Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me, just my character Angel and bits of the plot.
...
"He just let you go?" Sam asked with surprise as Angel tried to find a bottle of alcohol.
"No, he didn't 'just let me go.' He did a good deal of damage first. You should see my poor wings," Angel complained, grabbing a bottle of beer with a sigh.
"Do you even have wings?" Sam asked drily.
"I'm an angel, aren't I?" Angel bit off, turning a look on him. "I'd look a helluva lot worse if Daddy'd gone through the effort of giving me blood and a beating heart. Then you'd see the bruises and cuts. As it is, the ash just reforms into the right shape, but it's structurally weaker. You could break my legs in a fight right now. Raphael did some damage."
"I still don't believe you. He wouldn't have let you escape."
"Fuck you. Where did Crowley go?"
"He left. Cas is upstairs with Dean."
"That'll do. Thanks," Angel grumbled, heading toward the stairs. She made it halfway there before she paused to regroup. She hadn't lied, exactly. Raphael had done some damage. Her escape had to be believable. The wings that hurt so much on a normal day were unbearable now. If she hadn't been tortured in hell for millennia, she knew she wouldn't have the strength to get up the stairs now. But she had and she did, so she resumed walking. "Cas, where are you at?"
"Here," Cas answered, stepping out of the door to Dean's room. "You are badly injured."
"Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious. You wanna help me get somewhere to sit down so we can talk about Raphael? I don't have much strength left," she indicated, reaching out to him. He took her arm and led her into Dean's room, where Dean was flipping through journals on the bed. "I'm borrowing part of your bed. Sorry."
"When did you get out? Crowley didn't give us many details, but he was only here a half hour ago," Dean asked her.
"I didn't think he would. He left, Raphael went mad and beat the shit out of me, I taunted him until he got distracted, and then I fled here. Bobby heard me banging on the door and let me inside. Apparently, I was disoriented enough not to remember how to use a doorknob. I argued with Sam for a second in the kitchen and then came up here. I'm still waiting for the exciting 'oh, you lived, we're so happy,' but I have this feeling I'm not getting it from anyone," she answered, throwing herself onto her stomach beside him. She snatched his phone from his pocket and he rolled his eyes. "What? I should probably tell Crowley I'm cool. He's a useful enough tool and I don't want to lose him on a useless attempt to save me when I already saved myself."
"You look okay for Raphael beating the shit out of you," Dean commented as she slipped the phone back to him.
"Her body is not made like yours or Jimmy Novak's. She will not show damage unless a piece of her is physically removed," Cas explained, sitting at the end of the bed. "Do you want me to try healing you? I don't know if it will work."
"Go for it, lover. It can't hurt—and, even if it does, I can handle it," Angel remarked, putting her face down into the mattress. She groaned as Cas began trying to heal her. The mangled, disfigured wings she spent so much energy hiding tried to manifest, stretching the skin of her back in odd, uncomfortable ways.
"That looks like it hurts. You sure you want him to keep trying?" Dean asked, a bit of concern leaking into his voice.
"Whatever," Angel groaned, not moving. Cas continued for another moment before Dean stopped him.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked Angel after a moment of perfect silence and stillness.
"Yeah," she answered, still not moving.
"Your wings always look like that?" he asked. Angel pointed at Cas without looking up, indicating he should answer. Dean looked at him.
"Her wings have been deformed since returning from Hell, but Raphael apparently involved them in his torture. She could never recover them. It is dubious if she would have been able to before, but it is obviously impossible now," Cas explained, an expression of pity crossing his face. There was something truly sad about an angel without wings, no matter the circumstances.
"Do me a favor and pluck Raphael's out, eh, lovers?" Angel moaned, moving her arms under her to try to sit up.
"Hey, you stay here and rest. We'll figure out what to do about Raphael. Maybe we'll see if Balthazar's better or something," Dean suggested. Angel made a strangled sound and fell back onto the bed.
"Not Balthazar. Don't call him," she whispered before her eyes closed and she stopped moving.
"She okay?" Dean asked Cas.
"She will recover," Cas assured him before following Dean downstairs.
"Hey, Sammy! We've got planning to do," Dean called once he entered the living room, where Bobby was looking through a few books. "Angel's in bad shape. We need to do something about Raphael before he catches someone else."
