Book 2 - The Winchester Prophecies

by GailDunn2

Sequel to Book 1 - Playlist. Sam and Dean, Castiel and Gail face danger from both Demons and Angels. Crowley is back and more evil than ever, and Metatron wants his revenge.

2. Expect No Mercy

Chapter 2 - Expect No Mercy

AURIELLE, 1.3

She couldn't believe what she was about to do. It was the craziest and most dangerous thing she'd ever even thought about doing. Break Metatron out of prison? The most evil Angel she'd ever heard of?

Back when Chuck had begun to cultivate her, Aurielle had been flattered by his confidence in her and willingness to trust her. Then, as Chuck divulged more and more of the story, she went from happiness to disbelief to acceptance.

When she'd been disbelieving of Chuck's story, he had unlocked the bookcase where the sensitive prophecies were stored and had shown her the documents, initialed by God Himself, as proof. Of course, Chuck had previously removed some of the subsequent pages before she'd come into his office.

But what Aurielle saw was proof enough for her. Castiel and Metatron had indeed worked together to help the Angels, they had fallen to Earth together, and Metatron had killed Naomi when he'd returned.

With the really incriminating pages removed, there was just enough truth there to convince Aurielle. And before she'd had a chance to think too long, long enough to detect the holes in the story, Chuck had hit her with both barrels: Castiel's imminent assassination, and the "fact" that he was currently living with a member of the group that was conspiring against him.

That was enough to tip her over into acceptance of Chuck's story as, well, gospel. So she was just desperate enough to help save Castiel that she fell for Chuck's final lie, and it was a whopper:

"We need to help Castiel get Metatron out of prison," Chuck had told her. "They've pledged to work together once more, to identify and eliminate every member of the assassination group. It's not only the Upper Echelon who are in danger, it's all of us. They'll go after anyone who stands against them, who is on Castiel's side, and God's."

And, as if this wasn't enough, Chuck had laid it on even thicker: "We need to get both Castiel and Metatron out of Heaven, to keep them safe. Once Metatron is free, he'll join Castiel on Earth for a while, until the assassins are taken care of. And - " because Chuck couldn't resist, he really couldn't - " - besides me, Castiel said you're the only one he can trust to help us. Because I vouched for you."

He'd already had her when he'd talked about being on Castiel's side. And God's, too, of course. But this last little bit had really sealed the deal. Castiel trusted her to help him, and she would not let him down.

So when Chuck asked her to lock his office door behind her on that fateful afternoon, Aurielle was prepared to do whatever he asked of her. For Heaven, for her fellow Angels, and for God. She was finally going to do something heroic, for the greater good. And helping save Castiel's life was priority number one.

Chuck outlined the plan. He and Aurielle were going to go to the prison to pay Metatron a visit tonight. While they were there, Metatron was going to seize Aurielle and use her as a hostage to get to the portal which led to Earth. When Castiel showed up to help, because it was prearranged that he would, Chuck confided, he would offer to take Aurielle's place as hostage, and then he and Metatron would go through the portal together. No one in Heaven would know that Aurielle was really on Team Castiel, and she would get everyone's attention and sympathy for having been taken hostage by the notorious Metatron. It was a win-win.

Then Chuck went into the locked cabinet behind his desk and pulled out two Angel blades. She was to hide one on her person, in a place where it wouldn't be found in a search. The guards knew Chuck by now and seemed to trust him, so he would conceal the second on himself. And then, at the right time, she would pass her blade to Metatron, so he could hold her hostage with it. No harm would come to her, but she had to play her part convincingly.

Aurielle didn't think there would be any problem with that. As she took the blade, the first weapon she had ever held in her life, she already felt like a frightened hostage. She pictured Metatron holding the blade to her heart and shivered. But she couldn't lose her nerve now.

They went over the plan again, and then once more. It was a simple plan on the surface, but it had to go off seamlessly, so no one would get hurt.

METATRON, 1.5

He looked up inquiringly when Chuck and Aurielle entered the visitors' room.

"Who is this fetching young lady?" Metatron asked Chuck, smiling. He was surprised to see Aurielle; he didn't know her, and he wasn't sure what role she was here to play. But Chuck winked at him, and Metatron was sharp enough to sit back and play along for the time being.

"She's my assistant," Chuck replied. "She's here to transcribe your confession."

Interesting. This was, of course, news to Metatron. But, he would see where Chuck was going with this. He had no choice but to trust him for the moment.

Chuck knew what he was doing. He had been planting a seed during his last few visits and had told Metatron's guards, confidentially, that Metatron felt remorse and seemed to want to clear his conscience with a full confession. Chuck was the only one he could trust to tell his story to, and Chuck was bringing his assistant to get everything down on record while Chuck asked the questions. As the guards had listened intently, Chuck hinted that Metatron had many secrets to confess. If he was able to pull this off, with the guards' help, there would be rewards and promotions in their future, Chuck was sure.

So when he showed up with Aurielle that evening, Metatron's guards were expecting them both, and they were excited about assisting in obtaining Metatron's full confession.

When the two guards ushered Chuck and Aurielle into the visitors' room, they turned to leave as usual, but Chuck said, "No. Please stay. You should hear this."

The guards looked at each other, thrilled and proud that they would be the first to hear Metatron confess, and show remorse. It was about time. They were looking forward to hearing all the juicy details.

Chuck took his customary seat across from Metatron, and Aurielle took the other chair. She opened the notebook she'd brought and put it on the table, along with a soft-tip pen to write with. She'd been searched prior to entering the room, but the guards had examined the pen and deemed it safe. As Chuck had predicted, they had not done a full search of either visitor, so the blade remained under her clothes, undetected.

"One thing, before we begin," Metatron said. He looked at the guards, who were standing by the door. "I speak much more freely when I'm comfortable." He extended his cuffed wrists.

The guards looked at each other uncertainly.

"Come on, guys," Metatron wheedled. "I talk with my hands,"

Chuck chimed in, "What could happen? You're both right here."

That seemed to convince them, and they moved forward warily, releasing Metatron from his shackles. They moved back to their positions as Metatron rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms slowly, casually. He didn't want to make any sudden moves to put them on alert. This could work out. Now, what next?

He looked at Chuck, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Chuck said, "Now, I'm going to ask you a series of questions, which you have agreed to answer truthfully."

Metatron played along: "That's right." Chuck had better be going somewhere with this.

"And Aurielle here is going to take down whatever you say. She takes shorthand, so speak normally, and she'll record everything."

Aurielle moved her chair as close to Metatron as she dared with the guards watching, her pen at the ready. She'd thought it was going to be really scary being that close to him, but now that she'd seen him in person, Metatron didn't look scary at all. Not even evil. He was just a little

man, with big, sad eyes. According to Chuck, God had handpicked Metatron to be his Scribe because he was a good and loyal Angel. And Castiel had considered Metatron to be worthy enough to have teamed up with him to help save Heaven from the bad Angels who were seeking to destroy it.

Now that she had met him, Aurielle could understand how Metatron might have been bullied and railroaded into his prison term. And the fact that he had the endorsement of the two most important denizens of Heaven, three if you counted Chuck, was enough for her.

Chuck turned to the guards and said, "God Himself has told me to tell you that nothing you hear is to leave this room. Until the full confession is transcribed and God has a chance to review it, we're instructed not to say a word. I trust we can count on your cooperation."

They looked at Chuck and nodded, assuring him that they would not breathe a word. Lying, of course. Depending on what they were about to hear, the juicy details could carry a lot of currency. Imagine the respect and awe with which they'd be regarded.

As Chuck was making his little speech and keeping the guards' attention on him by invoking God's name, Aurielle reached under her skirt and passed the Angel blade to Metatron under the table. He was so surprised he almost dropped it. Chuck, you magnificent bastard, the Scribe thought.

Metatron jumped to his feet and grabbed Aurielle, putting the blade to her throat and using her to shield him. Chuck had been shown that this was what was going to occur, but he hadn't really needed the foresight. He knew Metatron to be a coward, only caring about saving his own hide. The fact that this girl had just helped him would be lost on Metatron; to him, she was just a means to an end.

Aurielle played the frightened hostage to the hilt. She wasn't really too scared, as she'd known this was going to happen, but Metatron's acting was even better. "Take me to the portal, or she dies," he snarled. His grip on her tightened and began to really hurt, and the blade was held so close to her throat it was almost breaking the skin. She knew he had to really sell it, but Aurielle was afraid to swallow, or even to blink.

The guards had withdrawn their own blades as soon as Metatron had grabbed Aurielle, but now they stood uncertainly, unsure as how to proceed. Chuck had also known this would be their reaction. They could not allow a Sister to be killed. But they were also confused; they had searched Metatron prior to his entering the visitors' room, and they had also searched the visitors. How had Metatron gotten the blade?

"Drop them!" Metatron barked at the guards. Still, they hesitated. "Do it! I'll kill her!" | He pressed the blade even closer to Aurielle's throat, and she felt it cut into her skin.

The sight of her blood was enough to convince them, and the guards dropped their blades. They remained frozen on the spot, and Metatron didn't want to wait any longer and risk the arrival of backup, so he edged over to the door of the visitors' room, careful to keep Aurielle in front of

him. He hustled her out the door, and down the hall to the room where the portal was. Chuck and the guards followed.

CASTIEL, 1.5

Castiel was in the bunker with Gail and the Winchesters. They were sitting around the table chatting in their normal fashion, and he was glad. For the first couple of days after the incident in the training room, he had been quieter than usual, barely even able to look Gail in the eye.

Dean had told Sam about seeing Cas right after it had happened and how upset he'd been, and the brothers had been treating him the same as usual, teasing him, trying to draw him out of his funk. When that didn't work, Dean had taken Gail aside.

"Cas is really upset about what happened," he said to Gail.

She'd noticed that he'd been even quieter than normal, and avoiding eye contact. Knowing Castiel as she did now, she wasn't really surprised by what Dean said. But what could she do about it? It had happened, and truth be told, if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe she would have protected her flank a bit better, she thought wryly. But she'd needed a real test, and Castiel having stabbed her had provided the wake-up call that had not come from Sam and Dean. They weren't playing games, here; she needed to step it up, if she wanted to be of use to these guys. Otherwise, she might as well just put a frilly apron on, and have dinner ready for them when they got back from whatever case they'd been on. No, thanks. That was not what she'd signed on for.

