lucifer was not always bad. He was the angel of light and music."

"Yeah, don't worry, Luci and I are tight," Sam snarled.

Gadreel suddenly paused and looked at Sam slowly. "Did he ever speak of me, Lucifer?"

Sam swallowed and felt venom control burning behind his eyes. "I don't know, you tell me. You were inside me for all those months, right?"

"I would not pry on that part of your life."

Sam clenched his hand tighter around the Angel Blade. "Wow. Very decent of you. I'll write it right up next to 'lied about his name' and 'doomed humanity for all time'."

Gadreel watched Sam sharply. "I am not the only one who lead the snake to humanity."

Sam stiffened and looked at him dead in the eye. "Don't you dare-"

"You thought you were doing it for noble reasons, yes?" Gadreel pressed, looking desperate, eyes flicking to Sam's. "You thought you were ridding the world of a great evil."

"And I payed for it," Sam said, like it was scripted, like he didn't really believe the words he was saying. "For years-"

"And so did I, Sam," Gadreel pleaded. "Look at us. We are not that different. Your body was clean as my vessel. It was true. We are akin spirits."

Sam's face turned cold. "We aren't. I'd never possess someone, take advantage of someone...not like you did."

"Perhaps," Gadreel inclined. "But our lives both have been devoted to trying to fix things that we did. We spend all our lives trying to be forgiven. Me? By my superiors, by my brothers and sisters, but you? Sam, I have seen you, seen the depths of your self-hatred, you need to forgive yourself."

"I have forgiven myself."

"Stop lying," Gadreel told him, not harshly, but steadily. "You haven't. You probably never will, not in your waking years. You fix Heaven, you die, and you'll blame yourself up there as well."

Sam relaxed suddenly. He'd been counting, over and over in his head, one to 60, rhythmic and slow, a steady beat of seconds leading to a minute. "That's five."

"What's five?" Gadreel asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Five minutes."

"For what?"


"I promise. Jesus."

"Ok, ok, I'm just checkin'."

"Chill, Dean. I can distract him. No big deal. I'll just debrief him on his stay."

"Don't be a bitch, Sam."

"Don't be a jerk, Confundo."


Castiel, of course, had been confused to why they had been smiling.

But now he walked next to Beatrice, laying down the holy oil tentatively, making sure that the little they had was enough to make the distance and also thick enough that they could light a fire long enough to trap Gadreel. It was tedious and slow and they triple checked every corner and crevice, dried every puddle and smoothed out every mound of dirt. Cas had said five minutes, but he was worried it would take longer.

"Hurry up, man," Dean pressed urgently, eyes flicking constantly towards the warehouse, where his brother was alone and Gadreel prowled, the Horn of Gabriel beating faintly on the wall.

"We are working as fast as we can, Dean," Castiel shot him an annoyed glance. Then he softened. "Sam will be fine. Angels have a tendency to form soft spots for their old vessels."

Dean glanced at Cas. "This angel ain't really the normal type, though. I mean, he did lie to us, use us, use Sam, trick us into believing he was on the good side and then, wow ok this one's a doozy, killed Kevin."

"He brought me back to life, healed Charlie, saved Sam," Castiel shrugged. "He has done much for you and for us. I feel like we shouldn't so easily dismiss him as evil."

"Commander?" Beatrice looked up at him, holding her vase of holy oil dejectedly. "We're out again."

Cas nodded and passed her another vase, picking up his spot behind her, either leg straddling the line as he made sure that he had not missed a spot.

Dean hissed in frustration and tugged freely at the Mark of Cain. "I just wish this was over."

Cas looked up at his friend and smiled softly.


"Holy fires a bitch to get your hands on."

"Thanks for that, Dean."

"No, Sam, your brother's right. We don't have much in our stores."

"We have some."

"Not much, though."

"What do you think, Hannah?"

"I think we can do it. We'll be cutting it close to the line, though."

"Five minutes?"

"I can distract him for five minutes."

"I dunno."

"Dean! Seriously?"

"Fine."


"Sam Winchester," Gadreel spoke slowly and deliberately, glaring down at the younger brother. "What have you done?"