"She gonna be all right?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah, she's just got to rest and then give us Hell for awhile. She'll be fine. More importantly, we need to plan to prevent this from happening again—to her or any of the rest of us. We got to take him down," Dean said. Sam took his normal seat and shook his head. He had a feeling that, even if Angel was injured, she wasn't sharing everything. Cas gave him a curious look, picking up on the distrust.
"How are we going to manage that? He'd be a fool to stall his attack now that Angel's out of the picture for now. The four of us would have a hard time beating him in a fight," Bobby pointed out.
"We've got the Colt, ten vases of holy oil, and the advantage of being cool-headed. Raphael's pissed and he'll make more mistakes that way," Dean remarked.
"I don't know, Dean. I think he's smarter than that," Sam protested, not feeling the excitement that the others seemed to with their recent changes of position. "What do you think, Cas?"
"Raphael will either attack soon and violently or he will wait and attack more slyly. It depends upon his analysis of our respective resources," Cas answered.
"So what can we do? We've got weapons gathered. Is that all?" Bobby asked.
"We could attempt to attack him, but he moves constantly and it would be difficult," Cas offered.
"Okay, Cas, you see what you can find out about where Raphael might frequent. We'll keep looking for weapons and make a plan for if he does attack. Sam, find what you can about his traditional fighting strategy—and Michael's too. We might be able to find a pattern to use against him," Dean instructed, glancing out the window to make sure everything still looked normal. The last thing they needed was to be caught unawares.
...
"You look like hell," Balthazar commented as he appeared in the chair beside Dean's bed, where Angel still laid. She rolled on her side toward him, her fingers twitching around her blade.
"Did you betray me, brother?" she asked, her eyes hard and mistrustful. Balthazar shrugged.
"He was going to get the information of your location out of me anyone. You can thank me for planting the idea of your defection into his head," he answered. "I thought that would fulfill any obligation I had to you."
"I can accept that. What's your position now?" Angel asked, sitting up carefully. Balthazar noticed her wince and wondered if Raphael had chosen to do more damage to her wings because he knew that was where it would hurt her worst.
"He wants me to let him know if you seem to be going off the path he set, but I'm otherwise free. What are your plans?"
"I haven't thought that far ahead yet. For now, recovery and enough liquor to make my head spin, if the world has it. You don't have anything on you, do you?"
"Get away from them and come with me for a few days. You can drink and party to your heart's content while you recover and then we can discuss your plans more fully."
"I told them not to contact you, you know. I didn't say what you did or that they couldn't trust you, but I told them not to talk to you."
"Even better. They'll leave you alone if you're with me. Besides, I need some help training my hellhound. It likes to bite the hand that feeds it."
"If you consider it a fair deal, I'll go, but I'm not going to owe you anything."
"Fair enough for me. You may want to warn them you're leaving, at least, so they don't try anything stupid."
"They're incapable of anything but stupid, but I'll go let them know anyway."
...
"Crowley, I swear this hellhound's broken. It won't listen to Balthazar," Angel sighed over the phone, tossing a scrap of flesh to the hellhound. "Yes, it'll listen to me, but that's hardly the point. It was payment for him, not me."
"Can't he just replace it with another?" Balthazar asked, nursing a glass of vodka where he lounged on the bed. Angel held up her hand to indicate she was busy.
"Well, what are we supposed to do about that? No, I'm not going to do that. That's stupid. Come over here and fix it. You can do the blood-spell to bind it to him," Angel indicated. After another moment, she made a sound of agreement and snapped the phone shut before turning toward Balthazar. "He'll come over in a bit to bind it to you. Apparently, he forgot."
"I'm sure. So why does it listen to you anyway?" Balthazar asked. Angel shrugged.
"Probably has something to do with my time with Daddy," she answered carelessly as she went to grab the bottle of vodka on the bedside table. Balthazar turned on his side toward her, moving back to give her room to join him. "You know, I really never thought you'd be the type, lover. I guess we never really met before though, did we?"
"Thank God. This would be a bit more than awkward if we had."
"What, since we're lovers without the typical angel-bonding and mating drives? Yeah. Speaking of awkward, it'll be more so if Crowley gets here and neither of us are dressed."
"Maybe he could join us."
"If you die from laughing too hard at your own joke, I'm not helping. We need to discuss Raphael. Go put something on—and, if you suggest wearing me, I'll give you some lovely new scars you can't possibly enjoy."
"I'm going. Is that stick up your ass just wedged there permanently? I thought you might level out after a few days with me, but apparently I was wrong."
