A/N: Aahh, these are the chapters I like to write! Long ones! Whoops! Italics. Sorry about that! Could've erased but, eh. So, hi again. Okay, so this update happened really quickly (somehow) so I kinda take back what I said at the beginning about it being a while. It may still be a while, but I have never abandoned a fic, so if you like, don't be afraid to follow, k? Ask anybody, I have spells where I update twice a day and then twice a month.

Enjoy!

BTW, I do shoutouts for reviews and I do reply! :) They make me very happy. (Read that in Cas' voice. You just did, didn't you?)

Twenty-two years later…

The clouds exploded upward, expanding and converging over the land, darkening the sky with the threat of a violent thunderstorm. Beneath the thick evergreens, the weak light barely touched the ground and would have been nearly impossible for a human to travel without a flashlight.

Demons, however, suffered no such inhibition.

They crouched beneath the trees, at least forty of the twisted beings, hissing and cackling to each other as they prowled forward. For them, there was no difference between day and night, their black eyes needed no light to see, accustomed as they were to the caverns of Hell.

"Look at this one!" one of them called in harsh voice.

Several others hurried to investigate his find.

An Angel lay on the ground, his wings in tatters and his body horribly broken and ripped apart.

"Looks like Zulrach got hold of this one," one of them cackled.

Another one crouched and tore out a handful of soft, gray feathers.

"You didn't kill this one, Kish," one of them scolded.

Kish smirked at his trophy. "So? Help me stretch him out. The wings are my favorite."

Another one scowled distastefully. "Too much work," he said and took hold of the muscular arm, salivating hungrily. "This is the best part."

Yet another ripped open the Angel's shirt, preparing to carve his way into the lean stomach muscles.

Suddenly, a brilliant white light enveloped the trees, burning into the very ground. The demons screamed in agony and clawed at their faces as their eyes were seared inside their skulls. An instant later, thunder exploded around them and a figure landed in their midst with the force of a meteor strike. The shockwave rippled the ground like water, levelled all of the trees in a two-mile radius and ripped the demons apart.

The sound faded into echoes and the blinding flare was replaced by the gray light of the afternoon. Slowly, mournfully, the first drops of rain began to fall.

Castiel rose from where he'd landed, his knee stained with the dark earth of the forest and his massive, coal black wings flared in preparation for combat. He glanced around slowly, watching for survivors. He didn't expect to find any. Such low-tier demons had ceased to be a challenge for him long ago and even mid-tier demons stood no chance when he unleashed the full extent of his wrath. He strode forward, tucking his wings behind him now that there was no need to fight. The demons, what remained of them, were strewn amidst the fallen, blackened trees. Black blood and entrails smeared across the ground, sometimes all that was left. He stopped and stood over the torso of one of the foul creatures and he felt his wrath rekindle at the sight of the gray feathers in its hand. He snapped his fingers and the remains exploded wetly.

He moved to his fallen brother and knelt beside him. Amriel was the captain of a squadron that had gone missing a week before. Castiel had found each of them, all dead but none quite like this. Zulrach had obviously enjoyed himself.

Castiel gently turned Amriel's body and folded his broken wings against his sides, setting the shattered bones so that he could be buried properly, with honor.

Another presence pushed inquiringly against his Grace and he stood as the Angel landed nearby. "What news, Kimuel?" he asked grimly.

"I found Zulrach, Commander," the Angel reported with a salute. "He has entrenched himself within a human city and fortified it."

"Where?" Castiel asked, and the air seemed to twist in the quiet lethality of his anger.

Kimuel pointed. "Northeast," he replied.

Castiel nodded toward Amriel's body. "See that he is taken care of," he instructed.

"Castiel," Kimuel stepped forward as though to keep him from leaving.

Castiel spared him a dark, warning glance. "Yes?"

Kimuel stepped back again and nodded an apology.

