Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me, just my character Angel and bits of the plot.
...
"What? No, you're not getting part of my Grace to help them back. Why don't you ask Bobby to use his soul?" Angel shot at Cas, her arms over her stomach as she took a step away from the holy fire circle. She would never admit that it was in fear of Cas using her Grace without her permission, but years in the cage had made her protective of herself.
"Your Grace would cause less damage," Cas reasoned again.
"What's going on?" Bobby asked as he entered the room.
"Cas needs help. He wants to use my Grace, but I refuse. If he could touch your soul, he would get the power he needs to bring the brothers back safely," Angel answered quickly from the far side of the room.
"It would be more likely to cause harm if I use his soul instead of your Grace," Cas argued again.
"Yeah, well, not going to happen. I'm not paid enough for that," Angel protested. Bobby stepped forward and offered himself, provided Angel would guard them. She agreed, putting out the holy fire to let Bobby in. A flash of light, two cries of pain, and suddenly the Winchesters were back. Angel managed to catch both of the wounded before turning her attention to the brothers. "Help me move them. Cas had to touch Bobby's soul for power and they're both out now. Did you get the ashes?"
"No, we didn't," Sam admitted, kneeling down to help her lay them out.
"Damnit. What are you going to do now?" Angel asked, going to the cabinet to pull out a bottle of wine while the brothers attempted to make the others comfortable. A knock on the door surprised them. Sam went to answer while Angel helped Dean revive Bobby and Cas with the wine.
"We got the ashes," Sam informed them before setting the box down to help them move Cas to the couch and a quickly-recovering Bobby to his chair.
"At least it wasn't for nothing. Bobby should be okay soon. It might take Cas longer to recover," Angel told him, returning to her station at the table. She took out Sam's laptop to look for signs. "Do you have any idea where Eve might be?"
"She'll show herself soon enough," Dean reasoned, eyeballing the stash of liquor Angel had bought when they arrived. She tossed a bottle to him without looking.
"Yeah, but the sooner you find her, the better. There are some signs in Oregon that seem to point to her or some other big bad," Angel told him, browsing through her notes and Sam's. She turned around after a minute and frowned. "Sam, what's this article about Death you've been reading? Are you trying to hide from him?"
"It's just an article I ended up on through links," Sam answered, going over to close the computer.
"If this is about your fear of recovering your soul, sugar, you really shouldn't be worried. I made it millennia. You would be fine after a few years' worth of torture, love, especially with your brother to coach you through recovering," Angel assured him. He whispered something in her ear and she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, phoenix ashes, Eve—She has to eat them, right? How are we going to actually get her to consume them?"
"We'll worry about that later. Right now, we need to find out where she is and let Bobby and Cas heal," Sam informed her.
"Bobby'll be fine in a few hours. Cas didn't hurt his soul," Angel assured them before eyeing Cas. "Your pet angel's another story. It'll take a few days, maybe a week, before he'll be up to anything more than blinking at the ceiling. You were relatively far away and it didn't take a small amount of energy to bring you back. Another drop of soul juice would get him up and going, but letting him heal would work out better for stopping Eve."
"We'll wait, then," Dean decided.
"Good idea. A half-assed attempt isn't going to get us anywhere—even with asses as fine as these."
...
With Eve's defeat, priorities changed. Sam's soul became more important and Dean made a clever play of using Crowley's involvement to hide his true goal of returning Sam to normal. Sam continued searching for a way to hide from Death, despite Angel's warnings that it wouldn't work. An increase in demon and monster activity—thought to be sparked by Eve's death—kept them from achieving their goals quickly. It seemed like an all-out war was brewing and brewing fast. Even civilians seemed to be picking up on the tempest. Dean hated being forced to put Sam's soul on the back burner, but he seemed to have little choice. Their goal became searching for potential battlegrounds.
"Hmm, looks like there's a bean nighe terrorizing a small town in Missouri. Want to check it out?" Angel asked, searching the web on Sam's laptop.
"Bean nighe—isn't that like a banshee?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, they're considered a type of banshee. The mnathan nighe or washer women are seen washing graveclothes of the soon to die. Problem is, their clothes washing marks people for death, not the other way around. This bean nighe's been offing about a person every two or three days and the town's only got a population of four hundred and sixty," Angel explained. "It looks like there are demon signs in the area too. Sounds like our kinda place, eh, sugar?"
"We've gone further for less. What do you think, Dean?" Sam asked, taking the laptop from Angel to show his brother. Dean looked at the data before shooting a surprised look at Angel.