"Fuck you, lover. You knew what you were getting into—or near enough anyway. Go take a cold shower and put on some clothes. I'll be by the bar with this cuddly little monster."
"Did you just call my vicious hellhound cuddly?"
"Shower, you, go," Angel instructed in a no-nonsense voice, slipping on her clothes before heading to the bar in the other room. Her days with Balthazar had clued her in as to why he and Crowley had been fighting and she was reveling in it. If she could continue pitting them off each other, she could accomplish a great deal more than she could working with either individually. The shirt she was wearing—a gift from Crowley—was part of that plan. Let Crowley think she was showing her allegiance; let Balthazar dwell on their past few days. If she could keep them at odds, she could use them against all her enemies. She only hoped they were both too foolish to find her out.
"The hellhound seems to be behaving normally to me," Crowley commented as he popped into the room. Angel stood up to get him a glass of scotch, leaving the hellhound sitting by her seat.
"It is, for the most part. It just won't listen to Balthazar like it's supposed to. Thank God it hasn't really attacked him or I'd have a mess to clean up," Angel remarked, sliding the glass she filled at him before shouting at Balthazar to let him know Crowley'd arrived. "He's in the shower. He'll be out in a minute and you can do the blood-spell, if you think it necessary."
"I'll need to observe them first, but it'll probably be necessary. A hellhound isn't likely to obey an angel without it," Crowley reasoned before taking a drink of the scotch. "Not bad. Yours or Balthazar's?"
"Balthazar's. He keeps a pretty good bar, even with the hit I've put on it in the past few days," Angel answered.
"Have you been staying here?" Crowley asked in some surprise.
"Yeah, I needed to get away and he offered his flat in exchange for me trying to control this monstrosity," Angel answered, petting the hellhound affectionately. "It's really a beauty. How come you never gave me one?"
"You never asked for one. You avoid responsibility at all costs, remember?" Crowley pointed out. Angel smiled and resumed her seat next to his, absently setting her hand on his to play with his ring.
"Okay, how do we make this pup listen?" Balthazar asked loudly as he entered the room, breaking up the moment exactly as Angel had hoped.
"Crowley thinks a blood-spell will work. You're too holy of an angel," she snickered. Balthazar rolled his eyes and knelt in front of the hellhound, making it produce a growl. "You'll have to give it a name for the blood-spell to take. What are you going to call it?"
"I haven't thought about it," Balthazar answered, snatching his hand back before the beast bit him.
"I think you should name him Cuddles. Then anyone you sic him on will have a moment of confusion before he kills them," Angel suggested, her hand still on the hellhound.
"Whatever you're going to name it, I suggest we get on with this. I don't want to waste all day here," Crowley indicated.
"We wouldn't want you to waste all day here either," Balthazar replied with a smile before rolling up his sleeve. Angel sat beside the hellhound and rolled up her own sleeve.
"If it's bonded to me, you'll need my blood too. I get at least three bottles of liquor for this," she remarked, shooting a look at Balthazar before turning toward Crowley. "Let's get this over with, lover."
Crowley nodded and then began his incantation, circling the two and the hellhound slowly. He stopped in front of the hellhound and cut his own hand, offering the blood to the hellhound, before spilling some of it in the chalice he had brought with him. He repeated the process with ash from Angel's hand, but did not give Balthazar's blood to the hellhound. Instead, he gathered it into the chalice and mixed the three together. Together, he and Angel led the hellhound to drink it. Once it had, the hellhound allowed Balthazar to pet it. Angel smoothed the ash of her hand into the right shape and stood up.
"That wasn't so bad. Balthazar, to make sure the spell is completed, you'll need to stay with the hellhound for the remainder of the hour. Crowley, if you wouldn't mind staying, I think it would be prudent to include you in our conversation about Raphael. I know you've been wanting to know how I escaped anyway," she remarked.
"I can spare a few hours for something this important," he informed her, getting out his phone to send a few quick messages.
"Good. As you know, Raphael had me captured in holy oil. I sent you away and he was angry—they don't exaggerate when they whisper about the wrath of an Archangel, but what's that to me? Anyway, he tried his hand at torturing me and I, being the individual I am, kept pissing him off until he slipped up enough for me to escape. That's the story, anyway, but of course it isn't the truest one," she informed him, smiling.
"Did you agree to work with him instead?" Crowley asked.