So Gail had doubled and then tripled her sessions with Sam and Dean after that and, to their credit, they had not gone easy on her. Castiel would no longer even enter the training room, but he had remained available to heal whatever wounds she incurred. The wounds Sam and Dean inflicted on her were relatively minor as the days passed, though, and on one surreal occasion, Gail had actually succeeded in stabbing Dean, so deep that she'd had to lay her hands on him immediately and heal him, before he bled out.

"Thanks," he'd said after it happened. He'd been on the floor writhing in pain, his leg bleeding profusely, but Gail had put her hands on his thigh and healed him instantly. Just like the old days, she thought, when I was a human. But this Angel power was pure, and it was infinite, as long as she had her Grace. For a second her mind wandered, and she wondered if the box containing her former powers was still locked up in the bunker's safe. Oh well, it didn't really matter, she supposed. She had no need for them, now.

Dean had sat up then and smiled at her crookedly. "Bitch." They laughed, and she helped him to his feet. Sam smiled at the two of them almost paternally. "I think you're ready," he'd said to Gail.

But Dean was not laughing now. "I'll go talk to him," she assured Dean, patting him on the arm.

It was sweet that he cared about his friend so much.

So Gail sought Castiel out. He was on the couch in front of the fireplace, one of his favourite spots. Dean and Sam made themselves scarce as she sat down beside Castiel.

"I know you're still upset about what happened," she said to him without preliminary. "We've got to get past it. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself."

He glanced at her then, his face troubled, but he said nothing. So she went on, "I asked you to do it, and you did everything the way you were supposed to. I'm the one who failed that day, not you."

He shook his head. "I still shouldn't have done it," he protested. "I should have stopped short of hurting you."

"But I'm fine," she assured him. "And I've improved so much since that day. Did Dean tell you I actually had to heal him?"

Despite himself, Castiel smiled. "Yes. I only regret I wasn't there to see that."

She smiled back at him and took his hand. "So, I owe you a debt of gratitude. If you hadn't given me a true test that day, I would never have progressed to the point I'm at now. Thanks for taking me seriously." She squeezed his hand. "For treating me like a partner. An equal."

He regarded her curiously. He had driven a knife into her chest, and she was thanking him for it. Dean had often told him that women were the most mysterious beings he would ever encounter, and Castiel could now see why. But he appreciated Gail's efforts to make him feel better, and he could see the logic in what she'd said. The reports he'd been receiving from the Winchesters on her progress had been nothing short of remarkable. They felt she was as ready as she'd ever be for a situation which called on her to fight. And for that, he was grateful. He wanted her by his side.

Castiel was about to tell Gail as much when the urgent message from Chuck came through: "COME IMMEDIATELY! METATRON IS ESCAPING, AND HE'S GOT A HOSTAGE!"

He disappeared from the bunker, leaving a bewildered Gail behind.

METATRON, 1.6

Metatron and Aurielle had reached the portal room, and they were standing in front of the area where the invisible curtain would be. But the switch to activate the portal would have to be turned on, and it was across the room.

Metatron was just about to instruct one of the guards to turn on the switch when Castiel suddenly appeared in the doorway. He withdrew his Angel blade immediately and advanced on Metatron, who pulled Aurielle closer to him.

Aurielle was thrilled to see Castiel, and her heart leaped when he said, "Don't do this, Metatron. Let her go."

"So, the White Knight appears to save the damsel in distress," Metatron sneered. "So chivalrous. So cliche."

"Drop your weapon," Castiel commanded. "Let her go."

"Oh, well, since YOU say so..." Metatron replied sarcastically, pretending to release his grip on Aurielle, then pulling her back and inflicting another cut on her throat. "I think not."

Castiel considered. He did not want this Sister to be killed, but Metatron could not be allowed to escape.

Aurielle was momentarily confused. What was he waiting for? Why were he and Metatron speaking to each other with such animosity in their voices? Oh, wait. Of course. It was for the guards' benefit. They obviously could not be trusted with what was really happening here, and Castiel and Metatron were playing their parts.

Realizing she had a role to play too, Aurielle brought tears to her eyes. Which wasn't too hard to do, considering the cuts on her throat were really starting to hurt.

"Please help me, Castiel, I don't want to die," she pleaded.

"Turn on the switch," Metatron instructed one of the guards. Reluctantly, but seeing no choice, he turned it on, and the portal was opened behind Metatron and his hostage. He risked a look behind to make sure, then looked back at Castiel. "Well, I guess this young lady and I will be going for a trip," he taunted Castiel. "I'd like to say it's been good to see you again, but I hate to lie."

"Wait," Castiel said. "Let her go. Take me, instead."

"You?" Metatron said scornfully. He smiled. "What could I possibly want with you?"

"I'm much more valuable as a hostage," Castiel replied evenly.

Aurielle winced inwardly at that. She saw the logic, but it still hurt her feelings to hear it from the object of her affection. She reminded herself that Castiel was only playing a part. He didn't mean that the way it had come out. He was offering to give up his life for hers; at least, as far as the guards knew, anyway. Castiel truly was the kind of Angel she'd thought he was, and had fantasized about. He really did care for her.

Metatron appeared to think about this. Castiel was quite right, of course. But Metatron knew that if he and Castiel transported back to Earth together, just the two of them, Metatron would be

dead before his feet even hit the ground. Scribe of God or no, Castiel's strength and fight skills were vastly superior to Metatron's own, and there was no way he would survive a one-on-one confrontation with God's Golden Boy. What should he do?

Then Chuck piped up: "Take me, too. Just...please let Aurielle go. It's my fault she's here in the first place."

Metatron had almost forgotten that Chuck was in the room. He'd been such a non-factor up till this point. But his offer was interesting. There'd be two of them against Castiel, and that might work, at least long enough for Metatron to get away. So he said, "Fine. Get over here, both of you."

Castiel and Chuck moved slowly over to where Metatron and Aurielle stood. The Angel and the Prophet looked at each other. I don't really need his help, Castiel thought; but with it, we'll be able to recapture Metatron immediately. He wondered what Metatron could possibly be thinking. He had to know there was no way Castiel and Chuck would allow him to get away and wander the Earth. Maybe they should just kill him right away, and ask God's permission later.

Chuck saw the way that Castiel was looking at him and fought to keep a straight face. This poor sap actually thought they were in this together, to stand against Metatron. Was he ever in for a rude surprise.

Metatron pushed Aurielle away and grabbed Chuck and Castiel, yanking them into the portal with him. The guards rushed to help Aurielle, and she smiled through her tears. The mission had been a success.

Chuck and Metatron stood over Castiel's unconscious body. They had attacked him as soon as the trio had landed in the dimly lit playground where the portal led, and Castiel had been taken by surprise.

Chuck held Castiel's own Angel blade over him, the tip pointing at Castiel's throat. "Should I do the honours?" he said to Metatron.

"Oh, no, no," Metatron replied, relishing the sight of a helpless Castiel, and the power of being in the position to decide whether to spare another being, or to kill him. "It's way too soon in the game. You can't have a knockout in the first round. What fun is that?"

Chuck looked at him, then moved the blade away from Castiel's throat and dropped it on the ground beside his unconscious body. "I guess you're right," he said to Metatron, smirking. Then his expression turned serious. "I wouldn't give him too long, though. Once he teams up with the Winchesters to find you, you'll have to go on the run. Those guys have a habit of asking questions AS they're shooting you, if you get my drift."

Metatron nodded. He was familiar with the Winchesters' methodology. "Let the games begin," he said happily, "and let the odds be ever in my favour." He took out his own Angel blade then, facing Chuck.

Chuck grimaced and closed his eyes. "Make it look convincing."

Metatron did.

CROWLEY, 1.2

Crowley had invited his mother to tea in the private dining room and when she arrived, he sent his minions away, telling them in no uncertain terms that he and Rowena were not to be disturbed. While he was aware that most of his subjects still feared him, he did not want to take a chance on their conversation being overheard by anyone.

He poured his mother a cup of tea when she sat down, then poured himself a generous shot of scotch.

Rowena's eyes narrowed at this bit of gentility. What was he playing at?

"I think it's time that you and I had an honest conversation," Crowley said, looking at Rowena and casually swirling the liquid around in its glass. "I know what you're really after."

Rowena's hand froze as she reached for the sugar tongs. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said innocently, then added a sugar cube to her tea and stirred it nonchalantly. She saw that her hand was shaking. so she put the spoon down.

He would have to play this carefully. His mother was no fool. But he needed her, for the time being. He would have to make her believe that her agenda was also his own. Well, except for the part about killing him and usurping his throne, of course. She was dreaming, if she thought that was going to happen. But for now, he had to utilize the team approach, throw her happy family scenario back in her face.

"I know you want to make Gail a Knight of Hell, to get her back in the fold, so to speak," he told Rowena. She was startled, but before she could think what to say, he continued, "And I think you're right."

She was surprised. "You do?"

"Yes, I do," he agreed. "We've both seen what she can do, and I think we made a good team before she was taken away from us." Using "we" and "us", to reinforce the idea that he and his mother were in this together. Before ascending to the throne, Crowley had been the best deal-maker Hell had ever seen, and with good reason. He knew how to use language to effectively make his point. Now it was time to dangle the special offer: "I also know that I went about things the wrong way, before. I tried to raise Gail above her station. She'll have her uses, but she was never fit to rule. Only I can do that. And I'm offering you the chance to co-rule with me. To be the Queen of Hell."

Rowena's eyebrows shot upwards. Really? OK; she didn't believe he truly meant it, of course. This was not the Crowley from before, the watered-down version of himself with human and Angel blood coursing through his veins. That one, she would have believed it from, through some misguided sense of family loyalty on his part, or even love. But this Crowley was more her son Fergus, who had left any love or loyalty he might have once felt on the sawdust floor of a Scottish pub centuries ago. So, again, what was he playing at?

Crowley saw her reaction, and he was no fool, either. Time to inject some realism: "Oh, don't look at me like that, Mother," he snapped. "This is not some mother-son bonding moment. I loathe you, and you think I'm contemptible. Fine. What I'm proposing here is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

He had her attention. now. Maybe he was sincere.

"You have a unique skill set," the salesman in Crowley continued. He was never more in his wheelhouse than when he was putting together a deal. "If we work together, using your spells and my knowledge, we can achieve our goal. Which is to have Gail back, and working for us."

