Chapter Nine

Castiel had hung around, lurking in the trees, to listen to Adam and Michael. He had felt it necessary after overhearing them in the car. What Castiel heard unsettled him; it was starting to feel as though there was a glaring hole in the story they all knew. Michael had said he had a guess. Castiel, curled up on the beach with his knees drawn up under his chin, the ends of the coat draped over them, hopes Michael and Adam will wake soon.

The amulet is still warm on his chest. He did walk around the island, and the most peculiar—the most unsettling—thing of all happened. On one end of the island, the part closest to heaven, the amulet burned as hot as it had when Castiel found Adam. Then, when he approached the edge closest to hell, once again, the amulet burned. The humming warmth through the t-shirt is no consolation.

This is an ordeal, a test. There is no other explanation.

Castiel stands and wipes the sand off his coat. He climbs up the beach near where the trees meet the sand. Adam and Michael are still sleeping, limbs comfortably intertwined. Adam's fingers curl around Michael's hair on the top of his head. The blade they found in the ground rests on Michael's hip strung through a belt loop. Castiel carefully removes it. The blade is heavier than Castiel expects it to be, and the design is ever so slightly different from the typical angel blade. Yes, at first glance, it looks to be standard order, but it is not. The balance is different, the symbols winding around the hilt are unusual, and the fact that the tip even broke at all is stranger than anything.

Neither shows any sign of waking so Castiel leaves them and wanders into the forest with the blade. He rolls it on his palm, weighing it still. He grips it and slashes at the air; a zing echoes after it. The blade itself hums and vibrates. Castiel is certain there is something curious it, and it puts him off.

A branch cracks to his left. Castiel turns, blade extended. He catches the shift of a shadow behind a patch of trees. He approaches, taking his steps carefully. The leaves crunch around the tree. Castiel lunges. The man darts past him, hissing. Castiel follows him into the open space. He, too, carries a blade.

"Demon," Castiel spits.

"How rude," he replies.

The demon dives at Castiel slashing madly. Castiel avoids him and starts to make his way back to the beach where demon-killing blade is—with Michael and Adam. Castiel stops short. He feels the rush of air as the demon catches up to him and brings the blade down over his head. Castiel spins around into a half-crouch and, without thinking, plunges his blade into the demon's torso. The demon freezes. The gold glow flickers behind the demon's eyes all the way down his neck. The angel blade falls unceremoniously out of his hand. Castiel pulls his blade out. The demon hits the ground, limbs splayed at odd angles.

Castiel gapes as he stands. The blade in his hand hums happily. A light golden glow blankets the edges of the blade and fills the little symbols on the hilt. Castiel wipes the blood off on the grass before walking back to the beach.

"Cas! There you are," Adam says, running up to him. "We heard shit going down in the woods. You okay?"

"I'm fine," he says.

"You don't sounds fine."

"I'm troubled. This blade killed a demon."

"It's a regular angel blade," Adam states.

"Precisely. Where is Michael?" Castiel asks. Adam nods over his shoulder. Michael stands not far behind Adam staring off toward heaving. Castiel brushes past the boy and walks purposefully up to the former archangel.

"Castiel, we have some matters to discuss," he says when Castiel reaches him. He speaks without turning to look at him.

"We do. Michael—"

"Do not bother; I already know what that blade can do," Michael says, holding up a hand.

"You and Adam spoke of rumors in hell, of me…."

"You were listening," Michael says. He does not sound surprised.

"Yes. Now, explain."

"Castiel, you're giving orders to me?" Michael says, feigning surprise. Castiel's expression does not change. Michael sighs. "Yes. There were whispers. We do not understand them."

"They said I was working with Crowley again."

"Yes, but I am certain you, as you are now, would not have done that."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I am not sure… but I do know that Crowley did not kill you."

"How?"

"Dean. He did not talk much about that day, but he did say this when I inquired."

"But it had to have been someone in league with Crowley who killed me, someone directly connected with all this," Castiel says, indicating the three sections of the afterlife visible before them.

"This picture is incomplete," nods Michael, "but I think I understand one thing. Whoever it was, you or someone else—it is completely possible that the demons in hell are bad at relaying information about the King's plans—whoever was working with Crowley was an angel."

