Chapter 7 - Dream Weaver
Gail was lying on the couch in front of the fireplace. Castiel had tapped her once more to induce sleep, and covered her with a blanket, tucking it around her tenderly.
Sam and Dean had returned to the bunker just in time to see Castiel and Gail's appearance there. They rushed forward, eager to welcome her back, but Castiel held his hands up. "Easy, guys," he said. "She's been through a lot."
Gail looked at the two brothers quizzically. She didn't recognize them any more than she recognized Castiel. She looked around at her surroundings. Nice enough place, and she was grateful for the warmth of the fire after having been out in the cold in such scanty attire.
Dean, being Dean, had noticed how little Gail had on, but after a moment's appreciation he averted his eyes. Yikes. It was like looking at a really hot girl and then realizing she was your sister. The Mark whispered otherwise, but he told it to shut the hell up. He had enough problems without going there.
Sam gazed at Gail a bit more intently, not so much looking at her body - well, OK, maybe just one glance - as concerned with where her head was at. As someone who'd had all too much experience with ingesting Demon blood, he was uneasy. Yes, they had her back but from what Castiel now told him and Dean, she was not herself.
This fact was apparent when she had looked at him and Dean and had said, "Well, thanks for the warm-up, you guys, but I think maybe I should be going."
As Gail's body had thawed, her mind was hard at work. Though she still had no place to go and no plan, she wasn't sure she should stay here. Where was here, and who were these guys? She was sharp, observant: She had noticed some weapons laying around, and the tall one was staring at her a little too intently for her liking. Had she left one dangerous place, only to land in another? Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty in leaving Crowley's place. At least she knew what she was dealing with, there.
Castiel could see Gail wrestling with herself and he needed to have a talk with Dean and Sam, so he had touched her forehead again to induce sleep and after tucking her in on the couch, motioned the brothers over to the table. "We need to talk."
Dean went to the mini-fridge to get beers but after seeing the grim expression on Cas's face, he reconsidered and put on some coffee instead. As he returned to the table, Cas put his hand in his coat pocket and withdrew a box. It was about the same size as a music box, with Enochian symbols carved into it.
He placed it on the table. "I need you to do something," Cas told the brothers. They looked at him questioningly. They were used to this from him; he was always making these cryptic requests, and they had learned to be patient. Most of the time.
Suddenly, Cas produced a pen knife and before they could react, he slashed Dean's hand, then Sam's, and then his own.
"Ow!" Sam yelled. "Cas, what the hell?" Dean shouted at the same time.
"Put your hands on it," Cas gestured to the box, placing his own bleeding hand there. Dean glared at Cas but did as he asked and after a moment's hesitation, Sam shrugged and followed suit.
Once all three hands were in place and their combined blood was absorbed, there was a bright blue flash which emanated from the lid of the box, and then it was over.
After a nod from Cas, the brothers removed their hands. "Just once," Dean said almost conversationally, wrapping his hand in one of the bandages they kept conveniently in a drawer at the coffee nook and throwing one to Sam, "I'd like to have a day where I don't bleed for some weird-ass crap."
Sam laughed, winding his bandage around his own hand. Cas hadn't needed one, of course; ever since Gail had restored his Grace he healed instantly from minor wounds. "Maybe that can be your Christmas wish," Sam said to Dean.
Cas smiled thinly at both of them. "I think your Christmas wishes could be better spent." They both looked at him, and he relented, "Though I admit I see your point."
He picked up the box gingerly and extended it to Dean. "Put this in the safest place you have." A pause. "Please."
Dean walked to the wall safe hidden behind a shelf of books and put the box in it, then returned to the table.
"What's in the box, Cas?" he demanded.
Cas stared at him calmly. "Gail's powers. All of them."
What? They looked at him with raised eyebrows, and when nothing more was forthcoming, Dean's temper rose. Surprisingly, maybe, Sam was the first to speak.
"Look, Cas, we've had it with this enigmatic crap," he snapped. "How about you just tell us what in the holy hell is going on?"
Cas sighed. "That's about the size of it." He looked at Dean. "Is that coffee ready yet? This will take a while."
As Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Day, Crowley's sense of foreboding grew. He had initially put the feeling he had down to stress and overwork, but now he knew there was something more afoot. He tried to organize the Christmas Day agenda but ended up pacing back and forth in his room. Appropriately enough, visions of the Winchesters and the Angel were dancing in his head, and he didn't much like it. An hour passed, then two, until he could stand it no more. How in the hell could Castiel have stolen Gail right out from under Crowley's nose? Castiel had no powers any more. He was just a pathetic shell in a meat suit, hardly a force to be reckoned with any more. Yet Crowley had become more and more convinced that that was exactly what had happened. His bride-to-be was back in the clutches of the trio, somehow.
He sent word to the rest of the delegation, advising that something vital had come up and they would have to reschedule. Figures. He'd been on the cusp of his greatest triumph ever, and now he had a rescue mission to perform. It was time to dispose of the Three Stooges once and for all, and reclaim what was rightfully his.
Crowley, of course, had no idea that Castiel had been restored to his full Grace, and by his own fiancee, no less. Otherwise, he would have taken his adversaries a lot more seriously.
Castiel confirmed Sam and Dean's suspicions: Gail had no idea who they were, where she was, and ultimately, no idea who she herself was. The regular injections of Demon blood she had been receiving had turned her into a different sort of person: more selfish, more vain, seemingly willing to exercise her powers to commit atrocities without a second thought.
Sam felt like he was going to throw up, but of the three, he was the one who could most readily understand. There had been a time when he had been under the influence of Demon blood himself, and had reveled in the powers that drinking it had given him. But he had gone there willingly, he thought with shame. Whatever she had become, Gail had been introduced to the not-so-wonderful world of Demon juice against her will, and it wasn't her fault. Who would he be to judge her?
Dean was of two minds. Though still suffering from extreme guilt at having driven Gail out of the bunker, thereby exposing her to harm's way in the first place, the damage had been done. She had killed a human child, and she was more monster now than human. Shouldn't they just kill her now and be done with it? Even if Cas had some Angel dust up his sleeve, there was no way you could ever come back from something like that. He knew that only too well. They'd be doing her a favour. Yes, the Mark cooed to him, you would. And let's face it, you'd be rid of her once and for all, then. Who the hell needed one more doe-eyed innocent weakling to coddle and look after? He already had Sammy for that.
Cas was the most stoic of all three. The newfound faith and confidence that God had bestowed on him by way of the miracle showed him what needed to be done. He was back in full-on Angel mode, and he had been given his mission. God had given Gail her powers for a reason, and even though they had been temporarily twisted and perverted by Crowley, they were to be protected at all costs and returned to her in their pristine condition, once she had been saved. And if saving her wasn't possible, well...The human part of him he would always retain balked. No. God would not lead his most faithful servant along the path back to this woman that the human part of him loved only to force him to kill her. Would He? Castiel recalled the tale about Abraham and his son from the Bible, and the story about Job, but those were just tales. Fables, written as cautionary tales for humans. Weren't they?
But, back to the business at hand. Castiel told the brothers about the spell that protected the box containing Gail's powers, which he had siphoned from her as he had put her into the sleep state. As her appointed Guardians, blood from each of the three had been necessary to seal the box to protect it from any aspiring thieves and from Gail herself, and only the blood from all three could open it back up again.
"We will try for redemption of Gail's soul," Cas told them calmly, "but she can't be trusted with her powers now."
No kidding, Dean thought. Though he hadn't seen with his own eyes the acts Gail had performed in the den, Cas had described what had taken place there with an uncommon clarity. Even someone who bore the Mark of the original murderer would hesitate to tangle with someone with that kind of power.
Sam leaned forward. "How are we going to redeem Gail's soul?"
Crowley appeared back in the den and looked around him incredulously at all the bodies lying haphazardly on the floor. What had happened here? Damn it. This had Winchesters written all over it.