"Are you sure you don't still love her, Fergus?" Rowena asked softly. "Is that why you're doing this?"

He gave her a dark look. "You're thinking of the former me, the one who was being turned into the world's biggest prat. He's gone. She's just a means to an end, and if she defies us, I'll kill her myself. Happily."

Rowena was glad to hear it. As Queen, Gail would have taken Rowena's place by her son's side, and she couldn't have that. But as a Knight, Gail would have to obey any orders that Rowena, the actual Queen, gave her. Including the killing of Fergus, when it was time.

So, she would hop on board, at least for now. Her son's head was on straight, and his priorities were the same as hers.

Rowena went back to stirring her tea. "How do you propose we start?"

Crowley instructed her, requested really, to gather the ingredients she'd used on his own bones. Then, to perpetuate the appearance of full disclosure, he told her about a certain gravesite behind a certain bunker he intended to visit. Reanimating Gail's brother Frank would be the first step.

CHUCK, 1.3

Since returning to his office in Heaven, Chuck hadn't had a moment's peace. His fellow Angels kept stopping by all day to express their appreciation for his having taken on Metatron in an attempt to recapture him. They didn't blame him for not succeeding; Metatron had obviously had help already lined up. Once they'd arrived on Earth, Chuck and Castiel had fought valiantly, but Metatron had set a group of goons on them, and they had been badly beaten while Metatron made his getaway. Chuck had been thrashed and tortured within an inch of his life, and when he couldn't take it any more, he'd passed out from the pain. When he'd awoken, Castiel was gone, and Chuck was alone.

The female Angels oohed and aahed at all the right places and tried to help him with his injuries, but Chuck advised them he didn't want to be healed; he wanted to wear his scars as a cautionary tale of how foolish it was to get mixed up with a monster like Metatron. He should have been more careful. He should have known, somehow. But he had felt some compassion for Metatron, he explained, and weren't they in the forgiveness business? Yes, he had been played, and he was ashamed. But he reminded each and every Angel that came to see him that it wasn't so long ago that Metatron had duped Castiel in much the same way. And if someone as smart and as brave as Castiel had been fooled, well...

Chuck closed his office door and locked it. He needed to drop the pretense for a while. One more "Castiel is perfect" speech, and he was going to throw up. He remembered standing over Castiel in the playground, the blade in his hand. If Chuck had it to do over again, he would have just killed Castiel, right then and there. Screw Metatron.

He wondered where Metatron was now, and what he was doing. He didn't much care; he had no love for the guy. He was a puffed-up little nerd with delusions of grandeur. But he was also a powerful Angel and now that he was back on Earth, there would be no stopping him. The jail block in Heaven was encased in sigils so that all the inmates were rendered powerless. That was why the guards, also Angels, had not been able to stop Metatron; they were bound by the same physical laws. And they could not have attacked him with their blades for fear of getting the hostage Aurielle killed. But now that he was on Earth again, Metatron's powers were back in play. He'd promised to exact revenge on Castiel and the Winchester brothers, and that was why Chuck had helped him to escape in the first place. And if a few, or a lot, of humans died in the process, who cared? Chuck hated humans, anyway.

He winced as he sat down at his desk. He had told Metatron to do a number on him, make it look convincing, but the little bastard had seemed to really enjoy it. Maybe Chuck should just forget the hero crap and have someone heal him, already. Word would have gotten around by now that he was one of the good guys. Chuck's main concern had been that Castiel not find out that he and Metatron had been working together this whole time. It wouldn't do to have his cover blown. He still had more plans for Mr. Perfect. So he had stood behind Castiel when they went through the portal, and had let Metatron make the first assault. So, as far as he knew, Castiel was none the wiser, and then he had been unconscious. Metatron hadn't used his powers in so long that he must have been amped up; no one had ever gotten the jump on Castiel like that, as far as Chuck knew. Of course, Chuck did inflict a few little injuries on Castiel once he'd been out. He couldn't let Metatron have all the fun. But Chuck had talked the guy up here in Heaven all morning, about how he was such a brave hero, who'd put up a fierce fight. Chuck laughed now. Castiel should be thanking him for helping keep his rep intact.

There was one more very important person he needed to see, though. Chuck picked up the phone and buzzed Aurielle, then unlocked the office door and waited for her arrival.

AURIELLE, 1.4

Aurielle was excited when Chuck buzzed her. She'd heard he was back, and she'd been waiting to see him all morning. She'd rushed to his office earlier, but it was crowded with fellow Angels, all wanting to hear about Chuck's exploits. So she had gone back to her desk to wait. They needed to be alone when they spoke. You never knew who you could trust.

She felt special now; singled out. Now that Aurielle had been a key member of Team Castiel and had been instrumental in the successful execution of his plan, she was feeling much less timid. Aurielle was ready to expand on her role as an important and valued member of the team. She couldn't wait to talk to Chuck and find out what her next task would be.

When she entered Chuck's office, Aurielle strode to her seat across his desk with a confidence she had never had before.

"Wow," she said to Chuck, looking at his bruised and beaten face.

He smiled, knowing what she was referring to. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Metatron had to make it look convincing. He's a fugitive now, from Heaven's viewpoint. We had to make it look like he overpowered me. No one can know about my role in all this, or I wouldn't be able to continue working from the inside."

Aurielle nodded. She understood.

"And how are you doing?" Chuck asked her.

She perked up. "Great. Ready for another assignment. But, first...tell me what it was like. On Earth. With Castiel." Her eyes were shining, alive with curiosity.

So Chuck resurrected his tale of valour just once more, making sure to emphasize the team approach. With Aurielle, he didn't have to spin the Metatron-had-us-beaten-and-got-away crap; it was even more enjoyable to be able to paint a picture where he had sent Castiel and Metatron on their way. Vowed to hold the fort and carry the torch in Heaven, while they ferreted out the potential assassins on Earth and obtained intel on the Angel terrorist group. This story was as exciting as any movie he had seen while on Earth, and Chuck was proud of it.

Aurielle was also thrilled with the story. She'd been just as shy and retiring in human life as she had started out here in Heaven, and she had also watched a lot of movies, and read a ton of romance novels. This was better than any of them, though, because it was real, and she was a part of it. She was becoming a different woman now, thanks to Chuck and Castiel. And she was ready for the next step.

"What do you need me to do now?" Aurielle asked Chuck.

He paused, seeing the look on her face. He may have created a bit of a monster, here. Was he really going to use this poor girl like he had planned? How rotten WAS he?

But then, Chuck remembered all the times he had been insulted and made to feel small by Dean and Sam Winchester, and Castiel burning the prophecies he'd worked so hard on. He'd spent his life doing everything that was asked of him, and what did he have to show for it? He was the One True Prophet, and he deserved some respect. Instead, with the only exception being this morning, he'd been treated like a loser, an outcast. A creep. And the only way he'd gotten so much play this morning was to invoke the revered name of Castiel as his brother-in-arms, fighting the good fight against evil. Would all of those girls have fawned over him if he had been the only one involved? Would Aurielle be here now? No, of course not. They only wanted to hear about Castiel, Castiel, Castiel.

It was this bitterness and envy that drove Chuck now.

"You'll need to start training immediately," he told Aurielle. "In secret, of course."

"Training for what?" she asked with a thrill of excitement.

"To fight," he replied. "To kill, if necessary."

She was shocked, but when Chuck told her that Castiel needed the protection of an Angel he could trust, Aurielle knew this was her chance to reinvent herself. She could be brave, fearless even, if she was doing it for Castiel.

So she took a deep breath and said, "When do I start?"

CROWLEY, 1.3

Rowena had assembled all of the ingredients for her potion, and all that remained now was for Crowley to go to the gravesite by the bunker and retrieve Frank's bones.

But he wanted the Winchesters as far away from the bunker as possible, and Castiel and Gail, too. It just seemed like the prudent thing. None of them knew that he was alive, and he wanted to keep it that way until the proper moment. And it wouldn't do to spoil the surprise of their seeing Gail's brother Frank, a former Hunter, reanimated as a full Demon, and working for Crowley. That particular reveal was something he was very much looking forward to.

Crowley called forth a group of his Demon minions, and instructed them to go to a town called Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Once there, they were to possess as many human vessels as possible within a 48-hour period, and use those vessels to kill other humans. He instructed his Demon hit squad to make these murders as bizarre and gruesome as they wanted. "Points will be awarded for creativity," he quipped, then handed out the "no-kill" list to each of his minions. He wanted

no errors; once Demons were allowed free rein, they sometimes tended to go off book. And he wanted Jody Mills, Dean and Sam, Castiel and Gail left untouched.

Finally, after their 48-hour killing spree, they were to move on to the next town, and repeat the process. Crowley wanted the boys and Gail kept busy for a while. The object was not only to keep them away from the bunker but to drive them crazy, chasing killers who kept morphing and then moving on. Once Crowley and Rowena had reanimated Frank, Crowley needed a bit of time to indoctrinate Gail's brother, so to speak. And a complex and continuing case several states away seemed to be just the ticket. The brothers and their helpers would be chasing their tails, while the foundation for their demise was being built.

One more thing: "Should any of you be foolish enough to be captured and interrogated, my name is not to be mentioned," he warned them sternly. "Anyone who lets it slip will suffer far worse than the Winchesters could ever do to them."

Message sent, and received. His minions left the den to do the King's bidding. This was gonna be fun.

METATRON, 1.7

Metatron on Earth was like a kid in a candy store. He didn't know where to begin.

Having been one of God's original Angels, he had never been a human. It was proving to be kind of fun to live like one for a while. Taking public transportation, seeing the sights, observing people. He had mixed feelings about the human race. On the one hand, humans had created the great works of literature that Metatron had soaked up during his last stay on Earth. Not to mention movies, and TV shows. Most pop culture was pure dreck, of course, but it was a useful tool when communicating with humans. He would take on an Everyman persona, dumbing himself down enough to fit in. Metatron had a great interest in humans, but not much respect for them. As he had sat at God's feet and transcribed His thoughts onto the tablets, Metatron had gained a greater insight into God's mind than any other Angel; but even now he wondered what the hell God had been thinking when He had created humans. He could have done so much more with them. The potential for great intelligence and creativity was definitely there, but then God had had to go and screw it up by adding the melting pot of flaws, frailties, and emotions.

