Castiel examined the last remaining body in the house. It was always difficult to kill one of his family members, whether they were demons or humans or angels. He knew they were his kin. Feeling the energy leave their body felt like he had somehow diminished as well.
Now he ran his fingers over the brand on the flesh of the demons. A tattoo that could never be removed and meant the demon could not evacuate the body under any circumstances. Underneath the tattoo were two small pinpricks. There were things happening. And Castiel needed to find out what.
Demon possessions had increased massively in the European continent.
Even as he stood there with the limp corpse in his arms, the lights in the domicile flickered and a man dressed in an impeccable black suit appeared.
"Crowley!" Castiel exclaimed, letting the body slump to the floor as he straightened. "What have you done to this family?"
"I haven't done anything, you stupid monkey, and you should know that by now," Crowley returned with a calm disposition. "I never do anything. These people, they make their own choices. I merely provide them with the means to achieve what they want."
Cas glared at the Prince of Hell, walking around the room, examining tapestry like he was at an Open House. "You've done this! Your demons were inhabiting their bodies."
"Their alive bodies, Castiel. You killed them," Crowley stated simply.
Hesitating for only a brief moment, Castiel continued, "I will find out what you're up to. There must be a pattern, I just have to figure it out. And I will stop it."
"No, you won't," Crowley drawled, "because you can't."
Cas glared at Crowley. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, sorry, was I not supposed to know about that? About your little problem? Well, I do know about it. And I know exactly how powerless you are now. So stop wasting your time with the big leagues, Castiel. Your 15 minutes are up."
Castiel moved forward in anger, withdrawing his celestial angel blade for attack.
Crowley teleported to just behind the angel, who turned in bemusement and rage. "Ah, ah, don't be silly, Castiel. You can't afford to hurt yourself. Not now, anyway. I'm much stronger than you. I could tear the flesh from the bones of your vessel and feed them to my hellhounds."
At the sound of the word, two massive black hellhounds appeared on either side of Crowley. Their growls filled the room, hot acidic saliva falling from their jowls and burning through carpet. Crowley took leisurely steps forward, the hellhounds flanking him closely. Their eyes fixed on Castiel.
"How did you find me?" Cas demanded, not intimidated in the least by the mutts. "I have sigils in Enochian to protect me. Even the Crossroads King cannot ignore the laws."
"Your power is so diminished, my dear Castiel, that those signs couldn't even keep a third class demon away from you. Besides, you've been on my list. I have unfinished business with you. Nobody tricks fucking Purgatory away from Crowley," the demon snarled, his expression turned sour and his eyes flicked through a multitude of colors.
Cas was surprised and took a step back. How was he doing that? Demons had eyes that changed depending on their class. If Crowley's eyes could turn from black to red to white… that meant-
"Yes, Castiel. As I'm well sure you've realized by now, things have gone haywire in Heaven without any archangels. But change is much widespread than just that. With Lucifer in the cage, things have also been different in Hell. I'm not the prince anymore…" Crowley leaned forward to whisper in Castiel's ear, "I'm the king."
"That isn't possible," Castiel murmured.
Crowley laughed and strolled back to the sofa, covered with the blood of the family Castiel had been forced to murder. "It's not just possible, it's happening. And now it's time for you to pay me for all the shit you and the Winchesters have put me through." He leaned back into the couch and whistled a simple two tone at his hellhounds.
Red eyes gleaming, black sleek coats, the dogs powerful haunches- all enabled them to leap at Castiel with deadly force and grace, howling. Cas sprung into action, thwarting the first one with his arm, thrusting the blade forward with the other arm. The hellhound slashed through Castiel's clothing and left a bloody scratch on his shoulder. Castiel's blade grazed over the first hellhound's back.
It whimpered and hunkered back. The second hellhound gathered itself and attacked Cas again. This time Cas was better prepared. He grasped the dog's muzzle in his left hand, forcing the razor sharp teeth to snap shut, and sank the blade deep into the hellhound's furry chest.
The hellhound's loud keening tapered off as it disintegrated.
"NO!" Crowley yelled. "These are my best bred hellhounds directly from Cerberus's lineage! How fucking dare you!" He pointed at the remaining hellhound and snapped his fingers. It viciously reared up and bounded forward, paws forward with deadly claws outstretched.
At that instant, Castiel felt a familiar warmth in his vessel and the strong feeling that followed of loss of control; he was being handled by some unknown puppeteer. For an instant, he thought of Jimmy Novak, trapped in this body. He couldn't move or speak or even materialize. His angel form began to show involuntarily.
Crowley was forced to avert his eyes and the hellhound dropped dead midstep.
Then Castiel was standing in the center of Molly Hooper's apartment, dripping blood on her hardwood floor.