"That's good work. How'd you notice the signs?" he asked. Angel shot him a grin, curling up in her chair with a bottle of gin.
"I told you I'm the best, lover. If a bean nighe was all it took, you should've believed me when I found that incubus back in Vegas. Now that was a feat worthy of my skill," she commented.
"That would've been much more convincing if you hadn't discovered it by sleeping with it," Sam remarked. Angel stuck her tongue out at him.
"All right, all right, that's enough. Let's not go commenting on who's slept with what monsters," Dean interjected. "Now, this town looks promising. Let's pack up and go. Sammy, you can research on the way."
"And my job is to…?" Angel asked, looking at the laptop greedily.
"…whine about boredom from the back seat the whole way," Sam quipped quickly. A pillow knocked him into his brother.
"You'd better hope you stay useful, pet. I could get my liquor just as easily without hunting with you," Angel warned, standing up. "If we're going, you'd better pack. There's no guarantee the bean nighe's going to stay there much longer, even if there are all those demon signs around. I'm going on a liquor run. One bottle of whiskey's not going to get me there."
"I'll take you. Sam can pack," Dean offered, standing. As they were walking out the door, he explained, "Sam never gets good snacks. Last time, he bought me apples instead of M&Ms."
"He does it to bother you, y'know. At least, he does now that he's soulless. I imagine he did it before because he wanted to make you healthier," Angel offered. "Personally, human lives seem too short to me to waste opportunities for enjoyment. Hell, my life's too short to worry about things like health and goodness and I'm immortal. Bacchus is more my god more than Minerva."
"Not a fan of the big guy upstairs either?"
"Daddy Dearest? Oh, yeah, there's a real winner."
...
"Left!" Angel shouted. Sam dove to the left, barely missing the demon's blade. Dean stabbed it before turning back to his own fight. It was down to five demons against the three, a fight they could easily manage. They allowed themselves to be cornered, Angel's quick work providing each of the brothers with a second knife. The demons, seeing how the fight had changed, tried to flee, but Sam, Dean, and Angel made sure they would bother no one again. "That was almost boring, eh, lovers?"
"Speak for yourself," Sam returned, examining a deep gash on his arm. Angel glanced at it.
"You know what would help that? Vodka," she remarked, taking off her blood-soiled jacket and dropping it carelessly onto the ground. "There's little it can't help."
"Like alcoholism," Sam commented. Dean and Angel shared a look over how annoying Sam was and Sam, seeing he was outnumbered, shook his head and headed toward the exit. "Come on. Let's feed your personal demons."
"At least our personal demons don't involve actual demons," Angel stated, pretending to cough. Sam shot a knife back at her, catching her square in the chest. She pulled it out with a frown. "Really?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, would you prefer this one?" Sam asked drily, holding up an angel blade. Angel gave Dean an impatient look.
"He's always showing off his blades. At least you have more sense about how to impress a girl, pet," she commented. Dean laughed, taking the offered blade from Angel's hand and putting it away theatrically. "See? You could take some advice from your brother, Sam. Although your ass will never be quite as fine as his, so you may need to use other methods to impress."
"So we can't show off our blades, but we should show off our asses?" Dean asked. Angel nodded and continued walking.
"If that's the case, why don't we all go to the bar tonight and see who's better at scoring?" Sam suggested drily. Angel grinned and looked at Dean, who seemed worried.
"Oh, don't worry, he probably won't remember any of this when he gets his soul back, sugar. Let him have fun," Angel reasoned. "Besides, he's already been enough of a man-whore that a few more won't hurt anything. From what I've heard, you've been known to get around yourself."
"There's an understatement," Sam remarked.
"As if either of you compared with me. Don't be so petty, darling," Angel commented, strutting to the Impala. Sam rolled his eyes. "I know you rolled your eyes, pet. Don't forget who has access to your laptop."
"You're too dependent on it to hurt it," Sam retorted. Angel shot him a dangerous grin.
"But not to encrypt it," she answered.
"We'd better get to a bar before I have to kill her, Dean," Sam said drily as he climbed into the car. Angel laughed from the back seat.
"Rather, you'd better get him to a bar before all those pent up emotions cause him try something he'd regret," she corrected.
"I'm going to the bar so I can deal with you two, sheesh," Dean muttered good-naturedly. Angel kissed Dean on the cheek and made a face at Sam.