These latter qualities were on full display as Metatron travelled across America, formulating his plan. For the time being, he had been content to savour his freedom and continue the road trip. The very first thing Metatron had done after blasting open a bank vault and obtaining stacks of the green paper that humans used to value themselves had been to visit a tattoo parlour, and brand himself with the warding symbol. He didn't want any Angels tracking him down and attempting heroic measures before the real game began.

Not that he really needed to be concerned about such things, Metatron mused. As one of God's First, his powers were more formidable than most Angels', and he felt there were very few who

could present a real challenge to him. The only one Metatron thought of as a threat was Castiel. Also one of God's Originals, though he had first been created as a meek and ineffectual human named Abel. But God doted on Castiel and had bestowed many gifts on him, not the least of which were powers to rival Metatron's own, and the insight to know how and when to use them.

So Metatron would stay well away from his old "friend" Castiel for as long as he could, until the Scribe could figure out a way to destroy him, once and for all. He sat down at the table in the motel room he'd rented, and opened his laptop. Bless humans and their technology, he thought with only a trace of irony. All the spyware one could ever want, with just the touch of a finger.

When Metatron had first gotten the computer and learned the words "Google" and "YouTube", he'd been fascinated. Murderous fantasies forgotten for the moment, he'd spent days surfing the Net, amazed by what he'd seen. What he'd had planned for humans was nothing compared to what they'd been doing to each other in his absence.

He'd also encountered the surreal when he stumbled upon websites and blogs dedicated to the prophecies Chuck had written about the Winchester brothers, while here on Earth. Metatron had known about this little experiment of course, and had thought it amusing. But this was a universe unto itself, and Metatron was bemused. There was something called "fan fiction", in which humans wrote their own stories about Dean, Sam and Castiel. He could see the appeal in this activity, being a Scribe and an aspiring author himself. But his brow wrinkled as he clicked on these stories out of curiosity. While a few had merit and seemed believable, many of these tales seemed to be a forum for the open expression of human sexuality. And while Metatron knew sex to be part of the human experience, he did not quite understand how the description of Dean and Castiel engaging in its sweaty throes provided any enlightenment on the human condition, or the struggle between good and evil. So after allowing himself a brief smirk of amusement, Metatron had moved on to the next website.

This one provided updates on events called Supernatural conventions. After what he'd just read, Metatron could only imagine what went on at those. So he'd closed the computer then, still amused, but more than a little disgusted. Humans.

GARTH, 1.1

Garth woke up and looked around, trying to remember where he was. Oh yeah. When the full moon had risen out of the clouds last night, he'd given in to the urge to run into the woods, and howl at it. The wife was out of town visiting a girlfriend who'd just had a baby, and he was lonely. He didn't really have any human friends any more. All of his friends had been Hunters, and he was now a Werewolf, so they didn't exactly hang out any more.

What a strange life Garth now led. He had once been a Hunter himself, heir apparent to the coordinator's job, once Bobby had died. After a bit of a rocky start, Garth had forged a relationship with Dean and Sam Winchester, and they had eventually come to regard him as an

eccentric nephew, of sorts. Garth had always been a bit of an oddball, and truth be told, he knew he was a little hard to take in large doses. But his heart was in the right place, and he always strove to do the right thing, even if his methods had been a bit unorthodox.

So, Garth had persisted, and he had eventually wormed his way into the hearts of the Winchester brothers. They had come to rely on him professionally as they'd relied on Bobby before him. And while his relationship with Sam and Dean could never rival that of the brothers' and Bobby's in terms of closeness and affection, Garth thought that he'd acquitted himself well.

Obviously the Winchesters had thought so too, as they had trusted him to be Kevin's guardian. Kevin was the young man who had gotten the call to translate Metatron's tablets when they were discovered on Earth, and the Winchesters had been trying to protect him from Crowley.

But Garth had dropped the ball, underestimating the threat to Kevin. He had gotten the Hunter's wanderlust and hit the road, leaving young Kevin to fend for himself. And though his abandonment of Kevin was not what had actually led to poor Kevin's eventual demise, Garth still felt guilty.

So he had remained on the road, throwing himself into the pursuit of Demons and monsters like never before, trying to make up for his lapse in judgment in some way. And he had just begun to work his way back to redemption, at least in his own mind, when he had been bitten by a Werewolf he'd been hunting.

Now Garth was a Werewolf, himself. He had been horrified and ashamed at first, and had dropped off the Hunter grid in order to regroup. Finding an intestinal fortitude he didn't know he had, Garth had never attacked another being, even during the full moon. His personality had remained pretty much intact, along with his moral compass, so Garth could never cross that line. He vowed that if he ever did, he'd call the Winchesters himself, and have them come down here and take him out.

So, Garth had eked out his existence, subsisting on raw meat, growing more depressed by the day...and then the miracle had happened: Garth had met Bess. She was a Werewolf too, and so were the rest of her family. But they were like him; they had learned how to co-exist with humans without harming them, using Garth's preferred method of eating raw meat combined with maximum self-control. Those who felt weak had others chain them up during the full moon.

Contrary to every instinct he'd had as a Hunter, Garth had bonded with Bess's family, and then he had gone and fallen in love with Bess. They'd gotten married about a year ago, and had been living happily ever after since. Well, about as happy as you could be when you turned into a hairy, foam-at-the-mouth maniac once a month. But Garth and Bess had each other for support now, and aside from the occasional love nip, they had kept true to their vow never to harm another being.

But even though Garth had finally come to terms with what he had become and what his life was now, every now and then he wondered if this was it for him. He'd been thinking about the Winchester brothers a lot lately, missing the camaraderie he'd had with them. He wondered

what they were doing now. Maybe he could give them a call. He'd told them if they ever needed his help, to give him a ring. But, nada. He knew they weren't exactly comfortable with a friend of theirs being...well, let's face it, one of the monsters they usually hunted; but after seeing the way he, Bess, and his in-laws led their lives, they'd seemed to be cool with it.

Still, he kept thinking about Dean and Sam. He had the feeling they'd be needing his help, sooner rather than later. So Garth left the woods, and went back to the little house he shared with Bess. To wait by the phone. Maybe he would do some Net surfing, while he was at it.

ROWENA, 1.5

Crowley was preparing to leave for the bunker, gathering a corps of Demons, including the two remaining Knights, to go with him. Better safe than sorry. He'd had minions watching the bunker and though they hadn't yet seen any movement, it was just a matter of time. Moose checked the Internet for potential cases on a regular basis, and he and Squirrel would be putting two and two together any moment now.

Rowena entered the throne room where the group was gathered, waved her hand and said, "Leave us."

She frowned as the Demons looked to Crowley for confirmation before making a move. Although not altogether unexpected, she still thought more respect should be shown for the mother of the King. Deep breaths, she thought. Think of the big picture.

So she sauntered in, approaching Crowley on the throne. "We need to talk," she said to him.

He regarded her for a moment, then waved his hand, dismissing his subjects.

Once they'd gone, Rowena told her son, "The potion is nearly ready."

He began to smile, but his smile faded as she continued, "Now, I need to know what you're really planning, before I go any further."

DEAN AND SAM, 1.3

Dean set a beer in front of Sam, who was working away at the computer. He then sat down across from Sam, uncapping his own beer. "So, what's going on? Anything?"

It was just the two of them for the moment. Gail had volunteered to go out for supplies; she'd been on edge since Cas had disappeared, and she needed something to do. Dean had tried to

reassure her by saying that Cas did stuff like that all the time, and she supposed she'd better get used to it. But she would feel better if she knew what was going on, or at the very least, that he was all right.

Now they were all just waiting, not only for Cas to return, but for...something else. What, they didn't know. But, something.

Sam sat quietly at the computer, clicking away. Dean said, "Earth to Sammy!", but Sam still didn't look up. He did straighten up in his chair though, as if something had caught his attention.

"There've been a series of murders in Sioux Falls, South Dakota," Sam said. "Jody's town," he added, perhaps unnecessarily.

Dean perked up. He knew that. "How many murders?"

Sam clicked some more. "Seven, so far." He looked up at Dean. "In the past 24 hours."

"Separate cases?" Dean asked, leaning forward. That many murders in one day, in such a small town?

Sam continued to click around for details. "Looks like it," he confirmed. "And they look pretty gruesome, too. A couple of the vics were flayed, another one had her eyes gouged out, and another one's organs were missing."

"Sounds like us," Dean said almost cheerfully. He felt sick about the poor victims, of course, but Dean was kind of relieved. Things had been too quiet, and this sounded like what he had been waiting for. Dreading.

"I'll call Jody," Sam said, grabbing his cell phone.

But he wasn't able to reach her, either at the office or on her cell. She must be incredibly busy, dealing with that many cases in a town that small. Sam's spidey senses were tingling, too. He left messages for Jody in both places that he and Dean were coming.

"Demons?" Dean asked.

"Sounds like it," Sam agreed. "There must be a new Boss in town."

Gail entered the bunker then, coming down the stairs with shopping bags in hand.

"Using the door? Really?" Dean said to her.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I'm still not used to this popping in and out thing. Besides, if I'm out among humans. I'm not supposed to call attention to myself."

That was still so weird, Sam thought, hearing Gail refer to "humans" as beings other than herself. Maybe it was the fact that she had been a human not too long ago, or maybe it was his and Dean's influence, but she pretty much acted like a human when she was here with them. Maybe that was why the brothers continued to feel protective of her.

"We've got something," Dean told Gail.

She put the bags down on the other end of the table and approached Sam, peering over his shoulder at the computer. "We think it's Demon activity," Sam said to her.

As he clicked through the reports, Gail was horrified by what she was reading.

"We've gotta go check it out," Dean said. She looked up at him, her heart sinking. Of course they did. They were going to take off without her again, leaving her alone here in the bunker, with nothing to do but worry. About them, and about Castiel. Where WAS he, anyway?

"You in or out?" Dean asked her. Gail was surprised. Had she heard him right?

Sam was also surprised. He had not expected this from Dean. They'd talked about this kind of situation possibly arising, but had not reached a consensus. On the one hand, Gail was as trained as she was going to get, and even though she hadn't really used it much, she did have the Angel juice now. She could be an asset to them. On the other hand, she had no experience, and Sam didn't know if he wanted the distraction of trying to keep her safe.