He strode from room to room, his anger growing as the body count he was witnessing piled up. By the time he reached Gail's room and discovered that what he had feared all along was true, his temper had reached its apex. When he saw John's body on the floor of Gail's room with the unused syringe of his blood beside it, Crowley grabbed the body by the suit lapels and shook it, shouting at it incoherently.
Then he stood up and took a deep breath. Get a grip, man, he told himself. The King rules; he doesn't throw temper tantrums. But how he dearly wished he had been here when the Winchesters and their lap dog had been killing his Head Minion. John had been his underling, but he had been very useful over the years and Crowley would miss him. But another part of Crowley briefly considered bringing John back from Hell just so he could punish him for having let them get the jump on him. Crowley sighed. You just couldn't get good help, any more.
He wondered if his mother was still alive. Considering what he had seen around him he didn't know how she could be, though her powers were considerable. If not, the trio would actually have done him a favour, and maybe he'd thank them before skinning them alive. Or, if she was somehow still alive, maybe they could team up as a family to get Gail back and restore order. Either way, he was good. Or, he would be.
Rowena sat at the dining room table, listening to Crowley approach. She would have to play this very carefully. She had been utterly shocked at his sudden reappearance, so shocked that she had not thought to vanish. But the delay had actually worked in her favour. It occurred to her that suddenly vanishing would be the worst form of self-incrimination and that no matter where she went, he would probably find her. So it was time to strap on a pair, as it were, and brazen her way through the situation. As she'd done many times before.
So when her son approached her, she fell at his feet, unfolding a tale of terror and describing how Dean, Sam and Castiel had burst in and started the slaughter. She had run to Gail's room in an effort to hide her, but the Angel already had Gail. She had laughed then, knowing Castiel had no powers to stop her, but the two had disappeared in front of her eyes and by the time Rowena had staggered out of the room, the Demons were all dead and the Winchesters were gone. She had no idea why they had not killed her too, but it was damn lucky they hadn't. Now she and her son could work together to get Gail back, and make sure those bastards would pay double for every Demon life they had taken.
Crowley hesitated a moment. Castiel and Gail had disappeared? How in the hell could that happen? The Angel was impotent. There had to be a traitor in their midst. He levelled a cool stare at his mother.
She delivered the coup de grace. "Oh, and they left our chef alive, too, but now he's conveniently gone."
Heartbeat. Was it enough?
The human side of Crowley reared its ugly head then, as it always did at the most inopportune times. Looking down at his weeping mother, prostrate at his feet. Wanting to believe her, wanting to believe that they were in this together and she was only looking after his best interests.
He lifted her up by her arms then and embraced her, seeking the comfort any boy would from his mother after he had lost his best and most favourite toy. She embraced him back, stroking his head, murmuring soothing words of support and encouragement. Never once calling him Fergus. But smiling all the while.
Gail lay very still on the couch, feigning sleep. She had been awake for a while now, long enough to hear about her powers having been removed and sealed away in that box. And the method which had to be employed to release them.
She was pissed off. She didn't know who or what this "Cas" guy thought he was, but what right did he have, reaching into her and ripping her powers out of her like that? She felt used, violated. Whatever Crowley had done to her, he had only ever gently asked of her what she had wanted to give. Where the hell did these guys get off, keeping her powers hostage like that? She was a prisoner by extension. True, there were no chains on her, only blankets, but damn if she was leaving here without her powers.
Though she still had no idea who or what Castiel was, he obviously had powers of his own, and she would do well to be careful around him. The hug and the blankets were signs that he had a softer side; maybe she could use that against him. And it seemed like those other two guys followed his lead. If she could manipulate Castiel, maybe she could manipulate them, too. Shame she didn't still have her intuitive power; she could just lay her hands on them and immediately determine their weak points. But the human part of her had always been keenly perceptive. She would just have to bide her time.
Crowley and Rowena sat in the throne room, brainstorming. The bunker's mirrors were still enchanted, of course, so Rowena turned hers on, and they watched as the trio talked and Gail slept. Crowley seethed as the men talked about locking up Gail's powers and "saving her soul". From what? He truly cared for her, and was trying to provide her with the best of everything. Just what exactly were they "saving" her from, or for? Life as a lowly human, scratching and clawing for any crumbs thrown her way? Pain, blood and death? Suffering, having to watch anything and anyone they'd ever loved stomped to bits when he and his kind rode into town? Those powers of Gail's were special indeed, but they were not from God, could not have been. This God they all spoke about, if He was as all-powerful as these fools all seemed to believe, would never have allowed Gail to use her powers the way she had in the den. So they could all just stick their holier-than-thou nonsense. These guys thought they held all the cards.
But there was still no way for Crowley to get into the bunker, and they were certainly not going to fall for his mother's kitty trick again. She could only enter the bunker in animal form after Sam had carried her in, thereby inviting her. That was how the magic worked; the ancient rules still applied. He sighed. In this day and age of technology and scientific advances, a weasel clause that was as old as when time began was the roadblock that kept them from just marching up and knocking on the door. It was enough to drive you crazy.
But then he saw something in the mirror over the fireplace that gave him hope: He saw Gail wake up and intently listen to the men's conversation. And one more delicious observation. When Gail had opened her eyes, they had been completely black.
That's my girl, Crowley thought with a smile.
Several days passed. Gail spent her waking hours getting to know the men with whom she was living. She made opportunities to be alone with all of them in turn, asking each man probing questions about themselves and their lives, under the guise of getting reacquainted. While each man had been cautious, guarded at first, she had played the doe-eyed amnesiac card skillfully, and they had begun to open up.
She had volunteered to help sort and catalogue books with Sam in the library, and they chatted as they worked. Gail had noticed the dynamic between Sam and his brother, and thought she could exploit it.
"Sam, you're so smart. I can't believe how much of the stuff in these books you actually already know," she complimented him, smiling.
He did not look at her but said, "Uh, thanks."
Time to ratchet it up a bit. "It must be tough sometimes, being the smartest one in the room whose voice is heard the least."
Sam paused in the act of replacing a book on the shelf. Cas had warned the brothers she might try to manipulate them, use them against each other. He smiled to himself. It wasn't like what she said was wrong, or anything. He often did feel like that.
"It is," he said softly, replacing the book.
Seed planted, or so she thought, Gail moved away. Sam stood there for a while, absently running his hand over the book spines. Damn, she was good. In just one sentence, Gail had recognized his worst flaw and poked it in the soft underbelly. Sam and Dean had been through a lot over the years, to say the least, and through all the madness their fraternal bond had held firm, but...even though Sam had grown by leaps and bounds and was now a strong man and a capable Hunter in his own right, he still deferred to his big brother. Even though Dean wouldn't know his ass from an encyclopedia most days. And now that Castiel was hanging around so much, Sam often felt like he had been relegated to the role of third banana, errand boy to those two and whatever kind of "profound bond" existed between them.
Sam shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He stared after Gail; she was calmly writing down titles of books on a clipboard. Was Cas sure he'd gotten all her powers?
Gail felt Sam looking at her and gave him a brief, friendly smile, then turned back to her work. After another moment, Sam did the same.
It was Dean's turn. She found him in the bunker's garage, working on the Impala's engine.
"Hey, Dean," she said. "Don't mind me."
He glanced up at her for a moment, then returned to his work under the hood.
"Can we talk for a minute?" she appealed to Dean. He stopped what he was doing and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands.
"Sure," he responded.
With her natural perception heightened by the Demon blood in her veins, Gail knew how to get to him, too. Demons had a way of cutting through layers of crap and the defenses of humans to get to the heart of the matter. But Demons were also blunt and crude. The human part of Gail knew this called for more finesse. She was also a bit leery of riling this guy up. She could see the angry-looking tattoo on his arm and she had overheard Sam and Castiel talking about "the Mark" when Dean wasn't around. Of course, she didn't know the significance of the thing, but could sense that it made Dean different from ordinary men. So she'd better walk between the raindrops, here.