"You killed Kevin, you son of a bitch," Sam said coldly, and his resolve didn't shake. "There's a lot more I would have liked to have done."

Somewhere, outside, Dean flicked on his old lighter, the one he'd found crammed down the back of the Impala from a few weeks ago. He'd held it tightly in his hand and remembered holding it in Heaven. He held it tightly and thought about Sam and all that had gone wrong.

But now he held it with determined ease. His hand slung easily around it like it had been born with him, like Dean had come charging out with John's old leather jacket and Sammy's necklace, hand clasped around a small square of silver. He flicked the cap off, sparked the flame and dropped it into the oil.

His face warmed by the growing yellow flames, and it seared alone the path they'd woven precariously. In his pocket, five minutes and twenty seconds before they'd finished with the oil, Sam had pressed his fingers into his pocket and sent a text.

Dean hadn't had to text back.


The angels hadn't been able to go through the flames, edging away from it, the spell of Gabriel's Horn waned when it was brought up against a deterrent like that. Hannah and the others, who'd seen Gadreel cut down legions of angels watched with unease and unbridled hatred. All the while, the flames burned on.

Dean walked through the warehouse like Sam had, except where his brother had had to act like he knew exactly where he was supposed to be, Dean knew for sure. His feet scoffed extra loud on the ground and he moved along the same path as Sam had, following his brothers footsteps through the dark, a small cruel smile on his lips.

He saw Sam before he saw Gadreel, and it was a good thing as well, because he would have stopped, dumbfounded, when he saw Gadreel as he was. Instead he walked forward, nearing his little brother.

"Find him, then?" Dean asked, drawing closer.

"Better," Sam turned and kicked toward a crumpled body.

Dean stopped short and stared up at Sam. "You killed him." It was a statement, devoid of judgement or congratulations, devoid of anything.

Sam shook his head and raised his eyebrow. "Don't you have any trust in me? God. No. Angels, they can be knocked out. Fun to know, right?"

Dean watched Sam with a new sort of respect. "Damn. Yeah, it is. How hard you have to hit?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, flexing his right hand. "Hard enough."


"We need to save this," Castiel begged, sitting opposite a shackled Gadreel at home base later that day, the angel having been bound and driven across the countryside, banging angrily on the roof of the boot when he came to and then refusing to speak since he'd been brought out of the car.

Gadreel didn't bring up any words now, only glaring steadily at Cas through murderous eyes. He sat across from Cas's bed on the seat the motel had place in his room and Cas sat on the edge of the bed, looking earnestly into his brothers eyes.

"Brother, please," Cas pleaded again. He gestured outside. "How many more angels have to die? How many more peaceful angels are going to be forced to fight? Why does this war come, Gadreel? When we can stop it? Angel, fighting angel...you know, as well as I. This has to stop."

"You've killed angels," Gadreel finally broke his silence and watched Castiel through the same, burning eyes. "Murdered your own. Betrayed heaven. Became God."

Cas found the words oddly fitting to have been the ones that came out after all those hours of silence. "I did. And it is with this that I am trying to repent."

"Penance," Gadreel spat. "Then we are more alike than you think. Why do you suppose I joined Metatron? His rule is final, he is the modern era for angels and for demons and for man. He is the future and it is with him that I can finally redeem myself, Castiel. From who else do you suppose I will receive such a luxury?"

"Me," Cas stated easily. "And the angels that follow me."

"The angels that follow you have hatreds buried so deep that they can do nothing but be slaves to it," Gadreel stated factually, with no small amount of bitterness. "They will not take to me. Not if you ask them. You are an angel, not if you command it. Metatron is god." Gadreel nodded slowly, as if he was convinced, as if he were entirely on board. If not for the doubt. If not for the questions. "They will follow him. They will forgive me if he commands it."

"The angels that fell to earth?" Cas stated. "You know them? You know of what they did. They aren't warriors, Gadreel. They have seen Humans only from afar. They are administration. They are carers. They do not deserve what Metatron did to them. They don't deserve to die like they are."

"Metatron is rebuilding Heaven," Gadreel stated, reluctantly moved by Cas's words. Cas took this as a sign, a hopeful sign, that there was still some goodness in the angel that sat across from them, still reason for belief in his rise to their side of this war. "He is fixing everything. Reviving the truths and cleaning out all that had gone wrong."