Sam raised an eyebrow to Dean, and his brother shrugged. Dean understood how Gail must be feeling, better than Sam did. She'd done everything she could to make herself ready, and clearly was itching to be taken seriously as a member of the team. That's how he would feel, if he was in her shoes. Well, he was going to give her the chance. He remembered that day in training when she'd stuck him with the knife, and the surprised look on Sam's face. He knew Sam had his doubts and Dean had his share too, but he figured they had to believe in Gail, so she could believe in herself.

Gail was happy to receive Dean's invitation, but held back her answer. Was she ready? If only Castiel were here...

On cue, Castiel appeared beside Dean. "I heard you," he said to Gail. "I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier. I was..."

He didn't get a chance to finish. Gail ran to him and threw her arms around him. Surprised, he returned the hug.

"Thank God you're all right," Gail said; then, stepping away from him, "Where were you?"

So he sat down at the table, and told them all the story of Metatron's escape.

"We must find him." Castiel concluded his tale with this statement of the obvious.

The Winchesters agreed that Metatron was a threat, and had to be recaptured as soon as possible. But there was this business in Sioux Falls, and it was happening right now.

Sam had been clicking idly on the computer as they talked, but he didn't even know how to begin. If an Alpha Angel like Metatron didn't want to be found, what could they possibly do?

"He's obviously warded himself," Castiel said. "I can't sense him, and neither can anyone else in Heaven."

"How about God?" Gail asked, puzzled. "Doesn't He see everything, know everything?"

The brothers leaned forward, interested. Gail had cut to the heart of the matter. It was only logical; why didn't the Big Boss just step in and put the kibosh on Metatron? Smite him within an inch of his miserable life?

"I don't know," Castiel answered, troubled. He'd been wondering that, himself. He'd been wondering a lot of things about God, lately. Not to seem blasphemous, or ungrateful, but Castiel was frankly disappointed with his Father. True, things had calmed down in Heaven when God had returned and retaken the helm. But now Metatron had been allowed to escape and was running around somewhere, plotting who knew what. Why had God even allowed him to live? Surely He knew what Metatron had done, and what he was capable of doing, if he remained free.

Dean snapped them all back to the present by standing and saying, "Well, until we get a line on Metatron, we've got a case, right now. Pack your bags, Sammy." He looked at Cas and Gail. "And, you guys do...whatever it is you do."

Castiel reached into his coat and withdrew an Angel blade, handing it to Gail. Their eyes met as she took it from him. This is it, she told him without speaking. I'll try not to let you down. You won't, he replied. I'll be by your side, the whole time.

Sam and Dean headed to their rooms to pack.

METATRON, 1.8

Metatron had planned to cut a swath across humanity in his travels, but his first murder was practically an accident.

A strange torpor had come upon him since his return to Earth, one that he couldn't really explain. He had spent so much time in prison planning and plotting, and now that he was here, he didn't really know what to do with himself. He didn't belong here amongst the humans, and he sure as hell didn't belong among his own kind. Not that they'd have him back, anyway. So, what did he want to do with his life?

He knew he'd never be forgiven for what he'd done, but Metatron wasn't looking for forgiveness. He felt bitter and ill-used by everyone: God, his fellow Angels, even humans like the Winchesters. So, he'd caused the Fall and had a couple of megalomaniacal moments. Wasn't everything peaceful now? He'd almost be tempted to just disappear and leave everyone alone, if he could just think of a place to go.

But wherever he belonged, if such a place even existed, it wasn't here. Humans were stupid and slow, at least those he had come across so far in his travels. And he didn't hold out much hope that this fact would change, even if he travelled to the furthest reaches of the globe.

Metatron had tried to engage with people on an intellectual level, only to be disappointed at every turn. He had attended a lecture given by the author of the best-selling book in America, hoping to find a kindred spirit, or at least a challenge to his intellect. But the man had been a cretin, barely functionally literate, and he hadn't seemed to even understand Metatron's questions. Hadn't the idiot read his own book? True, some of Metatron's questions had been, well, on the metaphysical level, but he thought he'd dumbed them down enough.

So when Metatron had turned and walked out of the lecture hall, he was both depressed and angry. He wished that God had not "blessed" him with emotions, sometimes. For every moment of pure joy he'd experienced after reading a good book or learning an interesting new fact, it seemed like there were ten negative emotions, just waiting to bite him in the ass.

Metatron came upon the outdoor patio of a cafe and sat down at one of the tables. He ordered and was served a glass of red wine. Swirling the liquid around in his glass, he continued to self-analyze. Who was he kidding? Metatron was who he was. God had made him as he was, and what good did it do to ask why? There was never going to be an answer. God was many things, but a fund of information, He was not. He had outlined the rules for Metatron to transcribe, but He'd never explained why they should be so, or His thought process behind, well... anything. It had not been Metatron's or anyone else's place to ask. Only to obey.

Metatron had grown to resent this, over the years. Why would God have given him this fine analytical mind, if he was not supposed to use it? Wasn't it an intellectual's duty to ask questions, debate things?

If he had been able to rule Heaven, Metatron would have allowed his subjects to ask questions; encouraged it, even. How else did anyone learn? Many of his fellow Angels would benefit greatly from expanding their minds. And as long as they didn't take too many liberties, Metatron would have welcomed the intellectual stimulation.

"Hey, dude," a voice said from behind him, interrupting Metatron's thoughts. He took a sip of wine. Then, a finger, poking his shoulder: "Buddy."

Metatron turned around in his seat and saw a young man with longish hair looking at him. "Yes?" he asked coolly.

"You got a dollar?" the man asked him.

Metatron sighed. He'd been asked this a lot, in his travels. Money was very important to humans. He could understand why, in a way: they needed it to purchase food, and keep a roof over their heads. But he had observed that many people who had plenty of it seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to acquire more, instead of enjoying what they already had.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge wad of bills, peeling off a dollar and handing it to the man.

The stranger eyed the wad of bills, now disappearing back into Metatron's pocket, then looked him in the eyes, waving the dollar bill in Metatron's face. "That's it?" he asked.

Metatron stared at him evenly. "That's what you asked for."

The man said angrily, "You got all that, and you give me a lousy dollar?"

Metatron was getting annoyed. "Again, that's what you asked for," he said, gritting his teeth. "Now, go away." He turned back in his chair and picked up his glass of wine.

After he'd finished and paid for his drink, Metatron left the cafe and began walking back to the motel. It was quite late by now, and the streets were mainly deserted. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned around.

It was the young man from the cafe. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and said, "Hand it over."

Metatron was amused. He had no intention of giving his money to this man. But, it would be only sporting to give this guy a warning. He had no idea who he was screwing with.

"I think not," Metatron said. "And I'd put that away and walk, if I were you. You do not want to engage with me. " He was proud of his word usage: tough, menacing.

The man stepped closer, close enough that Metatron could smell his breath, which was predictably bad. He should have given this moron an extra dollar, to buy some mouthwash.

"I'm not gonna tell you again," the man threatened.

"Good, because that would be redundant," Metatron said pleasantly enough.

The would-be thief looked puzzled. Of course he's confused, Metatron thought. He probably doesn't even know what the word means.

But it was Metatron's weird attitude that was puzzling the man. The guy was a scrawny, nerdy-looking dude, and the street was deserted. Why wasn't he scared?

"I could touch your forehead with one finger, and increase your vocabulary a thousand-fold," Metatron said, shaking his head, "but instead, I think I'll just do this."

He reached out his hand and put it on the young man's face. His victim screamed in agony, and fell to his knees. Metatron grabbed the knife out of his hand and cut the man's throat with it, nearly decapitating him. He fell to the sidewalk, eyes burned out of their sockets and throat gushing.

Metatron stood over the body for a moment, relishing the surge of power he felt. He would have to do this again, soon.

He walked away from the scene, whistling.

Once he had the taste, Metatron was insatiable. He killed three more humans the next day, mainly just because he could. He'd remained unseen for the first two murders, but was careless for the last. A man had been passing by the alleyway just in time to see Metatron plunging his Angel blade into the homeless man's chest. Luckily, Metatron did not see the witness, who hurried on to a safe place and called the police.

Metatron did have the intelligence to leave his motel that night, though, moving on to the next town. He boarded the bus and looked out the window, smiling. There were so many towns ahead. So many people.

JODY, 1.1

Jody was fully recovered from her shooting now, but she was exhausted. She took off her jacket and duty belt, hung them on the hook by the door and trudged into her apartment, dead on her feet.

She had just pulled off her boots and put her aching feet up on the coffee table when there was a knock on the door.

She groaned, but got to her feet and answered the door.

Sam and Dean were standing there, with Castiel and Gail behind them.

"Hi, Jodes," Sam said. "Told you we were coming. You got our messages, right?"

"Sure. Come on in." Jody stepped back to let them all inside. "Sorry I didn't have a chance to call you; I've just been running from crime scene to crime scene."

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked.

"Sit down, and I'll tell you." Jody looked at Gail curiously. "We haven't met. I'm Jody Mills." She extended her hand.

Gail shook it. "I'm Gail. I'm..." she trailed off, looking to the brothers for confirmation.

"She's an Angel," Cas said in his usual get-to-the-point manner.

Jody looked at him, then looked back at Gail. "Really?" she said with interest.

"Yeah. Really," Gail confirmed, nodding. "It's OK, I'm just getting used to it myself."

Everybody had a seat and Jody brought them up to speed on the cases so far. Reports of five more victims had come in earlier this evening, and Jody had been so exhausted she hadn't even had the chance to view the bodies of the new victims.

"I was hoping to catch a catnap and then head back out," she said, yawning despite herself. "Sorry. I've been working practically around the clock. I don't know what the hell is happening

to my town all of a sudden, but I'm gonna find out."

"Why don't you grab a nap?" Sam suggested to Jody. "We can look at the bodies, see what we can find out."

"Any witnesses to the murders?" Dean asked Jody.

"A few," she answered him. "We can split up and interview them in the morning. But, guys -" she pointed her finger at the brothers " - full disclosure. This is still my town, and I'm still the Sheriff."

She yawned again. "Maybe I do need that nap. Where are you staying?"

Dean gave her the motel information, and she wrote it down. Then she locked the door behind them, and laid down on the couch. Jody was grateful that they'd turned up. Even with a small police force behind her, she couldn't work this many cases by herself. And if these murders were being caused by Demons, as the Winchesters had suggested, she could do a lot worse than having Sam and Dean and two Angels around to help.