Castiel spread his wings and took to the air without another word. The wind and rain buffeted him and lightning cracked the air between the clouds and the ground. When he felt the abysmal presence of demons, he landed, not wishing to be seen. He walked the rest of the way and crested a hill that overlooked the city, a sign near the road read: Welcome to Philadelphia. The sheer number of demons he sensed caused his Grace to recoil. Kimuel had been right, Zulrach had indeed turned this human city into his fortress and it would require a significant force to breach the defenses, and raze it to the ground.

Among the demons, he could sense humans, as well.

So, Zulrach has not long been in residence.

He could feel their fear, their desperation. He knew at least some were trying to escape, while others simply tried to hide. A small part of him felt regret for them, for the hopelessness of their situation. They hadn't asked for Heaven's war to come down to Earth. The first inkling they'd had of the actual danger they were in came nearly a human year after Lucifer was cast from Heaven, when Raphael landed and obliterated a city the humans called London. How they could have missed the thousands of demons prowling through their world was beyond his understanding. Then, when Raphael killed the Knight of Hell that had resided within that city by way of a human host…

Castiel frowned at the screams coming from the city. Any being who could abide the indwelling of a demon could only be just as equally corrupted. These tainted creatures did not deserve his pity.

So, he had been told.

As he watched the city, movement caught his eye and he saw a small group of people, two adults and three children, running across the road, heading for the trees on the other side. A swarm of demons poured over the road behind them and within moments, they had overrun the family. The high-pitched screams reached him and he closed his eyes in an attempt to shut them out. In the silence that followed, he took a deep breath to steel himself, to remind himself of his duty.

Humans were filth, an infection, a cancer. They deserved nothing less than to share in the complete eradication of their demonic counterparts.

So, he had been told.

He spread his wings, preparing to leave but was unable to tear his eyes from the city. He could feel the souls that remained inside, the terror that permeated the air. An icy tendril coiled around his Grace and the heat of his wrath died to a smolder. He lingered on the hilltop, telling himself that he was watching the movements of the demons, seeking vulnerabilities in the defenses. Night fell and the fires scattered throughout the city became more visible. The deep shadows of the buildings were broken by the flickering orange light, screams echoed in the darkness, high and shrill with pain and he suddenly felt as though he was standing on the edge of Hell.

Humankind deserved this fate.

So, he'd been told.

The rain poured down his feathers in inky rivulets and he spread his wings with a wet snap. He had seen everything he needed to, and a great deal he wished he had not. Zulrach had indeed acquired an unassailable position and it would take time to plan a successful attack. However, in that same amount of time, the defenses would only become stronger.

He flew back to his garrison, eager for a little bit of rest. With a forceful flap, he angled himself up higher into the sky until he broke through the clouds. The sun was warm and the water on his wings sparkled in the light, throwing off prismatic shafts of light with each movement. The air was clear up here, devoid of the pollutants that permeated the Earth below. This high up, he couldn't smell the Demons prowling around, or the millions of decaying human corpses. He caught a wind current, stretched his wings and glided along, unable to deny that he felt a little guilty for this small indulgence. Amriel and his entire squadron were dead, the Knight of Hell responsible was untouchable and he just wanted to forget it all for a moment.

When he came close to his destination, he pulled his wings in close and fell toward Earth. The wind whistled by him until it became a non-sound. He could feel the molecules stretching, almost as though they were trying to restrain him, then, just before he broke through the barrier, he slowed to a drift. He flew between the mountain peaks and surveyed each garrison as he flew over the valley, checking for anything amiss. Then, he banked up the mountain slope and landed at his garrison on the other side.

Raphael had selected this place as his center of operations because of the towering mountains that surrounded them. The humans had named this place Durmitor National Park, which Castiel found confusing. He had seen many human parks during his time on Earth and this place had nothing in common with them.

"Castiel."

He turned to see his second in command, Uriel, striding toward him. He nodded a greeting.

"Raphael wants to see you," Uriel told him, his dark face tense with barely concealed worry.

"Very well," Castiel replied, refusing to acknowledge the concern that the Angel was trying to hide.

He made his way to Raphael's pavilion and the two guards stopped him at the entrance.

"Raphael wished to see me," Castiel told them, hiding his impatience behind an impassive expression.

"Come in, Castiel," Raphael's deep voice came from inside.