"That's why he's my favorite," she commented. Sam raised one eyebrow, unwilling to give any more hints than that, and Angel smiled radiantly. Playing them off each other was one of her favorite pastimes and Sam was always ready to argue.
...
"—to complete that portion of the—I didn't expect you to seek me out," Crowley remarked, pausing in his instructions once he realized he had been summoned to a seedy hotel. He made a motion with his phone to ask if he needed to end his call and Angel nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you need?"
"About thirty tons of pure ethanol, the population of a small town, Daddy Dearest's head on a spike. Take your pick," she answered mock-cheerfully before motioning toward the chairs. "Sit down so we can talk."
"How long is this going to take? I have other obligations," Crowley commented impatiently. Angel smiled at him, reminding him who had the power in the situation.
"None more important than listening to me, as you well know. I need to know why you kept sending demons to possess Christian. You're welcome, by the way, for the latest's success," Angel informed him. "It's been bothering me and I don't like to be bothered by such boring, silly things."
"I needed information and an easy way to watch the family. Something felt off in their dealings," he answered, looking at her pointedly. She nodded.
"Yes, they worked to keep me a secret as I instructed, although they certainly didn't like me, did they? That's not all the information you needed or you would've just asked or tortured one of them," Angel pointed out. Crowley sighed. Her resumption of power over him was not something he had ever wished to occur. It made him recall his own foolishness in their early dealings. "You may as well tell me everything, lover. I've been patient long enough."
"I needed more details about what they were discovering. My partner and I wanted as much information as possible and a strategically placed possession could more than accomplish that," he informed her, taking the glass of whisky she offered.
"Partner?" she prompted. He looked at her straight in the eye for the first time, holding her gaze.
"Yes. Castiel," he answered. Angel laughed, the sound so natural Crowley doubted if anyone less familiar with her would catch the surprise in it.
"You bastards! Now that's the strangest set of bedfellows I ever expected to see. It certainly makes why he didn't kill me make more sense. The brothers have softened him to the point that he's willing to work with you. How much worse could it be to hire me to their side?" Angel mused.
"He tried to kill you?" Crowley asked, mildly surprised. He thought the angels would surely have found out about her particular skills and tried to win her over. She wasn't known as Poena and Delicia for nothing.
"Only half-heartedly. A blade to my throat, a few questions. His pet humans interfered on my behalf," Angel answered easily. "It ruined a good bottle of bourbon, though. Shattered it all over the ground. I had to drink beer."
"How terrible," Crowley sympathized drily.
"So, back to the important bit. Why are you and Castiel working together? Is this really about Purgatory or is it about something else?" Angel asked. Crowley glanced at his phone. He was going to be late to a torturing he had set up. Angel noticed the look and rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that you're King of Hell now. You're probably too busy to waste your time on me."
"I would rather be elsewhere, but I will answer your questions," Crowley answered, ensuring she understood exactly where they stood. Angel watched him for a moment before shaking her head.
"Come back tomorrow at this time and you can answer the rest of my questions. I can be reasonable. I hope you can do the same," she remarked, a familiar glint in her eye warning him not to disappoint her. "And, of course, I expect you not to breathe a word of this to anyone."
"Of course. I'll bring some of my favorite tomorrow to make up for the bourbon you lost to Castiel," Crowley informed her, standing up.
"How kind of you, pet. Just remember that flattery will get you nowhere," Angel warned, stretching lazily. Crowley popped out of the room to return to his obligations. Angel, on the other hand, resumed her drinking, glancing at the clock and nodding to herself just as the Winchesters returned. Her timing was impeccable, as always. They would have no idea that she'd met with Crowley or learned anything about his involvement with Castiel.
"You haven't finished that bottle yet?" Sam commented. Angel rolled her eyes.
"Dean, want a glass? It's good and I share good things with my friends," she offered, pouring the glass before he answered. Dean threw himself into the seat Crowley had so shortly vacated and accepted the glass. "You'd better get back to researching, Sam. Now that the bean nighe's gone, we need to move out—and sooner rather than later. There are some husbands and wives that aren't very happy with me in this town."
"Imagine that. Did you sleep with all of their spouses or did you leave one or two just to confuse them?" Sam asked mockingly.
"As if you didn't sleep with at least thirty women in the three weeks we've been here. I would know. There were a few I slept with too and, let me tell you, did they complain about you," Angel retorted easily. Dean choked on his bourbon and began coughing.
"Funny. I heard complaints about you," Sam answered. They glared at each other, their impromptu competition temporarily heated. Finally, Angel shrugged and smiled.