"Don't you think it's weird that I can't remember anything about myself?" she asked him. She also knew that Dean fancied himself a hero, and she had decided on the fly to pull out the damsel-in-distress card. "I thought by now I'd remember something. Anything. Especially you guys. Letting me stay here, talking to me about yourselves, trying to help me... " She paused. Should she risk tearing up? He was looking at her evenly, his expression open, but cool. Nah, probably not, that might be overdoing it. But she continued. "I just wanted to say thanks. I hope you guys don't give up on me. I'm really trying, here." She gave him a tremulous smile. That would have to do.
"We won't give up on you, Gail," he said softly. "We'll figure something out. We always do."
"Thanks, Dean. Well, I'll let you go back to it." And she was gone.
Dean stared after her, car forgotten for the moment. Just what the hell was that? He'd also had his guard up after Cas's warning and had expected much more than this lame-ass attempt to appeal to the White Knight in him. What had she hoped to accomplish? True, he did feel some sympathy for her. He knew Gail really couldn't remember anything about her past. But was that such a bad thing? A part of him honestly felt jealous of her. With all the pain and loss Dean had experienced over the years, he thought the idea of just erasing all of that and starting with a clean slate definitely had its appeal. But Cas seemed to think it was vital that Gail regain her memories and become herself again. Well, he couldn't argue with that last part. Having someone who was part Demon wandering around the place was unsettling, and though he had hidden the weapons that were in plain sight, he kept his knife handy at all times.
A part of him still felt like they should just kill her and break this suspended animation they all seemed to be stuck in. What were they waiting for? They had no cure for her, except maybe to start re-injecting human blood into her veins to do battle with the Demon juice. He had suggested that, but Cas had inexplicably said no, arguing that that would make them just as bad as Crowley. Dean didn't see it that way, but had reluctantly deferred to Cas, at least for the moment. Cas seemed to think she was going to just snap back into herself one day. Well, maybe it was time for an Angel wake-up call. That was never going to happen, and the longer they allowed her to live here among them the more at risk they all were. Dean had seen Gail looking at them all and he knew there was something brewing in that Demonish little brain of hers. The Mark was on low simmer at the moment but Dean didn't need it to tell him that if they waited much longer, someone in the bunker was going to die. And Dean was damn well sure it wasn't going to be him.
Castiel had indeed been hoping that Gail would just somehow return to herself. Reasoning that she was no longer receiving Crowley's injections, he had expected her human blood to regenerate and do battle with that artificially induced side of her personality.
He'd studied her as she'd ingratiated herself with the brothers, cooking meals, helping Sam in the library, joking around with Dean. She had been nothing but sweet and positive, professing a desire to regain her memory by asking questions about the men and about herself. Their co-existence had been nearly normal, life as it had been before Gail was taken from them. Except for that blip when they had been under the black cat's spell, which Castiel had a theory about but had no proof. So he had kept silent.
But they had much bigger problems now. Even though he and Gail had not really interacted much one-on-one, which he suspected was by design on her part, Castiel knew that everything was far from fine. Gail was still part Demon, and he had been covertly observing her attempts to worm her way into the brothers' psyches. The results had been negligible, considering Dean and Sam's long years of experience with Demonic ways and his own warning, but still...
That night as he sat up in bed trying to decide what their next course of action should be, Castiel heard the door to his room open and Gail walked in. So, here it was; finally, he thought.
She closed the door behind her and then walked closer to him, her eyes searching his face. She had no tricks for him, no manipulations. She instinctively knew that nothing would disarm this man. Except maybe the truth.
"You don't trust me, do you?" she asked him softly.
He was surprised. He had played chess before, both in life and afterwards, and had always enjoyed the cerebral aspect of the game, the strategy. But he hadn't seen this move coming.
"You're right not to, you know," she continued. "I can feel the poison in me, and I know it's wrong. Even though I still don't know who I am, I know that's not me."
She had appealed to the Angel in him. It was the only thing she could have done.
"We'll help you," he said. "You just have to fight it."
"But that's just it," she said, approaching the bed and sitting beside him. "I can't. I've tried, but I can't." She took his hands. "Please help me, Castiel. I don't know what I'm doing, here."
Oh, he knew what she was doing here. Seduction by innocence? Really? Did she think that was going to work?
He stared at her, saying nothing. She recalled seeing this face in her mirror when she'd been at her lowest, and the warmth of his Christmas Eve embrace. What was she doing here? Did she really think that she could manipulate this man, sway him in any way? Was she crazy?
But she was here and so was he, and so she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He did not respond, but he didn't pull away, either. When she broke away from the kiss and looked into his eyes, she saw blue ice, but also compassion and sadness.
The human part of Castiel had felt something, of course. Not too long ago, Dean had asked him if he loved Gail and he'd said he didn't know. But that had been a lie, one of the many human traits he'd learned to adopt in order to get by on this planet. Of course he loved her, and if this had been Gail in his room, he probably would have...No, not probably. He would have.
But this wasn't Gail, and they both knew it. So he sat up straighter and marshalled all the self-control he could exercise. "I think you'd better go back to your room," he told her.
Her face fell a bit, but she did not look particularly surprised. "Yeah, I guess I'd better," she said sardonically. She glanced at him once more but his eyes pierced right through her, and she knew it was no use. And a part of her was inexplicably glad.
Crowley had watched this little scene with great interest, of course. When Gail walked out of Castiel's room, he sat back. He wasn't sure how he felt at the moment. He'd been enjoying watching his protegee in action, acting the innocent victim and toying with the brothers. He admired her skill and restraint, and her prudence in saving Castiel for last. Now that Castiel was human, Crowley had really thought he was going to succumb to Gail's advances, and he was almost disappointed at the rejection. Oh well, once a prude, always a prude, he supposed. But was Crowley that disappointed, really? No. He wanted Gail to succeed in regaining her powers so she would be whole again when he got her back, but he also loved her in his own way, and had wanted to be her first, as she embarked on her new life. And quite honestly, a part of Crowley also feared he wouldn't measure up by comparison. As head Demon, he shouldn't be subject to jealousy; fidelity in that manner had never been high up on Hell's list of rules. In fact, many of its occupants' predilections included an astonishing array of sexual perversions. Practically a requirement for being a Demon, like having an invisible stamp on one's hand to gain admittance to an exclusive club. But Crowley was still glad Gail hadn't been able to crack the Angel's stoic facade. He wasn't above considering multiple partners in the marriage bed in future, but Gail was his now, and he wanted first crack at her.
He was growing impatient, though. He and Rowena had still not been able to figure out a way to enter the bunker and even though Gail was working from the inside, things weren't moving near quick enough. He had to accelerate the process, stir the pot.
Crowley picked up his cell phone and called Dean.
Dean picked up.
"You have something of mine." Crowley's voice, in his ear. "I'd like it back."
Dean laughed, incredulous. He'd been expecting this call. That it had taken this long only meant that Crowley had taken time to formulate a plan in that warped little noggin of his. Well, bring it on.
"I thought you'd picked up your bra and panties from the floor from when you were here, being our little bitch," Dean retorted.
Crowley smiled. Not bad. No wonder he loved his Squirrel. Wished he could have kept him in the family, so to speak, for the sheer entertainment value alone. Crowley knew that, at the moment, Dean held the better hand. Therefore, it was time to shuffle the deck.
"I also have something YOU want," he told Dean. "Time to arrange a deal."
Dean smirked. "As much as I know how much you'd like to kiss me, I think I'll pass."
"Suit yourself," Crowley said casually, and hung up the phone. He knew Dean well enough by now to know that his cryptic statement would rattle around in Dean's pretty but nearly empty skull until it drove him nuts. What could Crowley possibly have that Dean would want?
"Time for lunch," he said jauntily to Rowena, who looked at him, a little impressed when Crowley told her what he was thinking. "I've hired a new chef, after we had to filet the last one."
She traipsed after him. Maybe her son had cojones, after all.