Castiel strode between the guards, forcing them to lift their weapons over his head. The ebony skinned Archangel cocked an amused eyebrow at the subtle display of dominance.

"I was surprised," Raphael began, "when you did not return with Amriel's body."

A nervous shiver went through Castiel and he fought the urge to shift his feet to relieve the tension. Proper protocol dictated that he stay with the body until others came to claim it, but this was one of the loosest statutes. Had it been any other Angel, Raphael wouldn't have bothered to notice. Castiel's garrison was one of the strongest in Heaven's army and one of the few that was situated so closely to the Archangel's quarters. While it remained a position of honor, it was also the equivalent of standing near the headsman's block.

The garrison's original commander, Anna, had fallen not long after Lucifer's fall brought Heaven's war to Earth. Every Angel was under orders to kill her on sight if she was ever found. Castiel, as her second in command, had filled the position but the entire garrison was still under close scrutiny by the Archangels, Raphael in particular, to ensure that Anna's seed of treachery had not taken root elsewhere.

"I received a report from Kimuel that Zulrach was in the area," Castiel answered. "I left instructions that he guard Amriel and I went to investigate."

"You could not have sent Kimuel on this errand?" Raphael asked.

Castiel's Grace flared slightly in indignation at the petty question. What Angel guarded the remains of a brother or sister was unimportant. He felt Raphael's Grace pulse in warning.

"Kimuel only had his general location," Castiel replied calmly. "I needed to know more and I did not know what that would entail. I did not wish to risk him unnecessarily."

"And what did you learn?" Raphael inquired imperiously.

"Kimuel had told me that Zulrach was residing within a human city," Castiel said. "His initial report was that the position was unassailable. Unfortunately, I found him to be correct."

"No position is completely unassailable," Raphael said coolly, as though the idea was a personal offense.

"True," Castiel agreed. "But it would require more than what we have at our immediate disposal. We are spread too thinly to launch an effective siege."

"How many Demons?" Raphael inquired.

"Two thousand," Castiel answered.

Raphael actually looked surprised by the number. "Were there humans, as well?"

"Yes," Castiel replied simply, a sense of dread settling over him at the question. His next answers would have to be very careful.

"Did you take note of how many?" Raphael's black eyes took on a predatory gleam.

"Has their existence in the war become a matter of significance?" Castiel asked in mild surprise.

Raphael smirked. "No," he answered. "But you are usually so much more thorough."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "They are filth. Vermin. And that is the attention I gave them," he replied coldly.

"Yes, anything that can hold a Demon deserves to be destroyed," Raphael agreed. He stood and strode to a small table and poured two drinks. "You did well," he said in a pleased tone, offering Castiel one of the crystal chalices.

Castiel accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. The nectar was cool and refreshing but he maintained his rigid bearing, unwilling to relax in the Archangel's presence.

Raphael chuckled. "Come now, Castiel," he urged jovially and Castiel tensed. "How many humans remained? We both know you counted them."

Castiel took a casual sip from his drink, trying to ignore the memory of the screams coming from the city, the small family torn apart as they tried to escape.

"One hundred," he answered.

Raphael nodded knowingly and sipped his drink. "I wonder if we shouldn't wait to attack," he said. "Give the Demons time to finish off the rest of them."

"I fail to see what difference it would make," Castiel commented.

Raphael shrugged. "Convenience."

Castiel nodded in understanding.

"You must be tired," Raphael remarked after a moment. "I won't keep you any longer."

Castiel only nodded again, set his glass down and turned to leave.

"Oh, Castiel," Raphael called him back.

Castiel tensed with dread, sure that the Archangel's amiability had only been a mask, a pretense to lull him into a false sense of safety. Raphael was cruel enough to play such a game.

"Yes?" he turned to face him, hiding his anxiety behind an expression of mild curiosity.

"Take your garrison to the United States," Raphael told him. "Zulrach has made it his residence for a reason. I want to know that reason."

Castiel's eyes widened in surprise. "We shall leave within the hour," he said.

Raphael dismissed him with a nod.