"We both know we're lying. Let's not fight over something that isn't even true, eh, sugar?" Angel suggested, offering a truce. Sam nodded imperceptibly, accepting it. Angel turned to Dean and handed him a refilled glass of bourbon. "You all right, pet? You're still red in the face."
"I'm fine," Dean assured her, glancing at her and Sam before downing the whisky. It bothered him to see Sam's increase in uncharacteristic behavior and he knew that it would only get worse until he got Sam's soul back. He knew he needed to connect with Death sooner rather than later. He wondered if Angel could help, but dismissed the idea. She was too blasé about his torture and outcomes to help him keep Sam as safe and whole as possible. He knew he would have to do this part on his own.
...
"Hmm. There's a face I haven't seen for centuries," Angel commented as she sat down at the restaurant's counter. Sam and Dean looked at her like she was crazy. "Death, why don't you remove the ring, pet, so they can see you?"
"Very well," Death replied, appearing in the seat beside Angel. "It has been long since we last met. I hope that was due to an improvement in your conditions."
"Daddy tried to kill me less, if that's what you mean, but 'improvement' is too much of an exaggeration. I adapted," Angel answered him. "You look well, though. Has being Death treated you well?"
"It gives me the chance to travel. I am here to meet Dean, for instance. I chose this spot due to the breakfast special they prepare," Death answered, glancing up at the menu.
"Ah, a soul-talk, eh? I hope they've got some alcohol hiding in the back somewhere," Angel muttered, trying to peer into the kitchen. She stood up and motioned for Dean to switch seats with her. She turned her attention to Sam in an attempt to distract him and give Death and Dean a chance to talk. She was curious how they would handle the whole situation.
"I'm not going to sit here while you two discuss getting my soul back without my permission. I don't want it. You know how dangerous it would be, Dean," Sam declared, standing. "Angel will help me block your attempts, right, Angel?"
"Sorry, lover, but there's not much I could do if they're determined. Perhaps if you convinced Cassie boy to help as well, but I can't protect you on my own," Angel replied, backing out of the fight. She wanted to see what would happen. She wondered if Sam would even survive long enough to know his soul was returned, let alone form a judgment on it. Sam stormed out, leaving Angel, Death, and Dean. Dean gave Angel a pleading look. "Oh, very well, I'll go try to calm him down. You know it won't work, right? He's not going to be okay with this."
"Yeah, I know. I've got to try it anyway, though," Dean informed her. Angel nodded and left to find Sam, pretending she understood even though she couldn't possibly understand the importance of a soul.
"As you know, I have the capability of recovering your brother's soul from Hell. What remains to be seen is if you have anything to offer in return," Death informed Dean, looking at him. Death remembered how old he was when he looked at Dean, at once so young and so old in his own right. Death pitied the boy and cared for him. He understood something of the pain of Dean's existence and wanted to let Dean know something of his. With that in mind, he proceeded to make an offer—an unprecedented offer that would shift the boy's reality for a day. Dean, eager to help his brother, accepted without really understanding. Death saw that and proceeded anyway. He wanted the boy to know.
...
"I won't help or hinder you. You do this of your own power and I have nothing to do with it," Angel remarked as she spotted Death and Dean walking up to Bobby's door.
"You bear no responsibility," Death assured her. Accepting his word, she opened the door and let them inside.
"Will you at least come with us? If he's physically injured by the process, could you heal him?" Dean asked. Angel went with them reluctantly. She wanted no part in their work, but she wanted Sam to survive, so she went to help if she could. She could feel Sam's soul from her proximity to Death and knew it wasn't going to be a pretty process.
"What do you intend to do?" she asked Death. He slowed his step to walk by her side, letting Dean go on ahead to Sam's room.
"I will return his soul and put up a mental barrier to block all memories between his soul's loss and now," Death informed her.
"His soul is damaged. It taints the air with a taste like ash—charry and bitter," Angel commented, uncomfortable around it. Some part of it was reaching out to her—feeling her own experience in Hell—and she didn't like the feelings and memories it revived.
"Yes. That is why the mental barrier is key. He would go insane or die without it," Death told her quietly, watching her. He had been called to the Cage enough times in the early days to know that, whatever Sam's soul had gone through, it was nothing compared to the torment of the little angel he once knew. The fact that her torture had the strength to release him from his chains and return him there on more than one occasion was enough to prove it to him.
"The barrier won't last," Angel pointed out practically. Death shrugged.