"How can you be certain?"

"That," he says, pointing at the blade in Castiel's hand. "That blade has been in the vaults of heaven since the fall of Lucifer. The only way it could be out here is if an angel removed it."

"This is strange," he frowns. "You said the amulet came from the vault as well."

"Originally, yes, but it found its way to earth a long time ago; that story is inconsequential. Castiel, do not worry about if you are the one who worked with Crowley. At this point, it does not matter. What is important is that we get Adam to heaven, and that we find the Winchesters. Adam needs to be safe before we start working on fixing this mess."

"Won't you stay with him?"

"I want to…."

"Why not? You love him."

Michael actually stops, opening and shutting his mouth. The man's face turns pink.

"I want to spend eternity with Adam. I never believed I could love anything other than our Father, and I never imagined it could consume me like so," Michael says, shaking his head. He is smiling. "Castiel, even if I am human, my duty is still to heaven. If I can help you, I will. I swear it, so long as you swear to return me to Adam at the end of all this."

"I do," Castiel says.

"Saying vows, gentlemen?" Adam asks, joining them. He finds his place next to Michael. "What's the plan?"

"Heaven. We will find your heaven," Michael says, smiling at Adam. He kisses him lightly on the top of his head.

"You sure? Both of you?"

"Entirely," Castiel says.

"How are we getting there?" Adam asks.

"Uh."

"The grace," Michael states. "Castiel, take a small amount. Do not take it all unless you must. You do not need much to get us to heaven."

"We can always swim," Adam suggests.

"I do not know how to swim," Michael says, his eyes widening slowly.

"I was joking, jeez. I'll teach you sometime."

"Thank you."

Castiel takes a few steps back, tucking the blade in his coat. Michael watches him carefully. Castiel opens the bottle of grace slowly. Some of the bluish light slithers into the air around him. Castiel inhales it in one sweet breath. He stretches his wings, feeling taller, mightier, stronger than ever.

"Enough, Castiel."

He screws the bottle shut and withdraws his wings.

"Good," Michael says, though he still eyes bottle caution. "Take us away."

Castiel nods. He reaches forward, extending two fingers with each hand, and touches each man on the forehead. In less than a second, the ground is grassy. The air is calm and quiet. The sky is blue, completely spotless. There is no one around to appreciate it, for that world—Castiel's home—is empty as ever.

Heaven.

Michael breathes deeply.

"It is different," he says, "but I suppose that it because of everything that has happened."

"Partly because of me," Castiel supplies, gazing off, "but everyone is gone now."

"Where are they? I get the humans are dead, but this doesn't add up," Adam says.

"Not sure," Castiel says. "When I came up here after returning, it was the same: empty."

"And before?"

"When I was alive? Last time I was here it was as full as it could be."

"More the reason to think it was some angel who sided with Crowley," Adam says darkly. "Anything else odd up here, Cas?"

"The armory was empty. Dusty. The air was rather stale."

"So it was like that for a while before you got up here," Adam notes. "I'm starting to think your whole death-rebirth thing wasn't instantaneous this time around."

"Why?"

"Well, unless someone robbed heaven long before you died and came up here, there's no reason for it to be dusty, right?" Adam reasons. "You don't remember anything at all?"

"No. Nothing before waking, or after dying."

"There may be a gap," murmurs Michael.

"How can that be, though? I've never had that happen before."

"Perhaps whoever raised you in the past is not who raised you this time."

Silence falls between the trio for several moments. Adam begins to wander.

"Hey, where're the people?"

"Their heavens are beyond our portion of heaven."

"Did you go out there when you came here?" Adam asks. His eyes shine slightly.

"I did not. I still hoped there was life left on earth—I did not think it prudent to intrude, not after everything I did," Castiel says. He briefly looks away. "This is a miserable place now. Our home is empty, Michael, and I am sorry for it. I slaughtered our kind."

"From what I understand, you did your best—"

"I did, but my methods… they were so skewed. I could see no other way, yet it was so plain," Castiel says, his voice straining.

"There's no use going off about it now, Castiel. Please. We have to manage with what we have on our plate right now. Do I have to make that an order?"