Sure enough, Dean immediately sought out Sam and Castiel and pulled them into the kitchen on some pretext, leaving Gail in the library.
He told them about the odd exchange, and they discussed what Crowley could possibly have meant. He had something they wanted? How in the hell did he think he was ever going to get Gail back, no matter what it was that he supposedly had? They had been locked up in these kinds of dances with him for years now, and had gotten to know him almost as well as he knew them. If he wasn't just straight bluffing, it must be a hell of a prize he had to offer.
Always the boy genius, Sam got there first. "It's the Mark. It's gotta be the Mark," he insisted. "He must know how to get rid of it. He knows it's the only thing we would want that badly."
Castiel and Dean had to agree. But what would lead Crowley to believe they would even consider such a deal? Though Dean was desperate to rid himself of the Mark, he would never sell out Gail that way, and the others would never allow it even if he was so inclined. Was Crowley losing his mind, or just his touch?
Actually, Crowley was on top of his game. He knew that they would know that the proposal was beyond considering. He also knew that they would figure out what he was offering in return. He gave the boys a hard time, but he knew they hadn't lived this long by being stupid. Removal of the Mark from Dean's arm was the big Ace, the ultimate trump card Crowley had. He also knew that there was no way they would ever make the trade. All he was looking for at this point was what any good salesman wanted: a foot in the door.
And after the door had cracked open, all he had to do was walk on in.
Castiel put his finger to his lips and motioned to the brothers to continue talking. Due to their long association with him they just went with it, as Cas disappeared from the room and reappeared in the hallway, where Gail had been listening. Two of his fingers to her forehead, and she fell where she stood. This time he made sure she was in a deep sleep; she couldn't be allowed to hear what was coming next.
He reappeared in the kitchen and took his seat as if nothing had happened. When the brothers looked at him questioningly, he told them, "Gail was listening to our conversation out in the hallway, as I thought she would. So I had to give her the 'Vulcan sleep hold', as I believe you would call it."
He looked at Dean for confirmation and the brothers laughed. Cas was one in a million. Fortunately, he was on their side.
Then Cas said grimly: "Dean, you're going to call Crowley back and invite him here to do the deal. It's time we ended this, once and for all."
In the instant before Castiel had sent her off to Dreamland, Gail was astonished by what she'd heard. Crowley had called Dean? They knew each other, and they knew each other that well? What the hell? While initially happy that Crowley was going to negotiate with these men to get her back, the familiarity with which they had spoken about him made her uneasy. She hated being out of the loop like this, especially since she was the lynchpin around which they all seemed to revolve. Just another case of the men smoking cigars and talking business while relegating the women to the kitchen to do the scut work. OK, in this case the men were actually in the kitchen, but the metaphor still stood. Maybe she should just chuck them all, even Crowley, and team up with Rowena. Once she had her powers back, she'd decide.
Then that blue-eyed guy, the bane of Gail's existence, had suddenly popped up in front of her and sent her into unconsciousness.
Dean met Crowley on a park bench. They sized each other up, then sat companionably enough.
Dean's arm burned and he itched to bury his knife in that smug, fat face of Crowley's. But Cas had outlined his plan, and for the moment they needed Crowley alive, and needed him to accompany Dean back to the bunker. But Dean didn't know why Crowley would. Dean certainly wouldn't, if the circumstances were reversed. On the Hunters' home turf, vastly outnumbered, with no hope of sealing the deal? Crowley was a lot of things, most of which were vile and disgusting, but stupid was not one of them.
He was also full of surprises, a fact which he demonstrated now. "My place or yours, Big Boy?" Crowley said to Dean flirtatiously, mainly out of habit. "Yours, I think," he answered his own question, standing then and gesturing to Dean in an after-you pose. "Lead away, mate."
He was coming willingly, certain to know it was a trap. Now Dean was really on high alert. But the plan seemed foolproof, so Dean smiled at Crowley and said, "I even put the kiddie seat in the car for you."
Oh, you little...Crowley seethed, but kept his cool. They'd just see who was going to have the last laugh.
Sam sat, his body tensed and senses heightened, waiting. There was no way this was going to work. Cas was crazy.
When Castiel had unveiled his plan to them as Gail slept in the hallway, Sam had been impressed at the complexity and the cool intelligence of it all. There were times when Sam had to admit that Cas might be the smartest one of them all, even smarter than himself. But this plan of his also depended on a lot of risky assumptions and basic faith in what was right and what was fair, and after all that Sam had seen and experienced in his life, he wasn't sure those were things you could count on any more. Cas was a puzzling amalgam of naivete and badass soldier all wrapped up in a human shell, and Sam would never understand him in the way that Dean seemed to. But he was their friend, and they would follow his lead. Especially since he was the only one who seemed to have a handle on the situation.
Cas had a handle, but that was about all he had. His human nerves jangled as they sent Dean out on his mission. This whole thing hinged on faith and though his had been buoyed by the miracle at Christmas, the shine was wearing off as he had been waiting for a sign, some inkling that Gail was returning to her former, human self. Or even wanted to. But there had been none. It was time to force the issue. He just hoped he wouldn't get his friends and himself killed in the process.
Crowley and Dean entered the bunker. Having been here before as a prisoner and of course recently in spirit, so to speak, as a voyeur, Crowley did not bother to gauge his surroundings. He walked right over to the centre of the room where the table and chairs usually were by the library. The furniture had been cleared and in its place were two chairs only. One was empty and beside it was where Gail sat, chained to her chair, a Devil's trap etched in the floor beneath it.
She looked at Crowley in silent appeal. He turned to address the Winchesters and Castiel. "I hope you've been treating my fiancee well."
Sam took a step towards Crowley, but Castiel put a hand on his arm. Now was not the time.
Gail said to Crowley, "Are you here to rescue me?"
Rescue, Sam thought scornfully. It took all the restraint he had not to shake Cas off and plug the King of Hell six ways from Sunday. It felt like a stab to the heart to see Gail looking hopefully at this...Thing, thinking It was what she wanted; the right way to go. This plan Cas had? It had better work. He didn't want to kill Gail, but he might have to if it didn't.
Rowena had a front-row seat, and she was enthralled by the show. She'd thought it was suicide when Fergus had told her of his plan, but based on what she'd seen from him lately, he might just pull this off.
Crowley's human feelings had bubbled to the surface when Gail had appealed to him for rescue, and he rushed forward to be close to her. Curiously, there had been no Devil's trap under the second chair. He had made sure to check. So he felt safe enough to approach where she was, but he had done so impulsively, wanting to reassure her. To tell her they'd get through this. Figure some way out, together.
He hadn't thought to look up. He saw the brothers' eyes turn towards the ceiling, where the Devil's trap was painted right above the second chair. Sam and Dean smiled. "Have a seat, 'mate'," Dean said sarcastically. "Looks like you'll be here a while."
If Rowena had had a remote, she would have thrown it at the mirror. Now she understood all those sports fanatics who yelled at their TVs when their team lost on a bad call. Unbelievable. Fergus had better hope for death at the trio's hands; that would be a far kinder fate than what would befall him if she ever got her hands on the pathetic little sorry excuse for a son she had squeezed out. What. An. Idiot.
But, like any diehard sports fan, she continued to watch. Still hoping for a ninth-inning rally, but now, she was kind of rooting for the other team. If she could have the boys all kill each other but somehow salvage Gail, she'd chalk this up as a win.
Left with little choice, Crowley sat. Sam and Dean moved forward then, chaining him to the chair.
"I can smell your cologne," he murmured to Sam. "Smells like...Eau de I'm Smarter Than Everyone Else In The Room."
Sam straightened up, startled. Recalling the conversation he'd had with Gail the other day. How the hell would Crowley know about that? Or was what he'd said just a wild coincidence? Then he remembered...