"I have explained that, but Dean will not listen. He wants his brother back and I will help him. Perhaps the strength of his devotion will see them through," Death answered. Angel shook her head.
"No. If he survives, it will be by his own power. Dean knows that, although he was only tortured by Alistair. No one recovers from the worst of torture with help. It always has to be alone. He hopes his brother is strong enough. He doesn't have the perspective we have—although your perspective may be different than mine after all," Angel remarked, looking at Death. Something in her voice had softened and Death remembered the little one that had cried and begged to die. He remembered being unable to reap her and being forced to leave her at her brother's demented mercy.
"Indeed," Death murmured as he entered Sam's room. Sam was asleep, making the process easier. Death ensured he would not wake before opening his case and returning the boy's soul. Angel shook her head. Sam began to flail and Death looked to Angel, motioning for her assistance.
"I will protect his body while you see to his soul, but on your heads be it," she agreed, sitting at the edge of the bed. She placed her hands on Sam's back and whispered something the others didn't catch. Sam grew still, allowing Death to work on him. When Death was finished, he warned them to keep Sam from trying to find out the truth, as the barrier he erected was not permanent and would fall from attention. Dean accepted his word and Death vanished.
"How is he?" he asked once Death was gone.
"Physically, he'll be sore. His soul tried to transfer some of its pain to his body, but Death recalled as much of it as possible and blocked it off. He's going to sleep for hours or days now. Let him if you want him to be as okay as possible," she informed him, looking up at Dean when she was finished. "His soul is badly broken and he will one day know it. If you care for him, you better hope it's capable of healing."
"I'll do everything I can to help it."
...
"What does Cassie darling think of Sam's soul being returned? He argued against it enough," Angel asked, looking across the table at Crowley with a dark expression.
"He was against it. He's the reason Sam returned without it in the first place," he pointed out. Angel nodded.
"Yes, you did hint at that before. What I want to know is why? Why bring the boy back as an automaton when any other human could've been given the correct knowledge to help Castiel? Hell, a demon could've done it. Why go through so much effort to use the Winchester boy?" Angel thought aloud. Crowley shrugged.
"Familiarity? Angelic weakness?" he offered. Angel snickered.
"'Angelic weakness.' If that isn't a phrase I never expected to hear. Castiel's too human in his emotions and mannerisms. Surely you've noticed that or you wouldn't have commented that way," Angel remarked. Crowley nodded.
"He would give up his Grace if the right deal was offered," he commented.
"Like a human giving up its soul—except with more knowledge of the consequences," Angel added. "They're all such a disappointment. I always expect more, but they all prove to be so soft. Ah—I see that expression. Are your remembering your own foolish softness or my feigning of it? It was never anything personal, you know."
"Yes, I am aware. You were obeying orders," Crowley said. His mind went back, as hers did, to their first meeting. Crowley knew how good of an actress the woman could be. He had never met a better and he knew that whoever managed to get her true allegiance in the newest fight of angels had a good chance of winning. It was one of the main reasons he was working so hard to stay on her good side.
"And now you're obeying the orders of a different angel—a respectable leader of one, even. Well, the others think he's respectable. You've given me enough dirt to know otherwise," Angel mused, smiling to herself. "I just want to know his purposes for my current employers. I do hate to have to stage unexpected rescues."
"Why are you working with them? I don't buy the 'keep Lucifer in the Cage' spiel," Crowley asked as casually as he could. Angel shrugged and smiled. He recognized it as a sign of danger.
"They're searching for Daddy Dearest and I want answers. Is that such a surprise? The angel-turned-abomination wants to ask why. What do you think that says about her, Crowley? Does it show weakness or does she just want to torture God for what he allowed?" Angel asked, moving to sit on the arm of Crowley's chair. She leaned around him, noting his nervousness with pleasure.
"I don't know. You would hardly let your motives be known and I couldn't guess," he answered, uncomfortable with her proximity. He remembered the last time they were close and shuddered internally. It was not a pleasant memory. Angel sat up and motioned for him to get up.
"I've tortured you enough for one evening. Go and remember not to tell brother Cassie anything we spoke about—although I think it would cause as much harm to you as it would stir up trouble for me," she instructed. Crowley thought it was her truest statement of the day and nodded, popping out of the room. Angel took the seat he vacated and picked up the bottle of scotch he had brought. She smiled in remembrance of their earlier days, her ruthlessness a source of inspiration that reminded her she could accomplish whatever she needed to now. She knew she could do whatever she wanted.