GAIL, 1.3

The brothers had gone back to their motel room and changed into suits. Jody had called ahead to the station and advised that the Agents and their partners were to be given free run of the place, and access to all the case information they had collected so far.

Gail also ducked into the room that she and Castiel were sharing next door, to change into a business suit of her own. It only made sense for her and Castiel to share a separate room. As Angels, they did not sleep, and the Winchesters would need their rest. It was still weird for Gail not to sleep. She would lay down at night and close her eyes, mainly out of habit, but, nothing. Castiel would look at her with amusement in his eyes. She'd get used to it, after a while. But Gail realized that she never felt tired, or sick, from not sleeping, so she'd vowed to give up the attempt. She would have to teach Castiel how to play cards, or something.

But for now, the four of them got into the Impala and headed to the police station. Sioux Falls was so small that the morgue was a part of the building, so it was one-stop shopping.

Sam began reviewing the files and case notes on the computer as soon as they got situated. Dean wanted to look at the bodies.

"Why don't you stay here and help Sam?" he said to Gail. "Cas and I can go look at the victims."

He was trying to spare her, and for a moment she almost took him up on it. Her stomach turned as she thought about the conditions of the bodies she'd already heard about, and these would likely be no different. But this was what she'd asked for, and she had to get used to it.

"No, I'll come with," she said with a casualness she did not feel.

So here they were in the morgue, and Gail steeled herself as Dean lifted the sheet that covered the body of the first victim.

She bit the inside of her cheek. The body was that of a woman, and she had been flayed. Gail gasped, but she held her ground. Dean looked at her, and Cas put his hand on her arm. "You don't have to do this," he told her.

Gail took a breath. "Yes, I do."

So Dean examined the body and pointed out the signs of a Demon kill, for Gail's benefit. Then they went to the next three victims, and repeated the process. All of them had a different cause of death according to the charts, but they had all died gruesomely.

Then Cas lifted the corner of the sheet that covered the last victim, stepped back, and said, "No. Gail, you should go."

She stepped forward, shaking her head. "I've come this far," she said. "And, I'm learning a lot."

"No," Cas said again. "This is too much."

He was looking at her with such concern, such sorrow. What was different about this one? Then she looked at the outline of the body, and she knew.

Gail grabbed the sheet and pulled it down. It was a young boy, who looked almost exactly like the child she had killed in Crowley's den. Like that child, this boy's body was bloody, crushed...so much violence had been done to his small body, yet the child's face was intact. Pristine, even.

Dean and Castiel exchanged glances. This looked deliberate. Was this a message, of some sort?

Then Gail's knees buckled, and Dean leaped forward to catch her. He lowered her to the floor, and she clutched at him. That had hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Cas? What the hell?" Dean looked up at his friend, as Castiel came racing around the table. Gail was sobbing openly now, and Dean was confused. Sure, seeing a kid's body was the worst, but she'd held up pretty stoically till now. What was causing this over-the-top reaction?

But, he hadn't seen Gail in the den; only Cas had. He shouldered Dean aside, and held Gail while she cried.

After a few minutes, Gail used the back of her hands to wipe her eyes and pulled away from Castiel, composing herself. He was looking at her sadly, his brow furrowed, feeling as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. She kissed him gently on the cheek. "No," she said. "This is just what he would want."

Castiel nodded., but Dean was puzzled. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of Angel crap?

Cas helped Gail to her feet, and she took a deep breath.

"He's not going to break me," she said to Castiel. "I won't give him the satisfaction."

He smiled through the pain, and kissed her on the forehead.

"No," he responded softly. "WE won't."

"Someone want to tell me what the hell you guys are talking about?" Dean said, annoyed.

Cas looked at him. "This was a message for Gail. Crowley's alive."

"What?!" Dean said, but Cas and Gail were already leaving the room, heading back towards the office where Sam was. He trailed behind them. Damn Angels.

"Sam needs to hear this, too," Cas said.

They entered the office where Sam was diligently working away on the police computer. He looked up inquiringly as they walked in. Gail closed the door, and Cas drew the blinds.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, alarmed. Gail's eyes were red, as if she'd been crying. Cas looked grim, and Dean looked like he was going to blow a gasket.

"Crowley's alive," Cas said bluntly. "These murders are his handiwork. He sent Gail a very personal message."

Sam and Dean had no idea what he was talking about. Castiel had killed Crowley; they had been there, seen it with their own eyes.

"How is that even possible?" Sam asked.

"Cas, you killed him. And then, the damn building exploded," Dean added.

"I don't know," Cas said. "I don't know how it's possible. I just know that it's true."

"I feel it, too," Gail chimed in. "He's out there, and he's trying to screw with me." She looked at Sam and Dean. They needed to know. So she told them about the child she'd killed in the den. The boy she'd thought was human at the time, and had killed without the slightest hesitation. The fact that the child had turned out to be a Demon was what had saved her soul, and enabled her to make the choice to be an Angel. But she had not known that he was a Demon at the time, yet she had still done it. It was her greatest shame, and it had been a major factor in her decision to become an Angel. She needed to spend the rest of her days making up for it.

The brothers already knew what she'd done, of course. Cas had told them about the Vision in the fireplace. But they now learned that one of the victims of the series of murders resembled that boy so closely that it had nearly torn Gail to pieces.

When she finished her story, Gail felt like she was going to cry again. She blinked back the tears. No. She was tired of blubbering. It hurt like hell, but she was going to have to get past it.

"So you see why we think it's Crowley," she said. "He's the only one who would know-" her voice broke, but she cleared her throat "-what that child looked like."

Castiel looked thoughtful. "Actually," the thought had just occurred to him, "he's NOT the only one."

ROWENA, 1.6

Rowena was waiting for her son to return to the den with Frank's bones, but she wasn't sitting idly.

She came back from the spell that had enabled her to look in on the conversation that had just taken place. Up until that last moment, she'd been quite pleased with herself.

Once Fergus was otherwise occupied, she had performed a spell which called back one of the Demons he had sent on the killing spree. She'd given him the picture of a specific child that his King wanted killed, in the most gruesome manner possible. But, the boy's face was to remain intact. Not a mark on it. The Demon had taken the picture from Rowena and looked at her curiously, but left to obey his instructions. His King had told him to kill humans; what did he care?

After her very unsatisfying conversation with Fergus about his true intentions, Rowena had grown uneasy. Her son had told her he wanted to reanimate Gail's brother Frank, and make him into a Demon. She'd found that interesting. The idea was actually impressively diabolical. Fergus reasoned that Gail would be more motivated to join their team, if her brother was already a member. And, if not...well, Crowley could be very persuasive. He hadn't tortured anyone in a while. He kind of missed the hands-on feeling of a job done correctly.

So Rowena was prepared to help her son reanimate Frank. But she had the feeling there was a lot more that Fergus wasn't telling her. And while she didn't miss the old, namby-pamby version of her son, he had been a lot easier to control. This version was a lot more scheming and ruthless than she'd expected. She hadn't known her son in adult life, having abandoned him when he was just a young lad. Had he always been like this? She wondered if her having forgotten the last couple of words of the incantation she'd used when reviving Fergus had anything to do with the way he was now. Obviously, he'd been some kind of special bastard to have ascended to the throne, but she honestly felt uneasy, and she wasn't sure why.

That was why she'd pulled the trigger so quickly. Researched Sioux Falls on the computer, found a child resembling the Demon Gail had killed, and instructed Crowley's man as she did. The fact that the boy resembled Gail's victim that much was a happy coincidence, but many children that age looked alike to Rowena. So just to be on the safe side, she'd had the same

Demon possess the medical examiner, just long enough to tape the hex bag she'd given him to the underside of the gurney where the child's body lay. When Gail and Castiel viewed the body, their eyes saw the child as identical to the one who had been in the den.

Rowena felt sure they would reach the conclusion that they had: that Crowley was still alive. She had planned all along for them to find out.

But that last statement of Castiel's had made her uneasy. Rowena had also been there in the den, and she didn't want to be on their radar.

So she re-summoned the Demon who had killed the child, and told him to meet Crowley at 11 p.m., at the town's only motel. The King wanted to commend him in person for a job well done, and was also coming for a progress report. The Demon quickly agreed, happy to be singled out by the King.

After he'd left, Rowena picked up the phone and called the Sioux Falls police department, leaving an anonymous tip for the visiting FBI agents that a person of interest would be in the lobby of the motel they were staying in tonight, at 11 p.m. She hung up when they'd asked for her name.

She smiled. It was always good to have a Plan B.

SAM, 1.1

Sam had noticed something else on the police computer, though he hadn't yet mentioned it to anyone, not even Dean. Small town or no, Jody had insisted on keeping up with the latest technology, so her office computer was connected to a national crime database, complete with a cross-reference system which detected patterns. An alert had come through about a wave of possible serial killings in Texas. The bodies had been piling up all over the state, and the M.O. was always the same: the victims had all been stabbed with a knife of larger-than-usual dimensions, and their eyes had been burned right out of their skulls.

Sam's eyes widened. Large blade? Eyes burned out of their sockets? Were these Angel killings?

That was all they'd need. As if their plates weren't full enough right now. What the hell was going on. all of a sudden?

But the shock of finding out that Cas and Gail thought that Crowley was behind the murders they were working on drove the other murders from his mind, for the moment. Then an officer had arrived with the anonymous tip.

"It's the only motel in town," Sam told the others. "Logically, it's where we'd be staying. Someone's setting us up."

"So, what's new?" Dean asked sarcastically, taking out his cell phone. "I'm calling Jody. She'll want in on this, and we could use the help. So it's a trap; so what? Time to turn the tables on these bastards."

GARTH, 1.2

When Bess came home from her trip, Garth told her how he'd been feeling about the Winchesters.

She had met the brothers and thought they were decent men, but Bess didn't know them as Garth did. She was uncomfortable at the thought of his wanting to re-establish his relationship with them. Bottom line: they were Hunters, and she and her family were Werewolves. Just because they'd gotten a free pass last time, didn't mean they would again.

So she was able to deter her husband for the moment, but only for the moment. She knew how stubborn he could be.

METATRON, 1.9

He was puzzled, and growing annoyed, too.

Metatron had drifted through the great state of Texas, hacking and slashing humans at a prodigious rate. He never stayed in one place long enough to risk detection, but he knew by checking the Internet and reading the newspaper that his crime spree had been noticed by law enforcement. The press was calling them serial killings, and reporters were struggling to come up with a suitable nickname for the perpetrator.