"Souls aren't getting into heaven," Cas snarled. "Souls are floating around in Limbo. Don't tell me you believe that this is just. Don't tell me you believe that this is honourable. Heaven was made for humans, we were made to serve Heaven. Don't you see where the problem is? Why you must conform to us? Why Metatron ruling for all eternity would severely screw up the rest of forever?"

And it seemed to hit Gadreel, like it had hit Esther, that this, this was it. Metatron, their new father, swaying in the heavens, writing his stupid scripts over and over again until forever.

"I'll leave you," Cas stated heavily, standing and sighing, moving to the doorway and pressing his hand around the cool metal of the handle. He paused and glanced back, where Gadreel was watching the floor softly, eyes tracing the designs inscribed into the cheap carpet.

Then he turned, opened the door, and left the angel, imprisoned for so many years, suffering so many tortures, to suffer waiting for a few moments more.


"What do we do with him?" Sam asked as Cas joined he and Dean in the motel room they'd picked out. The owner looked at them tiredly and suspiciously, like he was three more weird, wayward strangers checking into his out-of-the-way, out-of-date, out-of-style motel. But he checked them in as the Jones brothers and hadn't made a move to call the authorities. Which would have been pretty awkward. Considering that the Winchester brothers were supposed to be dead.

"Leave him," Cas shrugged. He was sitting on the chair, similar to the point of hilarity to the one Gadreel was shackled to and the Winchesters sat on their respective beds, Sam on the left, Dean spread out on the right. "He will come around. He is a good angel, deep down, and he feels like he must repay the world in order to come back to it."

"He did kind of doom humanity for all eternity," Dean frowned, glancing at Sam, who's bemused and irritated expression conveyed the same sentiment.

"We should kill him," Sam muttered, casting his eyes down, not wanting to see Cas's reproachful, knowing eyes. "Put the son of a bitch out of his misery."

Cas wasn't mad, he was patient. He'd learnt a lot in the years that he'd known the Winchester's, learnt a lot when he was a human. Humans, they err and they fail and they fall, but all the while they are trying the best they can. Perhaps they lose the sight of this, the light. Perhaps they fall too far to be held, to be brought back, but no one man is born evil. No one human is born a murderer or a rapist.

Empathy, Cas thought. That's what that is. That slinky, shivering goodness that he'd first felt when he'd possessed Jimmy and then in terrifying clarity when he'd lost his angel grace and returned to earth lost and alone. The most promising ingredient to world peace.

"We can't kill him, Sam," Cas said. "We kill him and war starts. War on a scale unheard of. We averted Michael and Lucifer, but this...this could be almost as bad."

Sam was silent and Dean watched his younger brother with a still sort of unease.

"Well," Dean said, his brightness sarcasm. "Can you leave so I can sleep?"

Cas nodded. "Yes, I should get back to Gadreel anyway. He is sturdy and hard to crack, but I'll get there in the end."

"Sweet," Dean lay back and closed his eyes, head pressed firmly into the middle of his pillow.

Sam glanced over at his brother and rolled his eyes. He looked at Cas and his eyes turned pleading. That puppy dog, please, oh please, look that seemed to work on everyone.

Oh no, Cas unconsciously drew back a few millimetres.

"Can I question Gadreel?" Sam asked, softly, like it was ok to say no, that he wouldn't be disappointed, that it was ok-

"Sam, go get laid or something," Dean growled, eyes still closed, impervious to his brothers wide pleading eyes.

Sam blinked them off and scowled. "Wow, thanks Dean."

"I'll be off," Cas stated awkwardly, standing and then shuffling out of the room, closing the door behind him and breathing a sigh of relief as he stood outside their room.

Sam Winchester knocked Gadreel out because they needed to capture him. It had been hours and for most of it, all he'd given had been silence. Now? Now all Sam needed was a blade.


Sam drew his jacket around him and entered into the drop-out bar on the outskirts of town with hunched shoulders. It was their usual haunt, pool tables and breasty waitresses who leant over to pick things up for tips, and male bar-hands watching the scene pass by with deadened eyes. There was cheap whiskey in it's expensive cousins bottle and beer that had probably had it's brewery mates served when John Winchester had whizzed through 15 years ago.