Crowley smiled at him thinly. Wishing he'd not been trapped so quickly, so neatly. He had the vials Rowena had given him in his pocket and was itching to deploy Cat Scratch Fever, Part 2 on the trio. That had been the plan all along; to infect Sam, Dean and Castiel with a double dose of the Sins and watch them turn on each other while he and Gail reclaimed her powers and made their getaway. There'd be no shortage of the blood they'd need to open the box once the games began. He would just have to bide his time, figure out how to free himself from this chair.
As Dean and Sam stood back, now Castiel moved forward, scrutinizing Crowley's face but saying nothing.
"What?" Crowley snapped, admittedly a little unnerved by the Angel's steady gaze.
"Nothing," Castiel replied evenly.
"We just thought since you're gonna be here a while, you and your 'fiancee' might want something to drink," Dean said casually, enjoying the moment. Crowley looked like he was going to pee himself. Good times.
"We wouldn't want to be bad hosts," Sam chimed in, grinning.
The brothers produced syringes then, and each withdrew a vial of his own blood, handing the vials to Cas once they were finished.
Bollocks. They were going to inject him with human blood again, Crowley thought. How unoriginal. But he wondered how much more of it he could take before he turned into...well, them. Yuk. He'd rather they killed him right now. He would look ghastly in flannel.
Castiel withdrew his own syringe from his coat pocket. Crowley half-closed his eyes. Here it came.
Then suddenly, Sam and Dean moved over to Gail's chair and injected her with their blood, one shot in each arm, and Crowley's eyes widened. OK, he had not seen THAT coming. But it made sense. They were going to try to flush his essence out of her. Replace his Long Island Iced Tea with their Shirley Temples. Frankly, he was surprised they hadn't tried this sooner. Fight, my darling, fight, he thought.
Gail couldn't physically fight, of course, though she bucked and screamed when the needles went in. They'd tried to stick her gently, but Sam and Dean knew it wasn't pain that made her scream like that. It hurt to hear her curse them like that, but there hadn't been a day lately that pain wasn't on the menu, so they took it like men.
Once the brothers stepped back again, Crowley had regained his composure. "So, what: I'm just supposed to sit here and watch my beloved turn back into Little Mary Sunshine?" he scoffed at the three.
"No," Castiel replied. "What kind of hosts would we be if we didn't offer you a cocktail, as well?"
"It's been done," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "I've received numerous Shots of Sam and Doses of Dean in the past, as you know," he retorted, "and they have neither shrunk my most impressive equipment, nor sissified my charming but masculine personality." Maybe not the smoothest insult he had ever crafted, but being in chains tended to hamper the creative process.
"Not theirs," Castiel responded, trying to maintain his cool. But his mouth was twitching, giving the game away.
Oh, no. Bollocks, Crowley thought, as Castiel began rolling up his own sleeve.
"Mine." Castiel jabbed himself with the needle and looked at Crowley, blue eyes sparkling.
Wait; what? Rowena thought. Plot twist. But, what did it matter? The Angel had no powers anymore; both she and her son knew that. So what were they trying to prove? Then her eyes widened. Castiel seemed so confident, so sure of himself. Could it be?
Crowley was thinking along the same lines as his mother, but he continued to be derisive, in the absence of proof.
"And just what is THAT supposed to accomplish?" It was almost laughable, if he could keep the bile down. "Is it supposed to make me impotent, like you?" he taunted Cas, who was calmly filling several vials with his own blood. "You're nothing but an empty meat suit, now," Crowley continued, warming to his subject. "You're no longer an Angel, you're certainly not a human, you're...nothing. An empty shell. Am I supposed to be intimidated by you? You couldn't even get it up for my fiancee, when she threw herself at you." He gave Gail a sidelong glance. "By the way, nice go, sweetheart," he said to her. "But do me a favour, and keep it in your pants until our wedding night. After that, have at it. In fact, I would even give this one to you-" he nodded towards Castiel, who looked up sharply "-as a wedding present. Not that he would have any idea what to do with you. But perhaps you could teach him a thing or two, before we throw away the shell."
Castiel smiled then. "I almost feel pity for you," he told Crowley, approaching him. "I know there's a bit of human in you, mostly Demon of course," Castiel continued, preparing the shot, "but we thought you could benefit from a little Angel, as well."
As he administered the shot, Castiel bent down and whispered into Crowley's ear, "That's right. Before your mother bewitched our mirrors, you didn't get to see the first episode. The night your 'fiancee' arrived and cured me, restored me to full strength. I'm Angel 2.0, bitch, and I hope you can face your community after this." He jammed the needle deep into Crowley's vein and then stood back, his eyes flashing a bright blue.
"I hope I said that right." Castiel smiled again. "When you're 'impotent', you tend to get confused." Sometimes this job had its perks, and the astonished expression on Crowley's face was one of the sweetest in recent memory.
That was it, Rowena thought. Game over. The fans were leaving the stands in droves. She watched disgustedly as Castiel walked over to the mirror on the library wall. "Thanks for tuning in," he said sarcastically, waving his hand over the mirror's surface. The picture went blank. Castiel systematically walked through the bunker then, erasing Rowena's spell from every mirror in turn, until there was nothing.
God, she hated Angels.
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, their faces breaking into grins. When Castiel told them what he knew back in the kitchen, they had been incredulous, but they didn't even bother to ask how he knew. He was so positive, so filled with quiet confidence, that they just went with it. They now knew that they were going to win.
Castiel returned to where Crowley and Gail sat. Crowley was sweating bullets by now, and Gail was worried. Also, more than a little disappointed. He'd come swaggering in here and she thought he'd had a plan; now he'd been reduced to this quivering mess. Where have all the cowboys gone? she thought, recalling an old song she thought she'd liked.
Then Castiel touched hers and Crowley's foreheads at the same time, and they were down for the count.
Cas looked at Sam and Dean. "Might as well grab a beer," he told them. "This might take a while."
The men left Crowley and Gail in Dreamland for a while, making their preparations as per Castiel's plan. Then, when they were as ready as they were ever going to be, the three gave each other a nod and Cas moved into position behind the chairs.
He waved his arms, and the chains that bound the two disappeared. Sam swallowed hard and Dean took a deep breath. Then Castiel touched their foreheads, and Crowley and Gail were conscious.
Crowley stood immediately; his first instinct was to flee. He knew he couldn't go anywhere as long as the trap was in place, but old habits died hard. He was halfway to the library shelves when he realized - he was no longer trapped. What the hell?
Gail stayed put for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium after having been unconscious. She had noticed how quickly Crowley had bolted from his chair, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Was he just going to abandon her here, save his own hide? But then, she supposed that was what you could expect from his kind.
But then, Crowley looked at Gail and then looked down at the floor beneath her chair. "Seems we're free to go, my dear," he told her. She looked down and the Devil's trap under her chair was gone.
Crowley had addressed Gail in a light tone, but he was wary. Suspicious. He looked around wildly, but it appeared that he and Gail were the only ones in the room. How had he gotten free? He looked up at the ceiling above the chair he had occupied. Ah. The Devil's trap that had been there had mysteriously vanished, as well.
But, why? Where were the Winchesters and the accursed Angel? If he had been surprised, and he had been, to find out that Castiel had regained his full power, and courtesy of Gail no less, Crowley was absolutely floored now. He prided himself on being one of the shrewdest gamesmen this or any world had ever seen, but what kind of gambit was this? Surely they would not be allowed to just...leave?
Gail came over to where Crowley stood. She opened her arms to embrace him but he turned from her, preoccupied, his mind spinning. Her eyes flashed for a moment but Crowley didn't see it, so intent was he on trying to figure out the game.
"Let's go home, my sweet," he muttered. This was too weird. The longer he stayed here, the less he could think, it seemed.
"We need to get that box, first," she said. Gail was also puzzled by the fact that they were apparently free to leave without interference, but she was sure as hell not going to leave here without her powers.
Crowley knew what she was talking about, of course, having seen the sealing of the box containing Gail's powers in Rowena's mirror. He hesitated; he also wanted those powers, and wanted them badly. But how to get them?