"Cas! What the fuck happened to you?" Dean moved forward and took the angel's arm over one shoulder, helping him stand. "Are you okay? Did we make you bleed?" He asked in mortification. "Can I get some water or something here?"
"Oh- sorry. I'll just…" Molly gestured and went to fill a basin.
"Dean Winchester? You summoned me here?" Castiel asked as Dean helped him limp to the sofa. Cas glanced around him in disbelief. Sam stood in a corner, an ancient book in his hand that he had chanted from. Red paint formed a summoning circle on the floor. And on the other wall- there was Sherlock Holmes, the man Castiel needed, and a shorter man who seemed to be in shock.
The shorter man now shook himself and instinctively scurried forward. "I'm a doctor; I think I can take care of this!" He said, an air of professionalism enveloping him. A lifetime of having to heal wounds of men in the heat of battle had made it a reflex to handle blood as soon as he saw it, even if he had just viewed the laws of physics breaking before his eyes.
"Who are you?" Castiel asked distrustfully. After his very recent encounter with Crowley, he wasn't sure if he wanted to let a stranger take care of him.
"John Watson," he answered without looking up. He was stripping away the trench coat, Dean helping. The shirt under was so ripped and in tatters that it was already hanging off Castiel's body.
When Molly brought the water basin with a washcloth and gauze, John began washing the wound with care. Dean crowded around him, trying to get a better view. "Is he going to be okay?" He asked frantically.
"Okay, look!" John snapped, "I'm trying to do something about this man's arm, can you give me some space to breathe?"
"You can do what you damn well need to but don't dare fucking expect me to move back, buddy. Got that?" And for a moment, in Dean's eyes was the same crazed panic John had felt watching Sherlock crumpled on the street.
John nodded slowly and returned to the gash.
"I need to know what's going on here. Why are you here? You shouldn't be here!" Castiel's voice was urgent, his bright blue eyes staring intently at Dean.
"Cas, you kinda pulled a disappeared act on us, man. You didn't expect us to just sit back and let our friend be kidnapped or killed, did you?" Sam chimed in.
"It isn't safe here, Sam. You don't know what's going on," he said with little emotion, though his gaze flickered briefly to Dean.
"So why don't you fill us in?" Dean asked in frustration.
Cas sat silently on the sofa while John finished his examination and grimly declared, "That's going to need stitches. Molly, have you got a first aid kit?"
"Wait- Cas, why don't you just do your angel healing mumbo jumbo?" Dean asked.
"I… can't, Dean."
"Why not?"
"What angel healing?" John butt in.
"Castiel's an angel; he can do this thing where his vessel never gets hurt. And he can usually heal other people," Sam explained. Sherlock leaned forward, as if anxious for more details to this anomaly.
Everyone's attention was fixed on the angel, who seemed hesitant to clarify his plight. Finally, he spoke, "I can't get into Heaven."
His statement hung there, surprising the Winchesters and baffling the other three.
Dean broke the silence, "They kicked you out of your home?"
"Yes," Castiel confirmed, "and my energy has been slowly diminishing ever since."
"I think you'd better start at the beginning." Sam suggested.
"I began noticing odd things happening in London, unseasonal weather turbulence, electrical instability, chemical disturbances. It seemed an unusual amount of demons were cropping up in the area, so I came here to investigate." Castiel stopped talking for a minute, almost brooding.
"Okay, Cas, what was it?" Dean encouraged.
"You remember I once told you how angels know of every single prophet in our minds? It's part of the inherent information present in all angels. Every prophet has an angel tethered to them. And it seemed Heaven updated the list to add a new name that I was meant to guard- especially now that all the archangels are otherwise unavailable," Cas recounted Michael and Lucifer were in the cage, he had killed Raphael, and Gabriel had been killed by Lucifer.
"Who's the new prophet?" asked Sam.
"Sherlock Holmes is the new prophet," Castiel gestured to the tall man standing in the shadows.
Sherlock started at the mention of his name and peered at the angel. "A prophet? I'm not a prophet, you must be mistaken," he said.
"I am not mistaken," Castiel's voice rose an octave. "Heaven has added your name to the list of prophets and tethered me to you. When I discovered you were dead, I raised you- and since then, my contact with Heaven has ceased completely. I would've confronted you sooner but there were more pressing matters. Demon infestations."
Dean held up a hand, "You're telling me this guy is the new prophet?" he asked. Dean turned to Sherlock and continued, "Okay, what've you prophesized so far?"
"I haven't done anything, I don't know what your angel's talking about," insisted Sherlock. "However, I am willing to find out more about it, yes. This is indeed a mystery of supernatural proportions." He looked interested, eager even.