"Yes, to an extent. Balthazar did too. There isn't much choice, really. I'm not going to die because of those three and Raphael's promised me better pay. It would be stupid not to take the deal. Since I was offered such a nice break, I thought I should offer something of it to you as well. You've proven a useful ally in the past and I would prefer not to alienate you or cause your demise," Angel remarked.
"That's nice of you," Crowley commented drily. Angel smiled at him in the intimate way she only did when they were alone.
"Think nothing of it, lover. Now, the goal is to keep Raphael happy. That means keeping Sam, Dean, and Cas from attempting anything. Could you stir up some trouble to distract them? Perhaps a few extra possessions, some unusual ghost activity? It'll be easier to keep them from trying anything if they're kept busy and I think you could be instrumental in ensuring that's what happens," she requested.
"I could do that. What about payment?" Crowley asked with the distinct sense that too many of their conversations lately had ended this way.
"I don't know. Another weekend in Hell? That doesn't really seem like enough for your trouble, does it?" Angel sighed, throwing herself onto the nearby lounge and throwing her feet up onto the table. "You've let me by on a number of our deals so far. I'm starting to feel like I owe you, so pick something good this time, lover."
"I'll need to think about it," Crowley replied.
"Dammit, you know I hate that, pet. Fine. Let me know. How soon can you stir up trouble? The faster the better, at this point," she asked. Crowley shrugged.
"Ten minutes and a few phone calls and I can do it, but they'll be suspicious if you show up just before a minor apocalypse. I can send a few out and have it escalate for the next few days," he offered, taking the seat she patted beside her.
"Sure, lover, that'll do. The next few weeks are going to be fun, fun, fun. After I've gauged everyone's position and abilities, though, perhaps my plans will change. Will you still be on my side if they do?" she asked.
"It would be suicidal not to," he pointed out with a half a smile. Angel smiled.
"Yeah, maybe. Who knows? Maybe I'll start going soft in my old age," she remarked, taking his hand to play with his ring. Crowley let her, watching her absently as she lost herself in her thoughts, forgetting about Balthazar bonding with the hellhound on the other side of the room. The rare quiet moments like this made him think of those first days again. Even if it had been nothing more than a series of malicious lies, it had contained some of the least-miserable moments of his afterlife. She had been a lifeline of hope, promising him that he wouldn't always be struggling to the top. And, even if she'd lied, she'd been right. He was in firm control of Hell now and he'd crushed the enemies that threatened him. Hell was his—and, through some odd twist of fate, she was by his side. Not that he trusted her. Not now. That, too, would be suicide.
...
"Are you back again?" Sam asked when Angel popped into the kitchen. She made a rude gesture and continued in search of booze. "Nice."
"Can it, pet, mommy's busy," she singsonged, not turning around. "Ah, I see Bobby went to the store. I'll have to thank him."
"Mommy?" Sam asked incredulously, making a sour face. Angel turned around with a whisky bottle in her hand, smiling.
"Who made sure through great pain that you have life? Oh, yeah, me. Mommy," she reasoned before taking a deep gulp of alcohol. "Where's your brother? I like him better anymore."
"Parents aren't supposed to have favorites," Sam pointed out drily, pointing upstairs.
"Sons aren't supposed to be whiny little bitches either, but just look at you," she replied before smiling and heading toward the stairs. It entertained her to listen to Sam's mumbling behind her. She knocked on Dean's door and was slightly surprised to find him searching through books alone. When he was sequestered for research like that, he usually trapped Cas with him, but he apparently hadn't today. "Where's Cas?"
"He went out to the store with Bobby. I think he likes doing human things like shopping every now and then," Dean answered, motioning for her to enter the room. She picked up one of the books he was looking at absently.
"You really think you'll find answers in Strong's Concordance? If they aren't in your bible, they likely aren't in the translation either," she pointed out.
"Yeah, but we're running out of options. What do you want, anyway?"
"Your brother's bitching about me, like usual, so I needed someone else to hang with. Balthazar and Crowley are all out of ideas as far as Raphael goes and I couldn't find anything else. Did you?"
"Nah, we're still trying to find anything that might help. We've got nothing so far. Can we even beat him? I mean, if the Colt wouldn't work on Lucifer, isn't it possible it wouldn't work on Raphael too? If it doesn't, we don't have anything but holy oil and prayers."