Dean suddenly stepped out from behind a bookshelf, holding a knife in one hand and the box in the other.
"Looking for this?" he said jauntily. He considered tossing the box in the air and catching it a couple of times just to piss Crowley off more, but reconsidered. Based on the contents of the box, he'd better not fool around with it.
Gail stepped forward. "I believe that belongs to me," she said to Dean. Her voice was even, but she was quaking inside. Fear and anger were doing battle in her stomach.
Just then, Sam stepped out from the shadows and stood next to Dean. Oh, great. Were they supposed to fight the brothers? Her without her powers, and Crowley...what about him?
She looked sidelong at her supposed fiance. He looked a little spooked. This was the King of Hell? Surely he must have a trick or two up his sleeve.
Crowley extended his arms to knock each Winchester into next week, and...nothing. No juice. Bollocks. Just as he'd feared. And, where was Castiel?
Sighing, Gail approached Dean and Sam where they stood. They did not yield, but did not advance, either. The brothers' grip tightened on their weapons, but they held their ground.
"Please give me the box, Dean," Gail said to him, reasonably enough. "You have no right to keep what's in it."
"No right?" Sam said, his temper rising. "And I guess you have the right to use what's in it to decide who lives or dies?"
Crowley, who had been edging up cautiously behind Gail, stopped still. What did they know? How could they possibly know what Gail had been doing with her powers? Had he been spied on? The irony of this was temporarily lost on him, of course, in his outrage. Bloody Angel. He was obviously behind this. And just where WAS he, anyway?
Perhaps it was time to bail on this whole messed-up situation, take stock and regroup. The Winchesters looked far too calm, Castiel was who knows where, and Crowley's considerable powers were of no use to him within the confines of the bunker. He had tried to pop out of the bunker anyway, but of course, he wasn't able to. Crowley sighed. So it was going to be like this, was it? Sam and Dean Winchester, Hunters extraordinaire, against a slip of a girl with no powers and a temporarily defused Demon King, who hadn't had to do his own dirty work in who knew how long?
Sod it; there was nothing he could think of except to employ the skill he had demonstrated time and time again, over the centuries: negotiation.
"Easy, boys," Crowley said to Sam and Dean, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender this time. "There's no reason this has to get...nasty. You have something we want, and I have something you want." He nodded towards Dean's arm, knowing the brothers knew what he was talking about. "Straight trade. Gail and the box, and I tell you how to remove the Mark."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. So there it was. This was something they wanted very badly, but there was no way they could let Crowley and Gail walk out of here with this box. They would just have to trust in the plan Cas had formulated, and hope everything worked out.
Dean said, "Deal."
Sam looked at Dean. "What? Dean! You can't-"
"The hell I can't," Dean retorted, moving slowly towards where Crowley and Gail stood. Sam grabbed his arm, but Dean shook it off. "You know how long we've been looking for a way to get rid of it, Sammy, and you also know we've got squat. I'm taking the deal."
Dean stood in front of Crowley and rolled up his sleeve, careful to keep a grip on the box, using the hand that held the knife to bare the Mark. He looked up at Crowley. "Go."
Crowley threw his head back and laughed, regaining his footing. This was the Moose and the Squirrel he had been dancing with all these years: Sam, righteous and indignant, and maverick Dean, man of action.
"Dean, Dean," he chortled. "You know how this works. I have to have a show of good faith, at the very least."
He raised an eyebrow and inclined his head, looking to Sam and then to Dean.
"Like what?" Sam asked, though he knew very well.
"OK, fine," Dean snapped, somewhat uncharacteristically the one to get there first, it seemed. He handed the box carefully to Sam and made to cut his palm with the knife.
"Wait!" Crowley said sharply, and Dean stopped, looking at him inquiringly.
"I think," Crowley said in a casual tone, "my fiancee ought to do it. But one last kiss, just in case..."
He pulled Gail close to him then and whispered to her, "Take the vials out of my pants pocket. Make it look convincing," then kissed her deeply as she reached into his pockets where Rowena's vials lay. She withdrew them and transferred them to her own front pockets, under the guise of groping him. "In the open wounds, sweetheart," he instructed. Then: "Easy, darling," he murmured, breaking the kiss. "Save something for our wedding night."
They looked into each other's eyes and she instinctively understood what he wanted her to do. Gail walked over to Dean and he handed her his knife, which she used to slash his palm, then she did the same to Sam. Then she withdrew the vials from her pants pockets and opened them, splashing the contents on the brothers' open wounds, all in one motion.
Dean and Sam jumped back, but the damage was already done. "What the hell was that?" Dean gasped in surprise, shaking his hand instinctively, drops of blood flying.
"Never mind; just Gail's idea of a little joke," Crowley said dismissively, trying to move this thing along before things got weird again and the brothers had too much time to think. "Two down, one to go. Where's-" the name stuck in his throat "-your little Angel friend?"
"Right here," Castiel said from behind him. Crowley and Gail wheeled around. Castiel was sitting casually in the chair in which Crowley had been imprisoned. He held his hands out, palms open.
Crowley was tempted to take the knife from Gail and do it himself but was honestly a little afraid, though he would sooner die than admit this to anyone. So he covered by saying softly, "Go for it, darling." He gestured for Gail to proceed.
She walked up to Castiel, the knife dripping with Sam and Dean's blood. All she had to do was slice it across Castiel's open palm, and the triad necessary to open the box would be complete.
He sat calmly, palms open, extending them to her. She regarded them, then looked at his face, then back and forth a couple more times.
"You know what the right thing is to do," he remarked calmly, "don't you?"
Yes, she did, Gail thought. The right thing to do was...extending the knife over his palm, hand shaking, looking at his face again...
She couldn't do it. She didn't know why, but she couldn't do it. One step away from getting her powers back, and she was frozen. What did he mean about the right thing to do? Getting her powers back was the right thing to do...wasn't it? Helping people...no, hurting people, no...What? What was she doing?
Crowley was wondering the same thing. What WAS she doing? What was she waiting for? He strode over to the pair, anxious to get the show on the road before the momentum shifted.
One last try. He really wanted Gail to slash Castiel, prove that she was still his. "Go ahead, sweetheart," he prodded, teeth starting to clench.
"I - I can't," she breathed. Agonizing.
With a quick glance at the Winchesters, who had somewhat inexplicably remained where they were, Crowley snatched the knife out of Gail's hand impatiently. One double dose of Winchester blood and his bride-to-be was already wavering. He would have to make sure to up her dosage once they got back home.
Crowley faced Castiel with the knife and slashed him across one palm, withdrawing the last vial from his pants pocket, uncorking it and throwing the contents into the open wound he had just created.
The fact that none of the trio had tried to fight back should have raised a red flag, but Crowley was on a high, thinking they were so close now. All three had been infected by his mother's spell now, and all he and Gail had to do was open the box and run on out of here, leaving the men to fall upon each other, and...
Castiel looked down at his bleeding hand and then, while Crowley was woolgathering, the Angel reached his other hand up to Crowley's forehead, and... Goodnight, King. Crowley fell to the floor, unconscious.
Gail was transfixed. She looked at Crowley down on the ground, then up at Sam and Dean, who were now advancing slowly, then at Castiel, sitting there still, his blood dripping on the floor. Their eyes met for a moment and he said, "Time to decide who you REALLY are."
Sam held out the box to her once he and Dean reached where she and Castiel were. "Your decision," he said grimly.
Gail searched the faces of the three men, looked at the box, then looked at their bleeding palms.
"Castiel...please...help me," she pleaded. His faith in her verified, he touched her forehead then, and she slept, too.
As they were chaining Crowley and Gail back into their chairs and repainting the Devil's traps, Sam, Dean and Castiel talked.
"Way to go, Cas," Dean remarked. "You called it, all the way down the line."