Sam glanced around and breathed it in, the stale bar nuts and sweet tang of spilt beer and let it out slowly. It all rushed back at him, on his laptop looking for Dad, trying to get Azazel for what he did to Jess, researching other children whose mother had died in a house fire when they'd been six months old, tracking down a way to combat a demon deal, tracking Lilith, Ruby perched over his shoulder, her perfume stinging his throat. Then there was how to prevent anyone from ever being a vessel, his methodical, cruel research when he'd been soulless, then the Leviathan fiasco and everything, right up until they'd found the bunker.

It wasn't that Sam didn't like having a home base, didn't like having somewhere he knew he could stay, only having to worry about one person if he'd forgotten to bring clothes to the bathroom. Where he could cook in the kitchen, where Dean could cook for him, where he could stretch out and run his fingers along the spines of books collected by the Men of Letters. It was nice and it was warm down there, it felt safe, like the world had finally done them a solid.

It didn't mean he didn't like it when everything was easier. When all that was on them was their Dad and Jess and their mom, when the world seemed too large for one person to carry.

Well, Sam thought bitterly, sitting down at the bar and signalling to the Bar tender to pass him a beer. I showed myself, didn't I?

It was so easy to be bitter, with Gadreel getting off free for what he'd done to them, with Cas so willing to forgive. Sam breathed in, thought and thought, and breathed out, and tried to be a better person.

Forgiving Gadreel would come, he knew it would. There was nothing irredeemable, no person so wretched they couldn't fight for a way to come back. Gadreel had struck a chord with Sam when he'd said that they were similar. Because he was right. They were similar. They were almost exactly the same.

"Wow, you look terrible," it was a barmaid that told him, matter-of-factly, passing him his beer and wincing slightly. "Man, when was the last time you got some sleep?"

Sam took in the sweet-faced blonde opposite him and thought back. "Ah...a while."

"Shit, yeah," she nodded. Then she paused and narrowed her eyes. "Hey, you're not on anything, are you?"

"Wait, what?" Sam said, taken aback. He shook his head. "No. No way. Never."

"Ah, good," she said, relaxing her shoulders and running a damp cloth over the bar in front of him absently. "Cause then I'd have to kick you out. Cal hates druggies."

"That's $12 whiskey in a Johnny Walker bottle," Sam raised his eyebrow and gestured behind her.

She laughed and nodded. "Yeah, well, let it be said that the man has a way of seeing the world." She smiled to herself and then stuck out her hand. "Kelly."

Sam clasped it in his and shook it. "Sam. Hi."

"Hey," she said. "Probably should have covered that one at the start, right?"

Sam nodded and smiled. "Probably." He downed a mouthful of beer and she hung around. He didn't want to be rude, but he also wanted to know what she was doing still hanging around him. He was dealing with the end of the world and trying to drown his sorrows spelt out in DEAN and GADREEL out of the bottom of a cheap bottle of beer. He preferred to do that sort of splurging on his own.

She glanced up shyly. "So, Sam, waiting for a girlfriend or something?"

Ah. Damn it. "No, not waiting for anyone. Just kinda wanted to be alone." Sam hoped she would take the massive, in your face, pretty rude hint, but she didn't, she just brightened and beamed at him.

"Awesome, more for me," Kelly said, smiling flirtatiously at him, moving away to serve another customer.

Sam dropped his shoulders and nearly groaned. Now he was going to have to leave, going to have to run away and buy lots of more expensive booze at the bar in town. At least there he'd be alone.

Kelly placed another beer in front of him and winked. "On the house."


"Gadreel, we are trying to help you," Cas begged, almost yelling, pacing in front of the bedraggled angel. "So please, please help us."

"It would be cowardly," Gadreel stated evenly. "It would be wrong to betray Metatron. After all he has done for me. He deserves more than what I have given him. For giving me a second chance."

"I would in a heartbeat, and I wouldn't make you kill to prove it!" Cas snarled.