Castiel made his way back to his garrison, still reeling from his orders and what they meant. He would no longer be under Raphael's wrathful scrutiny. In fact, this placement was tantamount to a promotion. His garrison was safe, at last.

"Castiel," Balthazar intercepted him. "Are you alright?" he asked, not even trying to hide his worry.

"I am fine," Castiel assured him.

"Raphael doesn't normally keep you that long," Balthazar commented. "You look like you've been through the wringer, old chap. What's happened?"

"I need to address the garrison," Castiel told him.

"No, you need to rest," Balthazar told him. "What's going on? I'll pass the word around."

"We have been reassigned to the United States," Castiel replied, fighting to keep his voice steady as speaking the words aloud stunned him, yet again. "We leave within the hour."

"Alright, then," Balthazar said, clapping him on the shoulder and subtly steering him toward his quarters.

Castiel frowned at him.

"You rest up for a bit," Balthazar told him. "Uriel and I will see to the preparations."

"I'm fine," Castiel growled.

"You're barely keeping your feathers off the ground," Balthazar replied.

Castiel gave him a dry look. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

"It isn't much of one," Balthazar retorted. "Go on. We know how to pack up."

Castiel huffed and nodded and Balthazar walked away. He stepped inside, closed the door and heaved a deep sigh, finally letting his relief wash over him. His shoulders fell and his wings sagged with the sudden release of the anxiety that he'd been burying ever since he'd received command of the garrison. The knowledge that his every movement, every word was being measured and picked apart in the search for treasonous tendencies had weighed heavily on him.

He had faced the wrathful scrutiny of the higher Angels, the looming threat of death before and borne the burden with ease because then, there had been nothing for them to find.

This time, however, that was not the case.

He sank down into a chair, suddenly feeling very alone as his relief and anxiety chased each other in a vicious circle, drawing the memory to the fore of his mind.

"Anna? What are you doing?"

She turned to face him, her face drawn with pain. "I can't, Castiel. I can't do this anymore. I won't."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. He'd caught her on the edge of the encampment behind their garrison lodgings in the middle of the night and desperately wanted it to mean something other than what it looked like.

She looked at him sadly. "This war wasn't meant to spill over onto Earth," she said. "Even though it has, it was never meant to dissolve into this…this slaughter. The humans had no part in this fight."

"Anna, you can't—"

"I won't, Castiel," she told him determinedly. "I won't kill them and I won't stand by and watch them be killed. They are our Father's creations, just as we are. They aren't filth! They aren't vermin! We were meant to be their protectors, not their executioners!"

"This is treason!" he hissed, panic welling within him.

She shook her head. "Then, so be it."

"Anna, don't do this," he begged. "They will hunt you down. They will force us to hunt you down!" He had to stop her. He had to make her see reason.

"Let me go, Castiel," she said softly. "We have always been close. If you've ever cared for me, let me go."

A simple request. An impossible request.

"They will interrogate me," he told her. He had always cherished their closeness, never suspecting that it would be their undoing.

She saw the fear in his eyes and she stepped closer, wanting so badly to offer her oldest friend some comfort. "I know."

"I can't promise that I won't break," he warned sadly.

"I can," she replied and slammed her blade into his chest, just below his heart

He gasped in pain and instinctively raised his hand to smite the thing that was killing him. His Grace sputtered and failed and his hand fell to her shoulder as he gazed down into her eyes in shock. Tears slid down her porcelain cheeks as she held him there. His knees started to buckle and he gripped her arms hard, trying desperately to hold himself up, gasping for air through the white hot agony that enveloped him. He tried to call for help, tried to reach out with the remnants of his Grace, only to feel hers, always so much stronger, restraining him.

"Anna," he rasped her name as a plea.

Then, a sharp groan of pain was torn from him as she pulled the blade free. He grasped at her shirt as he sank to his knees, gazing up at her, his eyes wide with the pain and horror of the personal betrayal. She knelt in front of him, cupped his face in gentle hands and kissed his forehead.

"I won't let them punish you for my decisions," she whispered and stood up.

