disclaim ;; I do not own Supernatural.
information ;; Chapter two. I feel silly adding all the episode bits to it, but I feel that it is necessary for the ultimate outcome of the story, which by chapter five, will have nothing to do with season six. As always, your reviews mean my writing more. If you could let me know what you think about posting the current playlist, I'd love it. I've never done this before but I really like when other authors do it. Enough chatter, please enjoy.
current playlist ;; Back Again by 16 Frames, Forever Young by Bob Dylan, Gravity by Intercept, Into The Ocean by Blue October, Lay All Your Love On Me by Abba, Rainymood (dot) com
Tuesday
Their relationship is one of freedom, not to be taken for anything more than face value at the end of the day. Love is not a concept either being holds, and he above all else can not profess to the warm tingly emotion humans hold so dear. If anything can be said of their secret moments, it is a complete escape from their realities. Meg is running scared and he can do very little to help her. He is fighting a war against his brothers, and there is little she can do to help him.
Leave it to the Winchesters, then, to find a way for Meg to assist the greater battle.
He returns to their place only to find she has abandoned the seedy motel. As with most times they leave a place, the walls are cracked, one section caving in, the bed is in disarray, the lights are blown out. He stands quietly, drinking in the details, even running the events across his mind. His vessel does not ache with what he now knows to be a need for release. Rather, his vessel is at peace and this leaves him at a greater ability to perform his functions in heaven. Fighting the battle against Raphael is, thus far, proving to be a losing one. He lacks the sheer power and numbers Raphael has built.
Who is he, Castiel, a lower ranking angel, to command God's soldiers?
This deters him for only a moment, still unfamiliar with doubt and uncertainty. Instead, there are things to be done while the Winchesters make plans of their own. He isn't sure how much longer he can tiptoe behind their backs, fighting as alone as he's ever been, but he knows they wont understand. They never will, not after everything they've seen. They are smart, perhaps too smart to not realize his sneaking around, but until they do, he will be free to keep Raphael at bay with the finite power he has now.
Demons are waiting for them outside Crowley's Murder Nursery. The knowledge that he has Crowley in the palm of his hand, that he can kill the King of Hell right now, if he so chose, and this can all be over, does nothing to sate him. There is too much riding on this one battle to act rashly now. He's made a deal and he can not simply back out on that deal. Perhaps, before pulling Sam from the cage, he could have killed Crowley without thinking. That isn't the case now. As he and the Winchesters walk to meet the demons, a beautifully familiar face appears from the group.
"Remember me? I sure remember you, Clarence," Meg says with a knowing grin.
There is a split second pause where he has little idea what to do. He turns to Sam and Dean, what he hopes to be confusion on his face. "Why are we working with these abominations?" Had they found out?
"Keep talking like that," Meg sighs dreamily. "Makes my meatsuit all dewy."
"Alright, simmer down," Dean says, cutting the tension and stepping in. Again, Castiel wonders if they've found out. Cant be. "We know where Crowley is."
Meg's eyebrow twitches up momentarily, an interest behind her eyes. "Great. Do tell."
He stops paying attention when Sam starts speaking. He already knows. He has known, for some time. They're smart, the brothers, and he can only stay one step ahead of them for so long. That Meg is involved is neither his concern nor problem. She makes her own decisions, even if he knows them to be wrong. Terribly wrong, with terrible consequences.
Crowley's back is to him when he enters the room, trench coat ruffling around his legs. The King of Hell knows well that there is an angel in the room, but he doesn't turn. Rather, he grins down at the subject on his table and stabs the scalpel into the still-warm flesh.
"Ah, Castiel, so glad you could come," Crowley purrs as he turns to address the angel, wiping bloody hands across his apron professing 'kiss the chef' in cursive letters. "What are your pets up to now?"
"The Winchesters are coming here tonight."
Crowley perks up, a glint to his eye. "Are they now? Well that is interesting. Wouldn't have anything to do with your information, would it?"
His expression remains the same. "No."
"Of course not, it never is."
"Where are your bones, Crowley?" he asks, deflecting the conversation.