"And look at you, Castiel!" Gadreel's voice rose to meet Cas's. "You run the tiniest portion of this war, you lead a band of administrators and scribes. Metatron has warriors, he is constructing Legions. What are you to stop him? What is anyone? I cast my lot in with the winning side, the side that will still hold my esteem high after this is over. Metatron asked payment and you ask for nothing, and you ask why I don't trust you?"

What happened to him, Cas reflected worriedly. All those years trapped and tortured. Give much, take little.

"That is not how I see the world, Gadreel," Cas stated calmly. "Forgiveness is not a currency, killing is not something you can trade in for a higher purchase. There is generosity and goodness in this world. So much it dwarfs even the highest angel. Metatron is using your ignorance against you, your belief in the flawed ways of the system."

"He isn't."

"He is, Gadreel," Cas sighed, running a hand over his face. "You want forgiveness? You think that the angels trapped on earth will thank you for trapping and killing them? You think that Metatron will protect you from the sheer hatred that will come your way if you continue to betray them?"

"They will not forgive me anyway," Gadreel stated steadily. "Metatron's power is protection from that."

"So you'd prefer to be feared?" Cas asked slowly. "Feared as Metatron's right hand man? You know what fear does, Gadreel? It shuts people down, one by one. Until there's one person, one angel, demon, monster, human, whichever. And they will fight back. You're not asking for forgiveness. You're lying to yourself. You're lying to me. You want fear and death and chaos."

Gadreel was breathing heavily, if angels could lose power of their lungs, Cas would suspect that that was what happening. He was panicking. The truth, bundled together and bashed into your mind, is a harsh way to take reality.

Cas looked down at him and a great sadness overtook the General Angel. Because this man, this angel, this creation of God, he was flawed and severe and wronged, but he had so much potential, so much to achieve. But here he sat, reacting to Cas's words exactly as he had hoped he wouldn't. He hoped he would look him in the eye and helped him, not fought against himself.

Gadreel, perhaps, was proof of flaw beyond repair.

"You have not changed, Gadreel," Cas told him, shaking his head, and preparing to take leave from the renegade angel again. "And the stories, they are all true."


"Hey, ginormo," Dean tapped Gadreel on the shoulder. Gadreel perked up, out of his severely deep reverie. He saw Dean standing over him, hand clasped around an angel blade, with the same tempo and rhythm as the one Sam had been holding. Dean smiled when Gadreel met his eyes.

Gadreel pulled back a little, away from Dean's too close face and as far back in the chair as he could. He worked his jaw and nodded slowly. "So you have been the one sent to kill me after all."

Dean pulled back and shook his head. "Nah. Cas doesn't know I'm here."

Gadreel looked up with more interest now. He studied Dean's face carefully and saw the smile, the one he'd noticed as soon as Dean had made his appearance notable, was that it was small, forced and cruel. "Why are you here, Dean?"

"Remember how," Dean started, the angel blade hanging impossibly lose in his hands, impossibly natural. Gadreel studied the human across from him curiously. How did a man become so proficient with a weapon of Heaven? "I told you I was going to make you pay for what you did to him?"

Gadreel shifted and his chains clinked together. "I had assumed you'd already done that."

Dean's smile dropped and he looked Gadreel dead in the eye. "You used him to kill Kevin, you used him in ways beyond messed up. You, my lovely, angelic dick, can never pay for what you did."

"So it is to be torture, then?" Gadreel asked feeling his face fall into the familiar grooves, sending himself to the familiar place. A place where he could hide, control himself, a presence deep, deep down inside of himself. He'd been tortured for all eternity. He could take whatever this human had to dish up. "I'm disappointed Dean, I expected more."

"You were tortured your whole life, right?" Dean asked, handling the angel blade between both hands, weighing is and bouncing it up and down on his palms. "You ever meet someone called Alastair?"

Gadreel watched Dean warily, closing his eyes. "Yes."

"So, me and Ally, we were tight," Dean said, and Gadreel could hear the pain in his voice, under years and years of denial and suffering. It hid, it hissed at him, like the Snake had, with false promises, all those years ago. "Real tight. Bffls, right? And he told me, when I was on the rack, to help him or take another day of it. The torture, that is."