"Sherlock, have you ever noticed that when you're very determined to solve a case, it works out exactly the way you want it to?" Cas asked.
Sherlock straightened and said through clenched teeth, "Are you suggesting my cases are all corrupt?"
"No, no, that's not possible. I've seen him solve cases; he does it properly," John jumped in.
Castiel didn't say anything. He looked down at his wound and frowned.
Sam noticed the look and sprang into action, "Can we finish this later? He's clearly in pain! Molly, where's the first aid kit?"
"Oh!" Molly exclaimed and scampered off to fetch it.
"Was this our fault?" Dean asked, pointing at the wound.
"Not at all. I ran into… an old enemy."
"Older than the Leviathans?" Dean scoffed.
Cas paused as Molly returned. She handed the kit to John, who arranged the sterilized material- needle and medical thread. John looked up at Castiel and warned, "This is going to hurt. I'd suggest you take a stiff drink, but I don't suppose your friend left any alcohol in the apartment."
Dean looked chagrined but Cas said, "I'd need the equivalent of an entire liquor store before the numbing effects of alcohol distort my thinking to the point of anesthesia. Dean, this was the work of Crowley's hellhounds."
"Crowley's back?" Sam looked amazed. "He told us he'd stay away after we helped get rid of the Leviathans. He promised he'd keep his demons of the street!"
Cas shrugged. "Such an arrangement is useless to him, especially with his newfound powers as the king of hell."
Nobody reacted. Nobody even moved except John, who positioned the needle carefully to Castiel's flesh. "Ready?" John spoke. He hadn't fully grasped the full weight of his patient's words, so intent was he on threading the needle and preparing to stitch the wound.
Castiel grunted. In the next moment, the needle was piercing through the frayed ends of Castiel's skin and pulled them closer. Cas gasped in pain, the first time his vessel's physical frailty proving a weak point. He grasped Dean's hands and squeezed.
Dean winced, "Cas, buddy, you gotta hold on!" He urged, fighting the impulse to ask questions about Crowley.
Sherlock held no such qualms, however. "What do you mean, king of Hell? Obviously, my mythology knowledge is extremely weak, but from what little I do recall, isn't that the Devil? Lucifer?"
"It isn't mythology!" Cas retorted.
"Oye, stay still for a minute!" John snapped. He looked over his shoulder and gave Sherlock a look. "Save your interrogation for when the man's patched up!"
"I'll fill Sherlock in," Sam volunteered. "You guys can stay here and, err, watch over Cas. We can go in Molly's room to give you guys some peace."
"Much appreciated," John answered distractedly.
Sam and Sherlock headed toward the room. Molly followed after them, leaving John, Dean, and Cas alone.
"Cas, why didn't you come to us? Why didn't you tell us?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse. Castiel was supposed to be the invulnerable angel. He wasn't supposed to disappear without a trace and then finally show up bleeding bearing awful news. This wasn't how the world worked. Castiel cleaned the mess, he didn't become part of one.
Cas's knuckles were white where he gripped Dean's hand, not realizing this was how much physical pain actually hurt when experienced without Heaven's backup. "Dean, I didn't want to put you in danger. I thought I could handle it. And by the time I started getting into serious trouble here, my vessel was getting weak and I couldn't risk communication that could be corrupted or tracked back to you."
"We could have managed! We'd much rather fight by your side without doing much good then be sheltered and doing nothing at all!" His hand was beginning to ache, but he clenched his teeth and kept talking, "You need to trust us, okay? We've been through a lot of shit, but we've been through it together."
Castel again reverted to silence. Dean shook his head in frustration. Cas could be a child sometimes. An extremely powerful, petulant child who wasn't above using the silent treatment.
"There, that's done." John broke in a moment later, taping over the gauze and leaning back. "It'll need to be changed, of course, and I don't think we have the proper medical supplies…" he trailed off, realizing Dean and Castiel were locked in some kind of staring competition. He cleared his throat but that hardly changed anything. Finally, he got up and left.
Dean took a deep breath. "You know what, Cas? I'm done babysitting you. When you've figured out what you should do, let me know."
"I don't know what you want me to do now, Dean. I don't have any power left, I can hardly use my own body, I have no contact remaining with the other angels or heaven, and something very wrong is happening on Earth. What do you want from me now?"
"Forget it!" Dean growled.
Castiel watched him stomp to the front door of the apartment, open the door, and slam it shut behind him. Exhaustion was setting into the angel's vessel, his eyes were getting heavy. The shockingly fierce pain from the hellhounds claws was making it difficult to interpret his own thoughts.
And even though Dean had told him to "forget it", Cas knew the man was very, very mad. That was never a good thing.