The King of Hell pauses, flinches ever so slightly. His eyes flicker to Castiel's, and he lets a nervous grin flit over his lips. "Why would I tell you that?"
"The Winchesters know how to destroy you."
Crowley waves his hand in impatient dismissal. "I know this, what are you trying to get at?"
"I know how to destroy you. They will be expecting my help," he says simply.
Crowley grins as the meaning dawns on him, pointing to the angel approvingly. "Oh, double agent. I like that. Have you any more tricks?"
The increasingly familiar feeling of guilt tightens at his gut, but he doesn't falter. "The bones, Crowley."
"Of course, dear, let me get my bags."
Crowley snaps his fingers, and the room around them vanishes, replacing itself with a beach. Without his usual fanfare, the King of Hell walks to the tree line and stamps his foot over a patch of earth. "Enjoy digging," he says, vanishing from the beach as Castiel comes to a stop beside the patch of earth.
Enjoy digging, indeed...
Swinging the door open, his eyes first land on Meg, hiding away the little details, the way her devilish smile only grows wider as he stands before her. Her smirk to Dean, as if saying, 'That's how it's done, big boy.' He had told himself this was nothing, but increasingly he feels that it might be something. Something entirely sinful and nothing redeeming about it. Somehow, he thinks redemption is beyond him, and perhaps in good time he will see why.
Dean nods to him, acknowledging his feat. He turns to Sam, a frown on his face. "This all seem a little too easy to you?"
Sam nods in agreement. "Way too easy," he says, stepping through the door first.
Castiel holds it open no longer than necessary. Meg looks up to him, and their eyes meet. He wants to tell her to flee, he wants to tell her Crowley isn't worth it, that there are bigger and darker things than herself in this world, but he can't seem to operate his voice, and she passes by with a knowing smirk as he makes sure they are not being followed.
Nothing. Something is wrong, he's sure of it.
Trailing at the back of the group, he has time to peek into the rooms Crowley holds his hostages. Djinn and Vampire alike, several Ghouls. Assortments of creatures that have never been seen under one roof until now. In the name of Purgatory, in the name of countless souls and a victory in the battle against Raphael. Suddenly reminded of his chilly purpose, he moves towards Dean and Sam, but not before a sound trickles into his ears. Pausing, he holds out his hand.
"Wait."
Dean turns, tension written in his features. "What is it?"
The collective group stands still, until the rasping barks can be heard echoing down the hall. Growing louder and more insistent with the scent of their prey. Four of them at least, probably more, and certainly Crowley's gigantic lap pet. He doesn't have to calculate the odds to know they are outnumbered and over powered.
"Damn it," Meg curses. "Here come the guards."
"Hell hounds." Dean's voice is breathless, perhaps from flashing back to his untimely death. They pause only a moment. "Go!"
None of them need encouragement. The corridor seems long and foreboding as their feet pound against the concrete floor and the barking grows louder from behind. He chances a single look over his shoulder, just as a hell hound drags one of Meg's demons to the floor screaming. Looking away, he sees Meg stumble, so close to the door, and without thinking of where they are and who is with them, he reaches out to her. Their hands touch, and he pulls her forward with him. She grabs his arm as they run through the doors, letting go only as the door behind closes and her feet are again under her and steady. Her second demon is dragged to the floor screaming, blood splashing up against the door's small window. Castiel is standing close to her, something like concern on his face. She notices his mistake - the Winchesters thankfully too busy procuring their barrier to do so - and moves away for him.
She knows their relationship, she knows what it means. This isn't love, this is release.
Dean whirls around from the door, facing Meg. "I knew this was a trap."
Meg arches her eyebrows. "What do you want, a cupcake?" she asks.
Sam points to the salt line. "Alright, that should keep them out," he says, breathing heavy to catch his breath.
"Not for long," Dean amends, eying Meg. "How many of them are there?"
She gives the slightest of grins. "Lots," she says. "I'll be pulling for you, from Cleveland."
"What?"
"I didn't know this was going to happen," Meg insists with a shake of her head. "Bright side? Them chewing up my meatsuit ought to buy you a few seconds."