Gadreel did not react beyond taking a long slow breath.

Dean glanced over at him. Gadreel could see the forced nonchalance, the forced looseness of his stature. Everything about himself was being thought about, thought carefully about. Gadreel saw him putting on a show, saw how scared and small he was. Sam, he would sacrifice himself for Dean, in a second. In an instant. If it meant Dean to survive, to live on and find the hope that he had. He had suspected that Dean had done something, something that helped him survive the trials, no matter how messed up he had been. But he didn't press it. Because he remembered when Dean had been going to die, when he'd been going to Hell, and he'd offered a solution. The spell with the man who'd lived forever, immortality served in science and magic. But Dean had refused, and Sam hadn't pushed it. Sam had found himself thinking about that a lot, that day, that terrifying year, when Gadreel had been possessing him.

It was curious, to Gadreel, how he could focus so diligently on the one thing, the one promise that no, Dean wouldn't do that or if he did do something, it would have been entirely safe, medical. No messing around with Demon Deals, or witches.

Ah yes, Sam had worried that Dean had sold his soul again. For him. As if Sam didn't feel bad enough that he hadn't finished the final trial and slammed the gates of hell forever.

"Anyway," Dean continued. "For-"

"I lied, Dean," Gadreel said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Dean glared across the room. "What, about knowing Alastair? Because that's not all that important right now, pal, and-"

"About Sam," Gadreel stated slowly. "About dying for you."

You're my brother. And I'd die for you.

Dean watched him slowly, the 30 something year old looking small and almost childish before Gadreel. "What?"

"He would Dean," Gadreel closed his eyes slowly.

Dean looked hesitant, but then he spat it out. "What else do you know?"

"That he loves you? That he doesn't hold anything against you for not being so lonely? That he said all those things to make you mad? That his life is one of seven billion, but to him, you're worth more than all of them combined." Gadreel watched him dejectedly. "Of course, I do not know how that may have changed since you allowed me to possess him, but it is in him, it pounds through him. He left Amelia for you. He was going to take the interview and then leave with you, kissing Jess goodbye and promising to see her in a few months. That now, and then, whenever he looked forward into whatever might one day happen, he was not happy if you were not there with him."

Dean swayed a little, his sight lost across the top of Gadreel's head. Then he snapped to attention and glared at Gadreel. "Why are you telling me this? Now?"

Gadreel sat back carefully in his chair. "Because I have made up my mind and would like to see Castiel now."

Dean looked at him, shocked, and then entered the Angel's phone number into his phone. The angel blade lay discarded on the bed.


Sam slurred forward and grasped the bar bench heavily. Kelly giggled and caught some of his weight so that he didn't smash his head on the table.

"'Hanks," he murmured, placing his hand carefully on the bench and smiling, dazed, at the waitress. "You're pretty."

"You're very handsome, Sam," Kelly grinned and sat him back down. "Another."

Sam nodded eagerly and accepted the next bottle of beer. He downed a quarter of it in a single gulp before setting it down heavily on the bar, right next to where all the other empty bottles sat, the water on the outside still melting off the warming glass.

"You know," Sam managed, eyes half closed. "I once da'ed a werewolf."

"No," Kelly said, wide eyed, teasing. "What was her name?"

"Maddy," Sam said, suddenly mournful, downing another quarter of the amber liquid. "I miss her. And Jess. And Amelia."

"Unlucky in love?" Kelly asked, sobering a little and watching him with wide, knowing eyes. "Same here. Always get dropped just as I think we're getting somewhere."

Sam stared moodily down at the puddle of condensation at the bottom of his bottle. "They all died. Well, not all, but I couldn't save them."

"Sam," Kelly said, her voice turning urgent. "What do you mean?"

"Sarah, too," Sam said, and he looked like he was nearly in tears. "I really, really like-liked her, ya know?"

"Sam, who died?"

He cut off the sad and glanced over at her, eyes bright again. "Waddabout you, Kel? Can I call you Kel? Nice and short and pretty."

"Sure," Kelly said, not smiling. "Sam, please, who died?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. Lot's o' people."

"Is there someone I can call for you?" Kelly pressed. "Do you need to talk to someone?"