He reached for her, begging silently for her not to leave him, not to let him die, and crumpled to the ground as she vanished into the darkness. He was still trying to call for help and suddenly, the restraints on his Grace were gone. An instant later, he heard frantic wingbeats.

"Castiel!"

Balthazar rushed to him and pulled him up against his chest, pressing his hand over Castiel's wound. Castiel flinched at the pain, the only protest he could muster.

"HESTER!" Balthazar bellowed, his Grace flaring as he held his wheezing, dying friend, trying desperately to fuse their Graces together to keep him alive long enough for help to come.

Castiel awoke a few days later to find Balthazar sitting beside his bed. His friend's eyes widened with surprise and concern.

"Balthazar," he rasped and winced at the effort of speaking, the dizziness that washed over him.

Balthazar leaned close. "Sh-sh-sh, don't talk," he urged softly, a fear in his eyes that Castiel didn't understand.

The door crashed open and four Angels stormed inside.

"Move!" one of them ordered coldly.

Balthazar held up a beseeching hand. "No, wait," he begged. "He's injured! He just woke up!"

Two of them dragged him away and pinned him to the far wall.

The other two dragged Castiel to his feet.

"Stop!" Balthazar cried. "You're going to kill him!"

"Raphael already plans to," one of them hissed.

They dragged Castiel to the Archangel's pavilion and threw him to the ground. He tried to suppress a cry of pain and choked on it instead.

"On your feet," Raphael growled, the air vibrating with his wrath.

Castiel nodded and struggled to do as he was ordered. The moment he stood, however, he collapsed to his knees with groan, his wings fluttering in an effort to keep him upright.

"Actually, keep him there," Raphael growled menacingly and hands grabbed Castiel's shoulders. Then, he nodded to the Angels who had dragged him in and they stepped forward and took hold of his wings.

A visible shudder went through the wounded Angel but he didn't make a sound.

"Where is she?" Raphael demanded.

Castiel shook his head weakly. "I don't know."

Raphael leaned forward. "Your garrison commander has abandoned her duties and Heaven. She has committed high treason. Do you honestly expect me to believe that she never confided to you in this matter? Her second in command?"

Castiel shook his head again, denying the accusation and the memory. "I tried to stop her," he said hoarsely. "I tried to make her see." He felt the Angels' hands tighten around his wings. "Break them, if you wish," he said in a devastated tone. "It will change nothing."

Raphael studied him for a moment, then dismissed the Angels on either side of him. Then, he approached Castiel, dragged him to his feet by his throat and sifted through his memories with a viciousness that made the Angel groan faintly. Castiel's denial was the truth he saw, but he could see little else of the night actually in question. The memories were jumbled and overlapped and he could feel a different Grace tainting them, something that usually only happened when an Angel tried to alter memories.

"Bring Balthazar to me," he ordered.

"I'm already here," Balthazar answered. "Get your hands off me," he snarled at the guard and snatched his arm away. "I told you he would want to see me."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Raphael demanded dangerously as Balthazar pushed his way forward.

"When Anna attacked him," Balthazar began, looking at his weakening friend, "he tried to call for help but she blocked him. When I finally got to him, he was nearly dead. I fused my Grace to his to keep him alive long enough for Hester to arrive."

Raphael stepped forward and seized Balthazar by the throat and sifted through his memories, as well, finding the weak presence of Castiel's Grace lingering over his memories of those moments.

"I am satisfied," Raphael announced and released his grip on Balthazar. "Get him out of here."

Balthazar shook his head dizzily and lifted Castiel to his feet. "Come on, let's go," he said and started walking toward the door.

One of the guards stepped forward and reached for Castiel.

"Don't touch him!" Balthazar snarled. "I don't need your help. Hester!" he barked.

She appeared immediately and took Castiel's other arm across her shoulders.

"Thank you," Castiel whispered.

Balthazar gave him a humorless smile. "Well, we're not safe yet, old friend."

Castiel sighed, staring into the dark corner across the room. They were safe now, somewhat. They would never be truly safe and everyone that looked at them saw a garrison whose commander had betrayed Heaven.

What no one knew, was that he had let her go.