Castiel looks up, shocked. Michael looks at Castiel with a look of total authority, total power, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the angel, his mouth an unreadable line. Castiel stands a little straighter.

"No."

"Good. Now, let's go. Adam's got a place to be."

Michael leads them away from the grassy patch where they landed, Castiel following him and Adam out of the garden into the main field. At the near end of the field is a marker.

"Out there is where the human heavens begin," Michael tells Adam.

"You guys don't have much space to yourselves," he notes.

"We don't need space. We are soldiers; all we need are places to train and store weapons, a place to organize. Otherwise, we spend time in the heavens of various people. It all depends on the angel."

"Where did you like to go?"

"Me?" Michael asks, surprised. "I did not spend much time in one heaven. I did pass a while in the heaven of a nine-year-old girl who was killed in one of the many wars in Europe during the Renaissance. She was with her other siblings, who also were murdered. They had a field and a garden and a small house with a well beside it. The sky was always slightly gray there, as though it was about to rain. Sometimes it did rain, and they all played out there together. I enjoyed watching their happiness. They could never have found it on earth."

"What bastards killed them?" growls Adam.

"Some mercenaries. I checked; they have been on the rack for a long time," he adds with a smile. "Come. We must find your mother."

"Cas?" Adam calls. The angel is walking quite slowly toward them, clearly still troubled. "Come on, get your ass over here."

"You sound more like a Winchester," remarks Michael.

"No, I don't! I'm a Milligan, Mike."

"I know," he says softly, looking at Adam tenderly. "You will always be Adam Milligan."

"Yours," Adam adds.

"Yes. Mine."

"So you'll stay?" Adam asks. He sounds almost desperate. "I want you to meet my mom; she'd like you. She's always said I should find someone… well, like you. Polite. Kind. Strong. Supportive. Loving."

"Am I really all those things to you?"

"Yes, and a million more. Mike, please—"

"I'll stay. I swear it."

"But…?"

"But what?"

"I can hear it. You've got something holding you back."

Michael hesitates.

"Do not stay with me, Michael," Castiel says, finally joining them. "I will manage alone. Be with Adam, if only because you can."

"Castiel—"

"Let's go."

He touches their foreheads without warning. The world stops and shifts forward, to the right, and ahead again. Everything slows. The colors, blended together, slide down the walls around them and settle into place.

Castiel does not recognize the kitchen. It is dark, but for a light down the hall. The sun is setting, or rising. A door at the front of the house opens and shuts. Adam migrates toward the door of the kitchen, blocking the hall from view. His shoulders are tense at first, but as though shut off, they relax and sag. He runs forward into the arms of a woman. Her purse hits the floor; a tube of Chapstick only rolls further when Adam steps back, almost slips, and sends it barreling toward the kitchen. Michael picks it up slowly and places it on the kitchen table. He and Castiel silently slip out the back door into the yard.

Michael turns his back to the house.

"Maybe I should leave," he says suddenly, making for the gate. Castiel stops him.

"Adam wants you here."

Michael nods. He looks pale, descending into a patio chair. There is rain on the table.

"Castiel—"

"Michael, Dean is no longer in purgatory," Castiel says, looking straight at the former archangel. "I walked along the beach. The amulet burned hot near hell, and near heaven. The Winchesters are separate, and I fear Dean is the one in hell."

"How do you know it's not the other?" he asks.

"I… cannot say. I cannot imagine Sam dying and going to hell. Dean, however he ended up in purgatory, was running from hell, as you said."

"Then they may have caught him," Michael says. "If so, this is reason to worry."

"Yes."

"Castiel, Dean did not die. Somehow, he ran to purgatory. He hid there, since he knew it so well. Somehow, he evaded Crowley, but it was because Crowley wanted something from him," Michael says. "I do not know what, but I fear for Dean if his time of running has ended."

"What if… what if all this is my fault?" Castiel says, his voice cracking. "What if I am the traitor, at the end of all this?"

"You, as you are, are not the traitor," Michael says firmly.

"Yes, as I am, but what if that's just it? You emphasize that far too much, Michael."

"I know no more than you at this point. I have theories, but they are about the armory, the vault. We must go there, once Adam has settled."