"Which sucks, admittedly. There are weird rumors starting about trouble unrelated to any of the usual stuff. Unusual omens and odd battles. There's a name linked with them, too, for what it's worth—a goddess: Baduhenna. Ever heard of her?"
"No, is there another name?"
"Not that I've heard of. She's a Germanic goddess that nobody really knows much about, but the etymology of her name suggests battle and she had groves dedicated to her that were identical to those of the triple goddesses common in Germanic areas, which means life, death, and battle may all have been associated with her. Rumors have even linked her to the fates and all of that together really doesn't sound happy. I don't think it will be a good thing if we run into her."
"Do you think we will?"
"I'm not sure. She's dangerous, though, and it's best if we proceed carefully. If she's as powerful as the rumors go and she teams up with Raphael, we're even more screwed than we were when he had Dena. We've got to be careful not to get her involved."
"Can't you ever come back with good news?"
"Balthazar's hellhound's behaving. He won't tell me what he named it, but it's answered to Cuddles. Is that good news?"
"It's funny, at least. Balthazar and Crowley both still helping out?"
"For now. I'm running out of ideas of how to pay them, but I'm working on it. Crowley's less likely to abandon us than Balthazar, but I'm working on that too. I wasn't gone last week for nothing."
"Um, don't tell me. I'd rather think you were just out healing. You all the way better now, anyway? You haven't said much since you've been back."
"I'm good enough, lover. Your concern is touching. Getting a bit too interested in me, though?"
"Nah, just making sure we're getting what we pay for. You're expensive."
"Gods, don't I know it. I'm worth it, though. Just think how bad it would've turned out if I hadn't stopped Cassie boy."
"You said yourself that wasn't your power though."
"I was endued with that power because I was going to sacrifice myself in an attempt to stop him anyway. He wasn't getting out of that alive, even if I didn't either. I've done more sacrificing for you silly little humans than you've any right to claim. We need to work, though. I'll focus on Raphael. See what you can find about Baduhenna."
"I'll get Sam on it. He's good at finding information about weird things like that."
"He's good at weird anyway."
"Part of being a hunter."
"Right. You're all super-freaks."
"Says the freakiest angel to ever go to Hell."
"You're just jealous, lover. That's okay, though. You'll get angry and try something one of these days—and hate us both the more for it. Now go put your brother to his task. We've all got work to do."
...
"That's good information, Sammy. Angel couldn't find anything beyond the triple goddesses information. Which report to you think is most accurate?" Dean asked, listening to his brother intently. Sam shrugged, uncertain.
"I'm not sure yet. Like I said, there isn't much known about her. It's mostly speculation from modern times or the Romans—and we know they weren't always as accurate as they thought they were," he answered. "Since she's so associated with the triple goddesses, I'm going to focus on that for the rest of the planning, focusing on the Matres and Matrones. Does Cas know anything about them? There isn't a ton of information about them."
"I'll ask him. He's supposed to be back later from tracking Raphael," Dean said, scratching the stubble growing under his jaw.
"How's that going?" Sam asked, closing his laptop. Dean shrugged.
"Not great, but that's what we all expected. Raphael was never going to be easy to find," he remarked.
"Yeah, we knew that. Anyway, I'd better get back to work. Angel's supposed to bring back a report of signs to look for later, but I'm going to get started gathering what information I can now," Sam stated, opening his laptop again. Dean thought it was a little odd that he'd shut it just to open it again, but the mention of Angel made it make sense. His little brother did everything in his power to keep some sort of barrier up against her and, truth be told, Dean didn't blame him. She'd been alright at first, but she was causing division and chaos and, more than that, Dean was beginning to have the feeling that it really was her fault that Sam's mental wall had broken.
Dean headed up toward his room, trying for the thousandth time to decide whether he should ask Angel about it. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't lie about it—no matter the consequences. The more he thought about Sam, the more he became convinced about her involvement and the more pissed he got. Problem was, she'd made too many jabs about him getting angry and 'doing something about it' and he'd hate to play into her hands like that. He opened the bottle of whiskey he'd stashed in his room earlier. He took a swig of it and remembered that it was her fault he had to hide it in the first place.
He was going to have to do something about her, at least temporarily. He couldn't keep going like he had been. He needed to know if she could be trusted. He was already certain she shouldn't be—like he was certain he shouldn't keep drinking the whiskey as fast as he was—but dammit there wasn't a choice if they were going to make it through this fight and he was going to make it through the night. He hoped to God that the sinking feeling in his gut was wrong and she wasn't as bad as he feared. If she was, he didn't know how they were going to survive this.