It was a bit of a thrill to be outsmarting the police in all those different jurisdictions, but it wasn't enough. Metatron knew that the police forces from different counties and cities rarely worked seamlessly together on such matters. Petty jealousies and territorial concerns frequently reared their ugly heads, and let's face it, these were humans. Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character; there were no creatures of his intellect here.

The murders were still satisfying enough, but Metatron had come to realize that he needed more of a challenge. It was time to draw out Castiel and the Winchesters. He was frankly surprised that they hadn't shown up by now. He thought the M.O. was, you should pardon the expression, a dead giveaway.

Time to step it up. He would have to head to a larger city, and use the unified police force there to collate the clues. He would leave a one-word note with every corpse, from now on. A riddle. See how long it took the boneheads to figure it out.

Metatron packed his bags and walked to the bus station, buying a ticket for Dallas.

JODY, 1.2

The ringing of her cell phone woke Jody up. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, still dressed in full uniform.

She grabbed the phone. "Yeah. Mills, here."

It was Dean. He told her about the anonymous tip; they were going to ambush whoever arrived at the motel lobby at 11.

She looked at her watch. It was nearly 10:30. She'd better get a move on.

"Lose the uniform," Dean said. "We don't know what we're dealing with, here."

Jody understood. She'd known the Winchesters long enough, now. Sometimes when you were handling a case of supernatural origin, you had to throw away the rule book. Depending on who - or what - would show up tonight, it might be better if she did not wear her Sheriff hat for this.

"OK, Dean," she confirmed. "I'll definitely bring the weapons, though."

He smiled grimly. "The more, the better."

Jody hung up and rushed to the bedroom to change.

GARTH, 1.3

Garth snuck into the bathroom with his cell phone, and paused with his finger hovering over Dean's number on the speed dial. He was torn between his growing urge to make contact with the brothers, and his loyalty to his wife.

He knew Bess was leery of his association with the Winchesters, and he had promised her he'd stand down for now. But, if he could only make her understand...his dread was increasing with every day that passed. His dreams were filled with scenes of the brothers' deaths at the hands of various entities. Vampires, Demons, you name it.

But last night's dream had been the worst. He had seen the Winchesters on the ground in the forest clearing, their throats being ripped out by Bess and her family. He'd woken up, sweating, his pulse beating at his temples.

It was the remembrance of this dream that made him put the phone back in his pocket. God help him, when he'd seen and smelled the Winchesters' blood in his dream, he had been horrified. But he had also been very, very hungry.

CHUCK, 1.4

Chuck stood in the next room, watching Aurielle in training, through a two-way mirror.

He was pleased with her progress, and admittedly, a little surprised. When he'd first gotten to know her, she'd been shy and socially awkward. But the mission he had given her had transformed Aurielle.

She fought with the skill and ferocity of a seasoned professional. She had channeled her infatuation with Castiel and her desire to stand up for God and for Heaven, and her passion was evident as she took down one would-be enemy after another.

Chuck had seen what he came to see. She was almost ready.

DEAN, 1.2

A couple of minutes to 11, and they were in position.

After having slipped the motel clerk a couple of twenties to disappear for half an hour, Dean was crouched behind the front desk in the lobby. The door had chimes above it; if a person entered, he would hear.

Sam was around the corner of the lobby, keeping a lookout. If whatever it was they were supposed to be seeing did not use doors, he would be ready.

Jody, Castiel and Gail were patrolling outside the motel, watching for any arrivals. Depending on what they saw, each of the trio was equipped with a cell phone, prepared to call the brothers and warn them, if need be.

They were discreet, mostly concealed by the darkness and the bushes planted around the motel perimeter. But Castiel was watching Gail just as carefully as he was watching the front door of the motel. This was her first foray into the world of the Hunter, and they were dealing with Demons, possibly even Crowley himself. She was well trained, but had already shown herself to be vulnerable. And his feelings for her had made him vulnerable, as well. He frowned. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

But it was too late to turn back now. A man approached the front door of the motel, and as he looked around, the lights surrounding the entrance shone into his back eyes. Demon. Then the man entered the motel.

One Demon? Hardly an ambush, Jody thought. Sam and Dean could handle this guy with one arm tied behind their backs. Was he an informant, maybe?

The trio continued to keep guard, but no one else showed up. Was that it?

As she was closest to the front door, Jody edged closer, to listen in on what was going on inside. At the first sign of trouble, she'd storm in.

The Demon walked into the motel lobby. He saw no one. But he was on time for his meeting with the Boss, so he would wait.

No one was at the front desk. He could see that there was an alcove on the other side of the room; he moved there now, to sit down and wait.

The Demon turned the corner and walked right into Sam. One look at Its face and Sam knew immediately what they were dealing with. He grabbed the Demon before the latter could react, and put his knife to its throat.

"Sam Winchester," the Demon growled. "Where's your brother?"

On cue, Dean came around the corner and slapped the demon-proofed cuffs on him, once Sam had turned him around. Hands cuffed behind his back and the Winchesters' knives pointed at him, there wasn't much he could do. Crap.

The brothers marched the Demon back through the lobby, and outside.

Jody, Castiel and Gail emerged from the bushes and approached them.

"See anyone else?" Dean asked.

"No. All quiet," Jody answered. This was weird, she thought. The perfect opportunity for an ambush, and they send just this one guy? Something was fishy.

"We're gonna take this guy and ask him a few questions," Dean told the others. He and Sam bound the Demon, and threw him into the trunk of the Impala.

"Why don't you go get some more rest, Jody?" Sam suggested.

She started to protest, then shut her mouth. She knew what was about to take place. Demon or not, this was still a human vessel, and after the brothers were done with him, he'd be a murder victim. She was the Sheriff. Best to stay away, for now. Besides, she was still tired, and it would be another long day tomorrow.

So she left for home, advising Dean she wanted a full report on whatever he was able to find out.

Dean got behind the wheel and Sam, Castiel and Gail piled into the car. They drove to the outskirts of town, to a deserted farmhouse that the brothers had used before. With Jody's assistance, they had set up a chair with chains attached to it, and a devil's trap painted on the floor underneath. For several years now, Jody had used her position in town to keep any would-be neighbours far enough away from the house to be well out of earshot.

So when their Demon captive was put in the chair, Sam and Castiel attaching the chains, Dean knew he had carte blanche. This son of a bitch was going to provide them with some answers, before they killed him.

"You're wasting your time," the Demon sneered. "I confess: I killed some people. There. No need for an interrogation."

"Oh, well in that case..." Dean said casually, then carved the Demon's cheek with his knife, and the Demon screamed in pain.

Gail knew what they were there for; she was no fool. But she'd been unprepared for this demonstration of brutality from Dean. He'd done this many times before, of course, and much worse, especially when he'd had the Mark of Cain on his arm. The Mark was now gone, but Dean did his best work when he was pissed off, and he was pissed off now. This guy was going to tell them everything he knew about the murders, and most specifically, who was behind them.

He continued to carve up the Demon, who continued to defy Dean, spewing obscenities. Dean was becoming more and more frustrated, and his victim could see that.

The Demon laughed at Dean. "You must be out of practice," he taunted. "When you come back to Hell, we'll have to give you a refresher course on how to torture."

Dean saw red. Sam could see he was about to blow and, fearing they'd lose their only source of information, Sam grabbed Dean's arm as Dean raised his knife again.

"Outside. Now," he said to Dean. His brother glared at him, but Dean lowered his arm and allowed Sam to lead him out of the house.

This left Castiel and Gail alone with the Demon, and Cas had had enough. He withdrew the Angel blade from his coat, and pointed it at the Demon's throat.

"Who ordered these killings?" Castiel demanded.

The Demon laughed again. "The famous Castiel. What a badass you are." The Demon's eyes flicked to Gail. "That your little Angel girlfriend? Does she know what you really are? What you've done?"

Castiel was angry now, but of course, that had been the point. He ripped open the Demon's shirt, using all his self-control not to ram his blade into the thing's chest. He slashed the blade across the Demon's stomach three, four, five times, eliciting screams of pain.

"Who ordered these killings?" Castiel asked again, slashing the Demon again, then again. "I can do this all night."

If Gail had been taken aback by Dean's earlier brutality, she was completely shocked now. She knew Castiel had been a warrior, but she had never expected this. Her mind flashed back to the momentary fear she'd felt before facing off with Castiel in the training room. This was the side of him she'd always somehow known was there, and it was frightening to behold. And, what had the Demon meant when he'd asked Castiel if she knew what he was, and what he'd done? What was he talking about?

Then Sam and Dean came back into the room, and it was Dean's turn to pull Castiel back. Cas was breathing heavily and had that look in his eyes, a look that Dean had seen only a handful of times. Cas had had that look when he had almost killed Dean, over possession of the Angel tablet. He'd been brainwashed and controlled by the Angel Naomi then, and though he'd stopped himself short of actually killing Dean, he'd come very close. That was the second time Dean had been terrified of Cas, and of his power. But he had appealed to Cas then, and Cas had stood down, breaking Naomi's spell.

"Cas!" Dean grabbed his arm. "Come on, man. Step away."

Castiel's eyes flashed bright blue, but then he relented, and walked back to the wall to stand beside Gail. She looked at him curiously, making Castiel feel uncomfortable.

"Demons lie," he said to her. But a voice inside him asked: Who's lying now?

METATRON, 1.10

He had worked all day on the riddle, wanting it to be just perfect. But the sun was going down now, and Metatron was eager to get started.

Maybe he was overthinking this. Perhaps he should make it simpler. His target was a man of few words; just this once, maybe Metatron could take a leaf out of Castiel's book, and follow suit.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, Metatron sat down and wrote out eleven words on separate pieces of paper, one to be attached to each human he planned to kill tomorrow.

"The latest murder victims cry out to the First for justice."

There. He smiled down at the words. Sometimes simplest was best. Once the victims were found and the notes assembled in the proper order, this would be a red flag. And if the humans were unable to accommodate him, he would help them out, by placing an anonymous call to the Dallas police.

Metatron sat back, a smug smile on his face. Castiel would come. And then, Metatron would destroy him.