Castiel smiled back, but inside his stomach was fluttering. Everything had played out as he'd hoped, but he was immensely relieved. Setting Crowley and Gail free and hoping she'd make the right choice when push came to shove had been risky, he knew. But his faith had been justified when she'd faltered, and then appealed to him when given the chance to regain her powers all on her own. Knowing that Crowley's blood was part human, Castiel had gambled that despite what he'd seen in his Vision before Christmas, the mix of Gail's own blood, added with Sam and Dean's, would be enough to tip the scales.
But, to paraphrase: trust in God, but lock your house before you leave. As Sam and Dean had erased the Devil's traps in preparation for Crowley and Gail's reawakening, Castiel had reached into Crowley's pants pockets and replaced the vials of Rowena's poison with the vials of his own blood that he had withdrawn earlier. So when Gail, and then Crowley, had splashed what they thought was the bad stuff into the mens' open wounds, what they had really been doing was, well...nothing at all.
But the job was not yet done. Though Gail had shown a sign of progress, they could not hang their hats on a momentary lapse.
When the traps and the chains were back in place, Castiel revived Crowley momentarily, to drive the point home.
"You will lose," Castiel said grimly. "And when you do, once you perform your acts of atonement, we will send you back to Hell with Angel blood in your veins. And they will tear you to pieces."
Gail continued to sleep, and the dreams began. At least, she thought they were dreams; they were so realistic, who could tell? Was it her future she was seeing now?
Gail awoke in a King-sized bed. Ironically enough. She stretched and luxuriated in the satin sheets, deciding to lay in a bit longer. She was drowsy, disoriented.
The door to the bedroom opened, and in walked Crowley. They must have made their way back home, Gail thought. She didn't remember how, but obviously everything had worked out.
Crowley approached her in the bed and she sat up to greet him. Everything would be OK now.
He sat down on the bed beside her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Rise and shine, sweetheart," he said tenderly. "We have business to attend to."
She rose from the bed and dressed as he looked on appreciatively. Their rigours in this room the night before had left him both weak at the knees and fulfilled, happy at last that he had someone by his side, someone truly loyal to him. He had been planning to wait a couple of nights more until his years and years of unfortunate sexual abstinence had been sated, but he felt such affection towards her now that he couldn't wait any longer. They had to truly consummate their marriage.
Crowley withdrew the dagger from his pocket and walked over to her. "This will only sting for a moment," he whispered tenderly in Gail's ear, then plunged the knife into her heart.
Blackness then, confusion as she fell to the floor, bleeding out. She thought he loved her. What had he done?
Suddenly, she was waiting in a long line with a number in her hand, a little piece of paper like you'd get in a bakery. She looked at it. Number 00001.
A man approached her then, a tall, fussy-looking man in a dark suit. He asked to look at her number and when he saw it his face turned even whiter than it already was.
"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," he stammered. "You should never have had to wait in line with these-" he gestured to the other people in the line "-minions."
The minions didn't spare him a glance, as though recognizing their station.
"Come with me," the man said to her, putting his hand on her arm but then removing it as if the touch burned. He bowed his head. "Please."
She followed him to the head of the line until they reached the velvet rope and beyond it, a set of red double doors.
"Please," the man said to Gail, "go right on in." He straightened his tie and then bowed, on his smarmiest and best behaviour. Maybe the Boss would hear about how graciously he had treated his wife.
Gail looked at the entrance doors, hesitating. Did she really want to see what was behind them? Didn't she already know?
Having no other choice, she trudged forward and opened the doors into Hell.
Crowley flipped over the calendar page to the New Year. 2115, already. Time flies.
Marked on the square for January 10th was a single word: "Gail."
He was feeling sentimental, though. It was New Year's Day, a day of new beginnings. He and his fellow Demons had run roughshod over the Earth for the past century and frankly, he was growing bored. Besides, he hadn't had sex for the past 100 years, and it was starting to get on his nerves. With his mother long in her grave, since the day after his and Gail's return, Crowley was lonely and in need of a partner in crime. Besides, he loved Gail, didn't he? Once he brought her back from Hell and restored her powers to her, she would be happy to be back by his side.
He popped down to see her. Gail was toiling on an assembly line, putting 6 parts this, 6 parts that into a bag and stapling them, dropping the bags into a box that never seemed to fill no matter how many hours she spent on the job.
She wiped sweat away from her forehead as Crowley appeared in front of her.
"Hello, darling," he said, head inclining towards the box at the end of the assembly line. "Productive day?"
She glared at him. One hundred years' worth of this same crap, day after day, and he shows up now.
She smirked at him. She wouldn't give her husband the satisfaction of seeing her torment. But...one hundred years?!
"No more than any other," she retorted.
He looked at her with a certain tenderness then. Crowley had been missing a strong female figure in his life, someone who could be the yin to his yang, give him a bit of a hard time when he was feeling a little too full of himself. Ever since he had knifed Rowena in the back, he had been missing a foil, and things had been too easy for him. How dull that was.
"How about you come back with me, then?" Crowley said, extending his hand.
Gail hesitated. Most people, OK, anyone, would jump at the chance to get out of this place. But was what he was offering really any better?
"Come on, darling," Crowley wheedled.
She continued to look at him with a withering gaze. Silence. Crowley broke first.
"Look, I know you've been here a little while-" he started, but Gail interrupted.
"A hundred years!" she exclaimed. "One hundred years I've been doing this, with no sign of you! Where the hell have you been? And yes, I recognize the irony of what I just said!"
He stared at her for a moment. Then his face broke into a smile. He had chosen well.
"I needed to stash you somewhere safe, while we took over the Earth," Crowley said charmingly, taking her hand. She did not pull away, but her grip tightened.
"For a hundred years?" she said skeptically.
He closed his eyes and took a breath. Hadn't she already said that several times?
"It took a while!" he raised his voice to her, unable to help himself. "You're lucky to have been placed here! One word from me and you would have been on the torture rack, or worse! This is Hell, in case you hadn't noticed! What did you expect?"
She looked at him, seeing a glimpse of the monster within. "But - for a hundred years?" She harped at the point, not being able to let go of it.
Now she was giving him a migraine. Did he even want her back? One last try to make her understand, make her realize who was Boss, and what the point had been of this whole thing.
"Let's get one thing straight, sweetheart," he said to her through gritted teeth. "I am the King of all you see before you and you are my wife, and you will mind me." Too bad his mother was dead; she would have loved to see him now. He grabbed Gail's arm tightly. "I was merciful to assign you here, but you needed a little time to sort out your priorities. I noticed your hesitation that day in the bunker, and I noticed the dewy-eyed way you looked at the Angel." After all these years, even after Crowley had skinned and quartered the Winchesters and their Angel friend himself, he still could not say the name. "Well, they're long dead, and we only have each other now. So what's it going to be?"
Gail looked around, then looked at his hand. She took it.
Back on Earth, looking around at the fire and destruction. All of the art, the books, the old and historic buildings, destroyed. Not to mention most of humanity, of course. Gail surveyed it all, the pain almost too much to bear. If she was dead inside, which she surely must be by now, why did it still hurt so much? And Sam, Dean, and even Castiel gone, scattered to the winds. Were they in Heaven? Or Hell? Did it matter, at this point?
She turned to Crowley, who was smiling proudly. "Send me back," she pleaded, as his face fell. "Please, I want to go back..."
Castiel brought Gail back from the dream and looked down at her with compassion. She was weeping. But Castiel was relentless; he had to be, now.
"Again," he said, and Sam and Dean withdrew another vial of blood from their veins and injected Gail once more in each of her arms.
Crowley looked at Castiel warily, expectantly, but Castiel scoffed at him. "I don't think so," he said. "A little Angel goes a long way." Dean gave him the thumbs-up. Nice turn of phrase.
"I'm sorry, but this is necessary," Castiel said to Gail, firmly but not unkindly. Then he touched her forehead, and she was unconscious yet again.
This time, Gail was dreaming that she was in this same bunker, though the scene was quite different. She and Sam were in the kitchen making breakfast together, moving smoothly as a team. Toast, eggs, bacon, pancakes, the whole nine. Cas and Dean were elsewhere, and it was just the two of them. Kindred spirits. Cracking jokes, dancing to the music on the radio, just like that movie. She was happy. She was home.