"Aren't you staying?"

"I will… but I cannot abandon the angels, not now. We are in this together, brother."

Michael holds out his arm.

"Take it. I will fight with you. Adam, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"He wants his rest."

"Adam is not one to lie down and let the world's chaos unfurl. He will arrange it the way he wants it to be, if he can," Michael says, the corner of his mouth upturned. "So, will you accept me, Castiel?"

"I, accept you?" Castiel says, sounding more embarrassed than anything. "I have never heard a stranger thing."

Michael reaches and grabs Castiel's arm. Castiel nods a small nod, agreeing finally.

"Adam will understand."

The door opens, right on cue. Adam and Kate walk out on the porch. Michael jumps to his feet, color rising in his face. Something hitches visibly in his throat.

"Mom, this is Michael," he says, indicating the nervous man. Michael shakily takes her hand and presses a formal kiss on the back of it.

"Thank you," she smiles.

"He's an old soul," beams Adam.

"I'm very glad you're here, Michael," Kate says, smiling as well. Michael still looks ready to collapse. "Adam seems fond of you."

"As I am of him, Ma'am."

"Ma'am? Oh, please. Kate."

"Sorry, Kate."

"It's fine," she says, still smiling. "And you?" she asks, turning to Castiel.

"That's Cas," Adam says. "He's an angel."

"I'd have thought I'd find more of those up here, but it's rare," she says.

"Many are dead, or gone. It is hard to say," Castiel states.

"Yeah, I guessed that," says Kate, putting on a familiar sarcastic tone. "So, we have an angel, a former angel, and a kid from Minnesota. Kind of a motley crew. How'd that happen?"

"Long story, mom," Adam says. "Really long."

"I'd like to hear it, all the same," she says, sounding very much like a mother at that moment. Adam quails a bit. "How about a bite, and some drinks, while we chat?"

"Got beer?" Adam asks. His mother gives him a look. "What? We're all, like, dead. No drinking age in heaven, I think."

"Right, well, there are some perks to being dead," she says, rolling her eyes at her son. "Michael, why don't you come help me out? We'll grab the beers and some sandwiches."

"Uh, sure. Of course, Kate."

Kate leads Michael into the house, winking at Adam on her way. Adam does not stop smiling. He sinks into one of the patio chairs. There are a few stray tears on his face. He looks up into the kitchen window. Michael is standing awkwardly by the refrigerator, handing Kate various packages of food from the fridge. Adam starts to laugh and shake his head; he takes his head into his hands and leans on his elbows on his knees.

"Castiel, thank you. I can't… I can stay here forever with them. I just… I never thought I could feel really good again."

"You deserve your severance, Adam, after everything," Castiel agrees without looking at him. A plate shatters in the kitchen. Adam starts to laugh.

"God, I can't believe this. This. Cas… where will you go?"

"To hell," he says. "I have reason to believe Dean is there. I have to understand why this happened, and if I can fix it."

"You didn't do this," he frowns.

"Maybe, maybe not, but I will find a way to repair this. The last thing I want is to be in a world where humanity is dead."

"I get it," Adam says. His shoulders start to slump. "Do you want me to help?"

"I would rather you be safe here."

"But Michael wants to help you. That's what you were talking about," Adam says. "I get it. I do. Michael might be human now, but he's still loyal to you and the angels."

"I tried reasoning with him."

"Hard to reason with a former archangel. It's like arguing with the Empire State Building."

A chain of crashes and shattering plates clutters the quiet air.

"Jesus, Mike's not doing well with the plates," Adam winces. "I'm gonna go help him."

Adam rises from the chair, walks to the door, and stops. He nearly presses his nose up against the window. Then, he backs away slowly; he does not take his eyes off whatever is in the kitchen. Castiel starts to rise, but Adam hold out a hand, waving frantically at him to stop. Adam's other hand is balled up into a fist.

"Cas," he says without moving his lips. He glances back; his face is a mask, but there are fear and anger there. Castiel stands at full height.

"Adam—"

"Run. Before—"

"Before what, pray tell?"

Castiel turns around. Crowley stands in the yard, hands behind his back, in his cleanly tailored suit, looking all too pleased.