"I need..." Sam frowned and then started again. "I need'a talk to m' brother."

"I mean like a Shrink," Kelly pressed.

"I need'a tell him that 'm sorry," Sam slurred, reaching to stand up again, but stumbling back into his seat.

"Sam, it can wait. Who can I call to pick you up?" Kelly asked quickly.

Sam waved her off. "I 'ave a car."

"You're smashed," She protested, glancing around the room and seeing a few interested eyes looking their way. It was still day outside, but the bar had been steadily filling since about 4. "Please, Sam. Do you need me to drive you home? I'd order a cab, but it, well, we don't have any-"

"Kelly," Sam interrupted. Then he smiled. "Kel. Um. Can you please get me another beer?"

"You finished the one I just gave you?" Kelly asked, dumbfounded. "Already?"

Sam shook his head, nodding down to his shirt. "Spilt it."

"I'll get you a shirt," Kelly stated quickly, hopping around to the back of the bar where a few old, white shirts had been left for some unknown reason by come infuriatingly complicated boss. Now, though, she was glad Cal was so anal about so many random things.

She pulled it up and moved to Sam, hoisting him off and helping him walk to the kitchen, pushing through the double swinging doors. The kitchen was pretty simple, a fryer, an oven, a microwave and a fridge. All they needed for the simple meals they offered.

Kelly helped Sam out of his jacket and placed it carefully on the bench, then helped him strip the rest of his layers off, the plaid and then the grey undershirt. It was soaked through and Kelly tried not to stare appreciatively at his broad, clean chest.

She sighed and pulled the shirt over his head, helping the swaying man to lean against the wall.

"Sam?"

Kelly looked over her shoulder and saw a man standing there, big green eyes and a face that could have fried an egg.

She nodded toward him. "Had a bit too much to drink."

The man rolled in and sighed, hoisting his brothers arms over his shoulders. "Thanks. Jesus, Sam."

Sam mumbled, dropping off sleepily, leaning on the shorter man.

Kelly saw how instinctively they touched and narrowed her eyes. "You're not...dating are you?"

The man rolled his eyes. "No. Christ. We're brothers."

Kelly hesitated but then smiled. "So, uh, you'll take care of him now, then?"

"I always have," the man muttered, heaving his younger brother along. "Why the hell did you let him drink so much?"

Kelly shrugged innocently.

The man sighed again before hitching Sam's arm further around his shoulders and heading out back into the bar, and through the window, Kelly could see him nod at one of the customers, the one who'd probably shown him where Kelly and Sam had headed off to.

Kelly scowled and scrubbed at her face angrily, before running her hand through her hair. Jesus Christ. Why did this always happen?

"Hey, Kelly," Cal, her boss inched into the kitchen, almost angry. "What the hell was with the free beer? The dude drank most of our stuff!"

"Can it, asshole," Kelly rolled her eyes and strode forward. She picked a knife off from where they were stacked next to the microwave and held it loosely in her hand.

Cal watched her wide eyed. "Kelly?"

She smiled, small and feral. "Not anymore."

She marched over and slashed him quickly through the throat. Blood smashed across the wall and his head ached back from the gaping slit through his neck. He fell heavily to the floor and Kelly brought out her goblet.

She knelt down and allowed the blood to trickle into it, watching with boredom as the last of the light left his eyes.

Her eyes flipped to black as she swirled her finger through the red, muttering the incantation under her breath.

Abaddon's voice reached her from the other end and she responded evenly, distractedly, her head swaying softly like she was listening to music.

"Yes, as expected...the tattoo, you were right...yes...no...it was his brother...yes...

"I'll take you to him."


Gadreel and Cas, they had looked at each other so constantly in the past few days that it had become more of a standard state than something they consciously chose to do.

"There's only one way to enter Heaven," Gadreel stated. "Secret. Known only to Metatron and a few others."

"How do we get through it?" Cas asked.

"You'll need me to show you where it is," Gadreel said. "And you will need a reaper to open it."


Hands up if you knew Kelly was a demon. Bc I did. Holla. Haha.

Anyway, forever bitter bc Abaddon is not ruling the world with her awesome lipstick and on-point hair.

Later.