DEAN, 1.3

After he'd gotten Castiel to stand down, Dean faced the Demon once again, knife in hand. Sam had gotten Dean to cool off somewhat, but he was still on low simmer. He had to appreciate the job Cas had done on this joker in his absence, though.

When he and Sam had walked back into the room, Dean had picked up on the palpable tension between Cas and Gail, and he'd heard Cas's comment. Demons did lie, Dean knew that, but he wondered what this guy had said to make Cas do such a number on him. He knew the Demon hadn't yet told them what they wanted to know, or Cas would have killed him.

So Dean went back to torturing the Demon, but he did so slowly, methodically. Not losing his temper. And now, the cracks were beginning to show.

Eventually, their captive yelled, "Stop! I'll tell you!"

Dean leaned forward. "I'm all ears."

"It was the King," the Demon said, his mouth sputtering with blood.

"Elvis?" Dean quipped, but his pulse quickened.

"The King of Hell," the Demon retorted, knowing he was well and truly screwed now, but needing to end the torture. "Crowley."

Dean straightened up, and exchanged glances with his three companions. So, it was true. Crowley was still alive. But, how?

They'd worry about that later. Right now, Dean had a message for the King of Hell.

He turned back to the broken and bleeding Demon in the chair. "Say hi to him for us. And tell him we'll be seeing him, real soon." He smiled, and plunged the knife into the Demon's chest.

AURIELLE, 1.5

She entered Chuck's office, walking confidently, head held high.

Aurielle's eyes were shining, Chuck noticed, and she had the bearing of a warrior Angel now. Again, the thought flashed briefly through his mind that he'd created a monster. Over the years, he'd seen that religious fervour, combined with weaponry, made a dangerous combination. And yet and here he was, building the bomb.

But it was too late, now. He couldn't turn back, even if he wanted to. He had exchanged messages with Metatron on a secret frequency of Angel Radio, and he knew what Metatron had been up to. Chuck was impressed, and more than a little scared. Like it or not, he had hitched his wagon to Metatron's star, and Chuck couldn't back off now, or Metatron would eat him for breakfast.

So he had told Metatron he was sending Aurielle to Earth, to assist him in taking down Castiel. Metatron had been angry at first, insisting he didn't need the help of some ordinary Angel, and a girl Angel, at that. But then Chuck explained what he'd had in mind, and the role Aurielle was going to play, and Metatron had relented.

As Aurielle sat down across from Chuck, she saw the look on his face and knew that he was impressed. She had transformed herself into a confident, capable fighter now, and she could see that he knew it.

She leaned forward, across the desk. "I'm ready, and we both know it," she said. "What's my assignment?"

So, Chuck spun his latest story. Metatron was in Texas, and he had been killing members of the Angel terrorist squad, and the humans who were helping and sheltering them. He was operating alone, at the moment. Castiel had accompanied the Winchesters to South Dakota at Gail's urging, to assist with some Demon killings there. Castiel had not wanted to leave Metatron's side, but he was besotted with his love for Gail, and blinded by his devotion to the Winchesters.

Gail had her own agenda, of course, Chuck told Aurielle. She'd wanted to get Castiel away from Metatron, distract him from the mission. She hadn't wanted to lose many more of her group.

So Aurielle was to go to Texas to help Metatron. He was going to put out an urgent plea for Castiel to return, and to bring Gail with him. Gail would have no choice but to comply, as she needed to retain her cover.

And once Castiel and Gail arrived, Aurielle was to kill Gail. But first she would have to be tortured, and in front of Castiel, until she confessed to her role as a member of the terrorist group. A spy. And once Castiel learned the truth and Gail was dispatched, he would realize what Aurielle had saved him from, and he would be eternally grateful to her. And there Aurielle would be, the warrior who was really on his side, ready to pick up the pieces of Castiel's broken heart.

It was a better scenario than Aurielle could ever have imagined, even back in the days of her romance novels. She could already picture Castiel holding her, while she comforted him.

"I'm ready to go," she told Chuck, springing to her feet.

"Gather your weapons," Chuck instructed her. "I'm awaiting word from Metatron. Once we have the green light, I'll send for you. Metatron has special powers; we'll have to send you to

Earth in your true form, but he'll be able to provide you with a vessel identical to your current appearance. So, Castiel will recognize you."

Aurielle smiled, and left the office.

Chuck sat at his desk for quite a while after she left, deep in thought. What a bloodbath this was going to be. Hopefully, Aurielle would be able to torture and kill Gail, before Aurielle realized she was being set up. Before she realized that her precious Castiel and Metatron were about as far from allies as you could get. There was no terrorist group, and there was nothing for Gail to confess to. Once Aurielle had killed Gail, Castiel would have no choice but to kill Aurielle. Even if she didn't succeed in killing Gail, Castiel would be distracted, devastated at seeing Gail tortured. Then Metatron would come in, and finish him off. And even if the females survived, Metatron would kill them too, leaving no witnesses, and no trail back to Heaven, and to Chuck.

He spared a thought for poor Aurielle, then shrugged. Oh, well. Collateral damage. At least she'd die in the company of the Angel she loved so much.

GOD, 1.2

He had heard the discussion a while back between His Angel children and the Winchesters, and God had mixed feelings about it.

Like all of the beings He had made, God Himself felt emotions, and plenty of them. Feelings and emotions were the spice of life in any form, and how dull things would be without them. So when God had created Angels and humans, He had given them all of His qualities, both positive and negative.

Contrary to what most humans thought, at least those who prayed to Him and His Angels by extension, God could not be everywhere at once. No one could. He actually could choose to see anyone or anything He wanted at any given time, but there was a lot He chose not to look at.

God was aware that His thought process and methods were beyond understanding, and He did not much care. That was the main perk of being the originator of all Creation; He did not have to explain Himself to anyone. There was always a plan, an endgame for everything.

He was also aware that Castiel was doubting Him, wondering why his Father had not stepped in to prevent Metatron's escape. He did not blame his Son for feeling confused. On the surface, God knew that Metatron was bad news for humanity and Angels alike. His term in prison had embittered Metatron, and made him hungry for revenge. But Metatron was also one of God's original Angels. He could still remember the Scribe sitting at his feet as God had given him the Word, so very long ago. Metatron had looked up at Him with such awe, such belief... God sighed. There was a soft spot in His heart for His Originals, and He often gave them the benefit of the doubt, sometimes making excuses for them.

It saddened Him to see what Metatron had become. God also knew what Castiel did not yet know; that Metatron had murdered a number of humans, and was planning to murder more. Yet, God would not make a move against Metatron. This was one of those endgame scenarios. God was thinking longer term, big picture. It was unfortunate that a number of humans would die, but this was not without precedent. The Flood, Sodom and Gomorrah; it was all there, in the bestseller. And the worthy people who were sacrificed would ascend to Heaven.

But God would not let anything happen to Castiel and Gail. He had watched them enter the Sioux Falls morgue, and had seen Gail's reaction upon viewing that poor child's body. He had been happy to see her remorse; it proved to Him that He had made the right decision when He had given Gail her wish to become an Angel, and to work with Castiel. His Son had been lonely for too long. Even though Castiel now had the Winchester brothers for companionship as God had arranged, his Father had been wanting to give him a partner, another Angel who would always be at his side. God had long-term plans for Castiel, and He had been very patient with His Son up to this point, giving him more than several chances to get back on the path, when he had strayed.

It hadn't been easy, though. After several missteps and lapses in judgment, to say the least, Castiel had naively teamed up with Metatron, resulting in the Fall. God had been elsewhere at the time, watching with amazement as His children fell one by one from their home. Part of the blame lay with God Himself; He had been on a road trip at the time, and had not been paying close enough attention to what was going on. Like Castiel, God had trusted Metatron to do what was right and, as Dean Winchester would say, that was on Him.

But the legends about God were mainly true, and He had been very angry upon seeing his children dropping to Earth, many of them dying on impact. Then He had watched as the remaining Angels had come together in groups and began slaughtering each other, in a battle for supremacy.

At that point, God had had it. Hehad allowed Metatron to take most of Castiel's Grace, and then had cast His Son down to Earth to live life as a human, for a while. Castiel had needed to be humbled, and he'd also needed a wake-up call. But Castiel had since justified his Father's faith in him. His time as a human had indeed transformed him into the kind of Angel that God had always thought Castiel could be. He was compassionate and merciful, demonstrating an empathy for humans, having been among their number. But he had not lost his edge, which was also a necessary quality. When dealing with Demons and their ilk, the dispensation of swift justice was mandatory.

God also knew that his son Cain was back in play, acting under the adopted name of Crowley. He had felt a certain sense of poetic justice when Castiel had been the one to kill Crowley; it was only fair that Abel be given the opportunity to administer the ultimate punishment upon his brother. But the witch Rowena had used her Unholy spell to raise Crowley from the dead, and he once again reigned as the King of Hell.

But for every yin there was a yang, and God needed Hell to stay in business. Humans needed a deterrent, an assurance that reprehensible behaviour in life would lead to eternal damnation in

Hell. So God had allowed Crowley and his predecessors to continue operations, only stepping in when their actions became too egregious, or when harm was about to come to one of His Chosen.

Sam and Dean Winchester were among the few humans that God had designated to that status. They had been on his radar from birth, and as He had followed their progress throughout the years, He had deemed them worth saving. They had dedicated their lives to protecting the human race, often at great personal risk and sacrifice. So God had sent Castiel to assist and watch over them, and then, He had sent Gail.

He had also noticed Gail from birth, recognizing her as one of His humans who had been born under special circumstances, with special powers. God had always been a fan of variety, and every now and then He imbued random humans with certain powers, just to see what they would do with them. Some, like Gail, chose to use their Healing powers to help others; while others, like Rowena, chose to use magic to harm others, and condemn souls.

Gail had had her fair share of adversity from a young age, much like the Winchesters, and God had arranged their meeting as a mutually beneficial situation. He had been delighted when Gail had cured Castiel on that first night. Her determination and quick action to Heal his Son had convinced God that she should be Castiel's partner. True, Crowley had tried to take Gail's soul and had nearly succeeded, but at the eleventh hour, God had sent Castiel the Vision, and his Son had saved Gail on Christmas Eve, just as Gail had saved Castiel at the beginning.

And now, with dangerous forces all around His Chosen, God would continue to sit back and watch the events unfold, only stepping in if absolutely necessary. The biggest tests they had ever faced were ahead for Castiel and Gail, and Dean and Sam Winchester.