Soul Men
by Judanim
Chapter Two: "A Mission from God"
Gabriel knew he'd slept late when he was awoken by the sulphuric breath of a hellhound. He pushed Azi's muzzle away from his face, mumbling, "Five more minutes."
Azi whined and pressed his nose to Gabriel's palm insistently.
The trickster cracked open his eyes to see the hound giving him the most pathetic look, exhaustion written all over the pup's face. Gabriel could sympathize. "All right, mutt, I'm up." He rolled over onto his back and was surprised to find Crowley still in bed as well, though the demon was at least sitting up. "What's the occasion?" Gabriel asked.
"End of the world, love. No rush," Crowley said, his tone easy, and it was only now that Gabriel noticed the book in his lap.
How long had he slept? Gabriel wiped the sleep from his eyes, trying to wake himself up, an effort that had gotten a lot more difficult to do in the last couple years. He shifted to his left side to better look at the demon. "It took almost three hundred years, but the hedonism has finally gotten to you. Though I think Azi would disagree with you right about now."
Crowley tossed a bone to the oversized dog bed in the corner of the room. Azi gave a grateful bark and bounded after it. "The poor pup's only tired because you slept in."
"You could have woken me up at any time."
"Believe me, I tried. I would've resorted to drastic measures, but I remember what happened last time."
"Hey, you managed to make it out alive. I did fix the house afterwards." Gabriel sighed and pulled himself into a slouch, half-resting against the headboard. The Croats had lightened up lately, comparatively speaking, so they could afford a little rest and relaxation, something he was never opposed to. "Y'know, breakfast in bed sounds like a brilliant idea right about now."
The demon went back to his book. "You're the one with the trickster powers, darling."
"Effort," Gabriel said with a vague hand-wave, as if that explained everything. A devilish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Hmm. Do you accept payments in other forms?"
"I could be persuaded," Crowley said, and though he didn't look up from his reading, his voice was deep, deeper than usual, accent laid on extra-thick, just the way Gabriel liked.
In one easy motion, the trickster pulled himself up, plucked the book from Crowley's hands, and straddled the demon's hips. He leaned in, lips ghosting against Crowley's, and said, "Well then, let me see what I can come up with."
Somewhere outside there was a crash, just close enough to pull Gabriel's gaze away from Crowley. Azi too had his head raised, tail thumping against the wall, shaking the house down to the foundation. They'd have to fix that later.
"Probably Croats. The wards will keep them at bay." Crowley nudged Gabriel's chin to return the trickster's eyes to him. "You were saying?"
Gabriel should've complained about the blatant risk, one that neither of them would normally take, but the demon's hands were sliding down his sides, to his hips, and suddenly he couldn't be bothered to think that far ahead.
Another crash sounded, closer this time, close enough that Gabriel could make out oddly calm cries for help if he strained to listen. Azi growled, and the trickster couldn't help the exasperated, needy whine that escaped his own throat.
"Wards, huh?" Gabriel forced himself out of Crowley's embrace and slid off the bed, headed for the closet.
Something—maybe even someone—banged on the front door, interrupting whatever retort Crowley had. The demon sighed and stood as well. "I swear, if it's a bunch of humans looking for asylum, I'm going to be very not-careful about my aim."
"Crowles."
"Fine. I'll keep one eye open."
They dressed and went out to the living room. Crowley retrieved the rifle he kept stashed under the couch (the one piece of advice he'd ever accepted from Bobby Singer) and opened the front door.
Standing on the porch was a pack of about ten Croats, as anticipated, along with the last person either of them expected to see, except perhaps a Winchester.
"Damn it, Cas," Crowley said, pulling the poor man into the house by his sleeve.
A Croat made a grab for the fallen angel before he slipped past the wards, but it got the business end of Crowley's rifle instead.
Castiel landed on the floor in gasping, messy heap. He looked up at Gabriel, blue eyes far more lucid than the last time Gabriel had seen him. But even he couldn't have stayed stoned for an entire year. "Hello, brother."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Gabriel asked, kneeling down and searching his brother for injury with what magic he could spare. Somehow he'd made it through the scuffle with the Croats unscathed. "What happened to the 'Follow Dean Around Like a Lost Puppy' plan?"
Before Cas could answer, unlikely in any event, Crowley finished up with the zombies, slamming the door shut and swinging round to face them, gun dangerously loose in his grip.
"You. Start explaining."
The man who had once been the Winchesters' pet angel sat upright and leaned against Gabriel's side. He managed to actually look comfortable resting on the yellowed and cracked linoleum. "I have a mission for you two."
"A mission?" Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow.
Crowley folded his arms, rifle tucked almost protectively against his chest, and shot the trickster a look. "If you start parroting, I will bloody kill you, angel," he said, though the words lacked venom.
Gabriel noted the protest and stuck his tongue out all the same. The demon only rolled his eyes.
"Yes, a mission. From Chuck, if you can believe it," Castiel said.
"The wiry little prophet? Since when did Dad start talking to him again?" There was a hint of jealousy in Gabriel's voice, though he'd deny it with his last breath. He shook his head. "Well it's something, I guess. What's this holy mission about?"
Castiel cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "Saving the world."
"What?" Gabriel and Crowley asked at the same time.
The fallen angel chuckled, a bitter, half-strangled sound. "I realize it sounds crazy, but it's what God wants."
"Let me see if I have this right. Your Father hasn't spoken in six thousand years, and this is what He comes up with?" Crowley set down his rifle and rubbed his face. "To send a fallen archangel and a demon to rescue the planet from the depths of despair? Why? Better yet, how?"