Then a sudden sadness enveloped her as she was buttering the toast. Sam called for Dean and Cas that breakfast was on the table and as they entered the room and she turned around, she could see their skin falling off them in pieces. She closed her eyes and reopened them.
Suddenly, she was in the basement of another house, looking at a man lying on the floor in a cage. Why did this place seem familiar to her? She looked around her to see Castiel, Dean and Sam staring at her, anguish in their eyes.
She moved forward to where the man in the cage lay and gingerly rolled him over, looking at his face intently.
"Frank?" she whispered.
Different house. Gail was sitting at a kitchen table, looking at a teenage boy and a blonde woman, holding a knife. Was this woman going to kill her?
Then the woman moved to the table and Gail saw with relief that there was a cake sitting on it. The blonde woman sliced the cake with the knife she'd been holding in her hand and said in a singsong voice, "Birthday Boy gets the first piece."
Suddenly, a male voice from the other room: "Screw you, Crowley! Don't you EVER threaten my family!"
Then, darkness.
Gail felt so small, so scared. She was in an enclosed space with the boy, clutching a stuffed animal. The boy was hugging her and whispering to her, comforting her but warning her to stay quiet, not make a sound. She could hear thumping and screaming overhead but obediently stayed silent. Her brother would protect her.
Then Gail found herself crouched over a man, putting her hands on his bleeding chest. Why wouldn't he wake up? Why wasn't it working? Then she moved over to the place where the blonde woman lay, the woman she'd seen slicing a piece of cake for her brother. Finding her in the same state, anguished, knowing nothing could help them now. Looking up at her brother Frank, who was silently crying. Were these people her parents?
Crowley...Crowley...the name was echoing in Gail's mind as she awoke.
Castiel removed his hand from Gail's forehead. He could see that she had been about to come to, anyway, but he wanted to spare her any more pain for the time being.
As Crowley sat, fuming, wondering what the hell the Angel was trying to pull now, Castiel barked to Sam and Dean. "Again." They glanced at each other, hesitating. Gail was sobbing openly now. Wasn't that enough?
"Again," Castiel repeated, firmly enough, though his voice broke a little on the second syllable.
Well, they'd gone along with him this far, and he'd been right every step of the way. The brothers took another vial each of blood from themselves and moved forward to inject Gail once more. As the Winchesters' blood entered her veins, Gail looked at them both and murmured, "Thank you."
And with that, Crowley knew he had lost.
Castiel kept Gail awake this time, watching, waiting. And after a while of tense silence, she looked at him and said, "I remember."
Sam and Dean broke into grins, relieved.
"I remember everything," Gail continued. "Frank, my parents, you guys..." She looked at Dean and Sam. "Everything." A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her voice broke then, and she continued to cry silently.
Castiel said, "Again." But Sam had had enough. He moved forward, grabbing Castiel's arm. "No. It's enough," he insisted.
Castiel levelled him with a gaze that would have made most people wither, but Sam stood his ground. "Dean?" Castiel asked after a moment.
The Mark's influence took a back seat as Dean's heart broke a little more. Seeing Gail break down like that had cut him to the quick.
"Sam's right," Dean confirmed in a gruff voice. "Enough."
Gail continued to weep. She had indeed shaken off the last of the Demonic influence, and returned to herself. All of her memories had come flooding back, including what she had done in the Demon's den, and the dream? premonition? of what would occur if she followed along the same path.
She hung her head in shame. How in the hell could she live with herself? The answer was simple: she couldn't.
Gail looked up at Castiel, then sideways at Crowley with a look of horror. "What did you do to me?" she demanded of him. "You killed my parents, you killed my brother, and then you came for me, tried to make me into-" She was temporarily at a loss for words. "Why me?" she continued, pleading with him, looking for the answer all humans seek when someone dies young, or cancer invades their body.
He looked back at her and said with a surprising tenderness, "Because I loved you."
Castiel's human blood boiled in him at that moment and he slapped Crowley, hard. Crowley's head rocked back, and he tasted blood. "Believe it or not, it's true," he said aloud, to the room in general, but mostly to himself.
Gail looked up at Castiel then and said, "Please kill me, Castiel."
He turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. But she knew he understood. She had killed a child in the Demon's den. How could she be allowed to live?
"I wish you had never brought me back," Gail continued. "I would have been better off staying in Hell."
"But you were never in Hell, Gail. That was just a dream," Castiel said, seeking to reassure her.
"Fine. But it doesn't matter, does it? That's where I'll end up!" Gail cried.
He had no answer for her. Technically, she was right. She had killed a human child. They had brought her back from the abyss, but what about the long-term consequences? Admittedly, he had not thought that far ahead, uncharacteristic for him. In his fervour to save her from Crowley and bring her back to herself, he had somehow lost the heart of the matter, the gist of the whole thing: whether she'd been under the influence of Crowley's blood or not, she HAD killed a human child. The rules said that meant Hell, and even Castiel's considerable pull could not contradict that.
So, what had been the point? he suddenly realized. To buy her a few more years on this Earth, only to wind up in Crowley's dominion just the same? He looked at her sadly and raised his knife, considering. Perhaps she was right.
Dean rushed forward then, and grabbed Castiel's arm. "What are you doing?" he demanded of Cas. "You can't be considering...well, what it looks like you're considering."
Cas stood down, as he only would have for Dean. "She's right, Dean," he explained. "You know what she's done. You of all people should know what lies ahead for her. Sam, too."
"It doesn't matter right now," Sam said, rushing forward. "What matters is who she is now. The rest...we'll worry about later."
Castiel thought a moment, then decided that the brothers were right. That was enough. For now. Then he turned towards Crowley, raising his blade again. "Well, at least there's one abomination we can send back to Hell, today."
Gail cringed inwardly at the way Castiel had phrased it, but she shouted: "No!"
The three men turned towards her, startled. Did she still have some residual feelings for Crowley? Had the cure fully worked?
"He seems to be the only one who knows how to remove the Mark from you, Dean," Gail said. "As much as I'd like to kill the scumbag myself, we should maybe take that into consideration."
Sam broke into a smile; he couldn't help himself. That sounded like the Gail he knew. Smart.
"She's right," he said.
Castiel and Dean looked at Crowley, considering.
Crowley saw this as an opportunity to cut his losses, and escape with his life. He had to admit now that he had lost Gail and her powers, and though his regret ran deep on several levels, he had lost to the Winchesters and even to Castiel before, and he had always bounced back.
So he looked at the men and said, "We'll meet again soon, gentlemen," and looked at Castiel with a raised eyebrow.
Sighing, thinking he should know better by now, Castiel released Crowley from the trap. Crowley walked out of the library and up the stairs immediately, before the men had the chance to change their minds. Then, he was gone.
But all the men cared about at the moment was that they had Gail back. They released her from her chains and once she stepped away from her chair and crossed the Devil's trap easily, her comeback was confirmed.
Dean picked up the box with her powers in it and extended it to her. "You can have this back, if you want."
She looked at him and felt a rush of affection. She walked up to him, took his face in her hands and gave him a kiss on the cheek, just like she used to do on occasion to her brother Frank, she remembered with a stab of grief.
"No thanks," she said to him. "I think I'm better off without...all that."
She turned from Dean then and said, "I think I'll go to my room. I'm feeling really tired, all of a sudden."
Gail walked by Sam, then paused and put her hand on his arm. "Thank you, Sam," she said sincerely.
Then she went to Castiel but suddenly found herself mute, floundering for words.
He took her hand and simply said, "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning."
She nodded and went to the room she had occupied before, when things had been different. When SHE had been different. Before she had become a murderer. She was exhausted. She would have to contemplate suicide in the morning.
Castiel looked after Gail as she left the room. He continued to look in that direction long after she was gone from his view.
