Chapter 3

Vanishing Point

It had been the longest Cassandra ever sat in a chair.

The mountain of paperwork seemed endless, and despite assigning several new jobs for Heaven's reconstruction, she felt like nothing was getting accomplished.

She sighed, looking down into her lap after another Angel had left.

The hands of her vessel were small and nimble. Despite this, it had held weapons.

These had been fighting hands.

Flashes of blood and war appeared in her vision. Demon blood had a sickly sweet scent, like copper mixed with burnt sugar.

She remembered the battle cries that rang in the air, the endless clamor of screams and armor as black and red blood was sprayed across her face –

"Cassandra?"

She jumped, suddenly snapping back to reality.

It was Hannah, looking down at her in confusion. "I've been calling your name for quite a long time now."

Cassie flushed, waving her hand dismissally. "Sorry, all this ink and paper…um…I think I'll need some air soon."

Hannah scoffed. "We're in Heaven, this is the cleanest air you could breathe. Not that you need to regardless."

Cassie gritted her teeth behind her lips. "It's a figure of speech. I mean I need a change of scenery."

Hannah crossed her arms. "Where is Castiel? I need to speak with him."

Cassie was careful not to let her face betray any emotion. "I don't know. I'm his sister, not his babysitter."

If she knew he's out looking for Dean, it wouldn't be good. Especially if Dean's a demon.

Hannah scowled. "It's of grave importance, concerning…Metatron."

Cassie brushed a strand of hair from her face and stood up. "I'll try to get a hold of him and tell him it's urgent."

"This is very unlike him, you know," Hannah went on. "He never just disappears without telling me where he's going."

The warrior dressed up as a secretary snickered. "Oh, so you're his babysitter then?"

Color rose to Hannah's cheeks. "I'm his next in command. And his most trusted colleague."

Cassie couldn't resist. Between the damn uniform, how put together Hannah looked all the time, and the overall lack of privacy she was given had gotten to her. "Actually I'm pretty sure I hold the spot of most trusted colleague and next in command. Blood is thicker than water, as they say."

Hannah visibly soured. "I've never heard that expression, I'm afraid."

Cassie stepped towards the door of her new office to exit. "You should educate yourself more. It's no wonder that all it took for you all to be overpowered was a Scribe with a rock."

Hannah sighed, rubbing her temples. "We're sisters too, Cassandra. There's no reason for us not to get along. We're all on the same side."

Despite the fact this was true, Cassie's immediate instinct was to recoil from this claim. "If we're all related, can you stop giving my brother the bedroom eyes? You're not his type."

Before Cassie could leave, Hannah strutted over to her and grabbed her by the shoulder, flipping her around to stare into her eyes.

Cassie gasped, her entire body rigid with stress. She needed to go. Everything inside her was screaming to go.

"I've seen that faraway look before, sister," Hannah said, a warning in her tone. "You need to stop living in the past. You have more use to us this way than with a pair of blades."

So Cassie had struck a nerve. But Hannah had too.

Her voice was low and menacing, Cassie's icy blue eyes piercing into Hannah's. "You can make me wear a dress, put me behind a desk…you can even take away my blades. But you'll never take the war out of me." Her teeth were practically bared, like a cornered animal.

"Then you better figure out a way to do it," Hannah said with gritted teeth, pushing Cassie back. "We have no use for soldiers. Adapt to the times, Cassandra. Or we won't be able to find a place for you here."

Castiel had been teleported to the Bunker. His powers were dull enough that he made it inside the door without much difficulty.

That wasn't a good thing, though.

"Sam?" he called, drifting from room to room. There were traces of inhabitants: a half-empty beer, scattered papers, prints on the floor that hadn't yet been cleaned up.

But it was clear that Sam wasn't there.

Then he called the name he really wanted to say. "Dean?" He asked, his voice cracking.

He rushed down the hall, unable to help himself.

He made it to the outside of Dean's bedroom.

"Dean?" He called a bit louder.

He stood outside his door for a few moments.

There was still so much potential in that instance. Dean could be there, restfully sneaking a nap. Or leaning over his desk, looking at old photographs.

Once he opened that door, it would dissipate.

He didn't have the heart.

He reached into his pocket and dialed Sam instead, sighing in defeat.

"Have you heard anything from Dean?" Sam immediately said on the other line.

"I was about to ask you that. I'm looking for him."

"What about Heaven?"

Cass put his forehead against Dean's door. "Cassandra's up there buying me time."

There was a pause. "She's really fitting in up there, huh?."

Cas remembered her reaction to the pencil skirt and decided to skim over that detail. "She's a very capable soldier. I don't think there's a force in this world that could deter her."

Sam sighed. "Well…listen, Cas. I found a lead. There was some security footage of…of…Dean. At a gas station."

Cas' heart leaped in his chest. "Are you sure it was him?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But Cas…you're not gonna like it."

There was a blissful contentment Dean was feeling that could only be achieved through complete and utter self-indulgence.

Sex to his heart's (and dick's) content, endless karaoke every night, and no responsibilities what so ever.

Yet even in his dreams, that damn Angel managed to leak through the cracks.

It was always the same.

Castiel was underneath him, his head thrown back in pleasure, gasping his name.

Dean was always atop him, his lips dancing on the Angel's, playing his body like a flute until Castiel emitted the most exquisite sounds.

Dean could taste him as he bit into the Angel's neck, completely claiming him as his.

Emotions would surface, of love and devotion. But they were distractions that killed his sex drive faster than cold water.

His nightly fantasy was interrupted as he woke up.

After some knocking, a door eventually opened.

It was his new partner in time, Crowley, looking at him and the blonde woman beside him with a raised eyebrow. "So I'm to assume the Giraffe and the Squirrel are no more? You could've told me, Darling."

Dean smirked lazily. "I ain't never made the two-backed-beast with a giraffe."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "If you're going to lie, you could at least try to be convincing. Does blondie over there know you play for both teams?"

Dean stood up and fumbled around for his jeans. "Why are you here?"

Crowley scoffed. "It's my room!"

Dean bit his lip. "Let me rephrase: why are you here now?"

"Second verse same as the first," Crowley insisted, averting his eyes. "And there's some business we need to discuss."

Dean shrugged. "That's too bad, cuz I'm off the clock."

"You've been off the clock for three days now. All you've done is drink, eat every variation of buffalo wings and try to nab every hair color with your dick."

"Jealous?" Dean winked letting out a chuckle.

Crowley scowled. "I'm being serious. We have a client."

Dean turned to grab a shirt, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, freezing.

Castiel's handprint and the Mark of Cain now coexisted on his body. But which one had more influence over him?

Crowley caught him staring. "You know…I'll be honest, Dean. I'm a little concerned that your head isn't in the game. What if your little Angel comes back to fetch you? It could ruin what we have going."

Dean's gaze shifted to the scruffy Irishman behind him. "Well…" he said, his voice playful, "You said you wanted to redecorate, right?"

He slipped a hand under his pillow, withdrawing the first blade.

His eyes were black. "How does the color red sound for the walls?"