"You two are the only agents of Heaven and Hell not on Michael or Lucifer's side. Well, there is Balthazar, but he's another matter entirely." Castiel paused, leaning a little heavier against his brother. "The last hold-outs for Team Free Will. This has to be you."
"The last…?" Gabriel grabbed Castiel's shoulder to bring him the few inches down to eyelevel. "What about you? Or Dean? Wasn't all that his idea in the first place?" At Cas' silence, he frowned. "You're kidding. Not him too."
Castiel nodded, his gaze unfaltering. "The next time Dean goes hunting, he won't return to camp. He'll be headed for Detroit."
"The moose must've known he wouldn't hold out forever. Fucking Winchesters." Crowley sighed. "Though I have to wonder why it took Lucifer so long to figure out."
Gabriel snorted. "I'm sure that kid's head was so scrambled it gave even Luci trouble."
"Sam would not have just given up that information." Cas' voice was this side of a growl. He stared down them both, a light suddenly in his eyes that hadn't been seen for many a year. "Even as a vessel, he would've guarded any information regarding Dean with nothing less than his entire being."
Crowley cleared his throat. "Right. You still haven't told us how we're supposed to do this. I am not going to try and stop the Apocalypse without a plan. Not again."
"You won't have to," Castiel said, his tone even and calm once more. From his pocket he pulled out two rings, one plain gold and the other silver with a black stone.
The trickster snatched them out of Cas' hand. He held the gold one up, midday sunshine glinting sharply off the surface. "Are these what I think they are?"
Crowley took the other but held it at arm's length, like a piece of jewelry would do him harm. Well, these particular ones might be able to. "The rings of Famine and War? Seriously, Cas?"
Castiel nodded. "If you can get the other two, you should be able to unlock Lucifer's cage. All you have to figure out is how to stuff him back in it, maybe even Michael too. At least all of this would stop."
"What about Raphael? He'd just spring the lock the minute our backs are turned." The question was directed at Castiel, but Crowley's eyes were on Gabriel.
There was that guilt again, gnawing away at the pit of the trickster's stomach. He couldn't hold the demon's gaze, instead focusing on the ring in his hand, turning it over from palm to palm like it was the most fascinating thing in the fucking world. "We have to try either way. This is the best solution. No would have to die, not Lucifer, not Michael, not even the Winchesters. And it would put an end to all this Ineffable Plan nonsense."
"Chuck thought you might like it." Castiel put a hand on Gabriel's shoulder, and the trickster found it in him to look up. The brothers shared a little smile before Cas turned to Crowley. "Though he thought you would be easier to convince."
"It's not the idea I'm opposed to, it's the risk," Crowley said, still looking at Gabriel. "Though seeing as we're dead either way, we might as well."
Gabriel met Crowley's eyes again, and he found himself smirking. "We would technically be making the most of the time we've got left.
The demon shook his head, a smile fighting its way to his face. "Us on a mission from God. Your Father is off his rocker."
Castiel joined in on the mirth. "It's been six thousand years since He last intervened directly. Anyone would be a bit rusty after all that time." He stood, and Gabriel followed suit. Cas, wavering on his feet, didn't give him much choice.
"So, where are good ole Death and Pestilence, or whatever he's calling himself these days?" Gabriel asked, putting one arm around Castiel's shoulders to steady him.
The fallen angel gave him a grateful nod. "Pestilence is holed up at the headquarters of Niveus Pharmaceuticals, home of the Croatoan virus. He doesn't make a secret of it, so it is heavily fortified. As for Death, I can't say. I tried to interrogate a reaper, but…"
Crowley nodded. "Not the talkative type. Luckily, I think we have some strings we can pull."
"You don't mean—"
"Sadly, yes."
"Great. He'll probably want me to apologize after last time."
"Probably, angel?"
Castiel let out a laugh, little and meek though it was. "You'll need transportation first, I imagine."
The trickster raised an eyebrow, holding up the hand that wasn't holding up Cas. "Um, pagan god vessel, remember?"
"I meant a way that wouldn't end up killing you," Castiel said, deadpan. He reached into his pocket again and extracted a set of keys. "This is far safer, and she's all fixed up with a full tank of gas."
"Is that…" Crowley took the keys and stared at them wide-eyed. "The Impala?"
With a nod, Castiel replied, "Dean abandoned her not long after Sam left. I think, in a way, that car was meant to save the world."
Gabriel's jaw went slack, and after a moment he turned and hugged his brother, holding the fallen angel fiercely against his chest. There was so much he should've said, so much apologizing and explaining, but instead he opted for pulling back to look at Cas, really look at him, and asking, "You'll be all right getting back?"
"I've got a ride," Castiel said, squeezing Gabriel's shoulder in return. "Be safe, and don't let us down."
Two duffels full of clothes, plus another full of candy, took up what space was left in the Impala's trunk, after the standard hunter equipment—assorted guns and knives, salt, and oil and water of the holy variety. Azi didn't need an invitation to curl up in the backseat, while Gabriel called shotgun. Crowley wouldn't have let him drive anyway.
The demon revved the Impala's engine, smiling a little. "Cas didn't make it any quieter."
"Part of the image, cupcake." Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a pair of sunglasses materialized on both their faces. "And so is this. Don't fight it."
Crowley chuckled, which the trickster took as agreement. "So, Death or Pestilence?"
Neither was a pleasant option, but then again there wasn't much "pleasant" left in the world these days. "Death."
"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see us."
"Hey, the less Croats the better."
"You're going to regret saying that, darling."
"What else is new? Hit it."
The Impala roared, and they were off to save the world.