Castiel flinches at the remark. Knowledge of one's true form can not possibly change the visual of the form he's seen her in, the form he's been with her in. Meg finding another host body might take time, and time is something Castiel has too much of and wants so much less of. Sam and Dean are just as appalled, though he realizes, they are shocked that she is leaving. It doesn't surprise him, he expects it and welcomes it. Something in him wants to keep her safe.
"Seacrest out," she says, but nothing happens. They stand for a moment, as if something might happen, and it does not. She looks to Castiel, surprise written across her face.
"A spell, I think, from Crowley," he says quickly, knowing just what it is. His gaze fixes on Meg, as if he can say sorry, but he knew what would happen here, he just hadn't been able to tell her. Apologizing now would be a waste of effort. "Within these walls, you're locked inside your body."
"Karma's a bitch, bitch," Dean snarks, receiving a glare from the demon. Suddenly struck with an idea, Sam rummages through his pockets, pulling out Ruby's knife. Dean looks skeptical, and he should be. "What are you doing, gonna slash at thin air until you hit something?" he asks.
Sam ignores him, handing the knife to Meg. "You can see them. Take this, hold them off. It's our best shot."
Meg eyes the knife hesitantly, as if contemplating the need for it. She doesn't move to take it. "At Crowley," she says at last. "Take it and go. You kill the smarmy dick, I'll hold off the dogs."
Dean scoffs, perhaps wondering if everyone around him has gone mad. "How you gonna do that?" he asks, trailing off.
Meg closes the gap between herself and Castiel, locking their lips, one hand pulling the angel closer by the back of his neck. There is a tiny moan, shared between their lips and their ears only, a pleasant vibration. Meg pulls away, a grin on her face, and he stares down at her, furious at first, though his body aches for more of her touch in ways he never believed possible. An angel, with such feelings?
Feelings that take over the rational part of his mind. He lifts the small brunette and turns as her arms wrap around his neck, pressing her against the wall. Their lips meet in a passionate kiss, hands kneading, touching, pressing. Meg whimpers, trying to suppress a moan. Parting their lips slightly, the angel breathes, "Don't do this." Meg shivers, arching her body against his, but she gives him no response. Pressing her against the wall with one hand, he pulls away, giving her as pleading a look an angel can. He releases her and stands awkwardly.
"What was that?" she asks playfully.
Dean and Sam are staring at him, them, and he wonders if they know. If they might think. If they might guess. If they might catch on to his shenanigans. But they are in shock, and he can't blame them. His shock, that first time, had been similar, if not slightly more violent. They are expecting an answer, though he suspects Meg is just looking at him longingly at this point, that clever glint in her eye. After staring at Dean and Sam with worry, he looks to Meg.
"I learned that from the pizza man," he says, never breaking eye contact with the demon.
Dean has something to say, he lifts his hand, though Meg smirks back and finds her words first. "Well, A-plus for you. I fell so... clean." Her reflection lasts a moment, a hazy dream flitting past her eyes, before she realizes where she is. Lifting her hand, clutching Castiel's blade, she regains composure. "Okay, gotta go."
Castiel pats his hips, searching for his weapon, even looks down to see it, though there is nothing there. Meg has taken it from him, the crafty demon she is. He can't bring himself to be terribly upset with her about the blade. Still, he doesn't wish to see her here. If anything should go wrong...
Dean tries to be the voice of reason, stepping forward. "Whoa, whoa, is that gonna work on a hell hound?"
Meg looks at it, wondering the same thing herself, before shrugging. "Well, we're about to find out. Run."
He pauses long enough for Dean to look back at him expectantly, then they are off. The hell hounds burst through the door as they are closing the door to the stairs. Their snarls and howls shake him to the bone, but still he presses on. Suppressing the urge to go back, he takes the lead, dropping down the steps quickly. Something is amiss.
"Can't see jack," Dean complains under his breath.
Castiel turns to look back, to possibly say something to the older Winchester, but it doesn't come out. He hitches on the stairs, a blinding light searing through the room and into his being. He hears Dean shout his name, feels one of the brothers grab for him, though the blood seal has done its work. As the light fades, he finds himself miles from the battle on Tuesday afternoon.