...
"Good job, sweet roll," Angel said approvingly as she grabbed Sam's ass. He jumped out of her reach and she snickered, winking at Dean across the table. "The signs I've dug up suggest she's somewhere East of here—they aren't as specific as demon signs, unfortunately. I printed off a list at some dude's apartment for you to look over. I'm headed in search of booze."
"At least the list is thorough," Sam muttered after glancing over it, sending a glare in the direction of Bobby's liquor cabinet. "I should be able to use this to triangulate the locations she's most likely to be in. We need to approach her before Raphael does."
"Amen to that," Dean agreed, taking the list as Sam offered it. He looked over it and thought that, if his brother could find the goddess's location from it, he was a miracle worker. The reports ranged over half the country, with no apparent pattern or reason behind them. One of the signs listed was three sets of twins born in one night in Chicago. Another was a five-car pileup in Atlanta. How the hell were they supposed to track things like that? They seemed perfectly ordinary, but Angel had them listed, so Dean guessed they'd just have to go along with it.
"I don't understand half of these. Think she's trying to trick us?" Sam asked, glancing toward the other room. Dean thought about it for a minute before shaking his head.
"No, she wouldn't be as obvious like this if she was trying to trick us. She'd be subtle about it," he decided.
"I'm glad you didn't rule out the possibility of her trying to trick us sometime, though," Sam said sarcastically. Dean shrugged. "Great. I didn't trust her and now you don't. Should we get rid of her?"
"Much as I don't trust her, I know she'd cause more harm away from us than she would with us. At least keeping her here gives us a chance to watch her," Dean reasoned.
"Good to see you boys are finally starting to learn something," Angel commented as she breezed past, more confidence in her walk than ever. "You boys should come out drinking with me tonight to celebrate the first good news we've had in ages."
"You want us to go drinking with you right after we said we didn't trust you?" Sam asked with his eyes narrowed. She paused at the door and turned around, leaning in the doorway.
"Of course. Never drink with people you trust—better to drink with someone you mistrust, especially if that someone's me. You'll either be responsible the whole night or have the time of your life. C'mon, boys. We've all been working too hard lately," she invited. Sam and Dean looked at each other. Sam could see that Dean was considering it and he sighed, resolving to agree so that he could watch his brother.
"Fine. Where are we going?" Sam asked, wondering if he needed to change out of his holey flannel into a more presentable one. She smiled.
"I'll take you somewhere decent. Go put on a new shirt—or go shirtless, either works for me. I'll be in the car," she indicated. Sam looked at Dean again, wondering exactly what he'd just agreed to.
...
"Did you slip him something?" Dean asked as he watched Sam dancing haphazardly nearby. Angel shrugged.
"Nothing I wouldn't take myself, lover," she assured him.
"That's not comforting," Dean muttered, lifting his beer bottle to his lips. Angel rolled her eyes.
"It won't hurt him. It's just enough to let him let loose. We both know he was going to try to drink reasonably and that's unacceptable," she remarked, signaling the bartender. She ordered a shot for each of them and instructed the bartender to make sure their glasses didn't stay empty at any point of the night. The bill she slipped to him made him overlook any qualms he would have had about it. Dean gave her a look, but took the shot provided. He watched her quietly slip a needle into her arm and wondered if maybe he shouldn't drink. Someone needed to be responsible. Her wink and smile to someone across the room made him roll his eyes and take the new shot on the table. He didn't want to be sober. Screw responsibility.
It didn't take long for Angel to disappear. Dean focused his attention on Sam, preparing himself to interfere if it came to it. His brother tended to be a comically emotional drunk, but he wasn't taking chances with whatever else was in his brother's system. He took another shot absently, not paying attention. He could handle his liquor and he wasn't worried, despite the fact that he knew he probably should be. He considered the turn of events of his life, trying to decide where the tentative reasonability of his life—as a hunter, anyway—had gone wrong.
They weren't happy thoughts.
"You look miserable over here, Dean. Why don't I throw some fresh meat your way, eh, lover?" Angel suggested, throwing herself back onto the barstool beside him a few minutes later. Her eyes had that bright, malicious look she usually reserved for Crowley, Castiel, or some other unfortunate she planned to crush. Dean shook his head. He wasn't accepting any favors—except for the refilled shot glass she ensured was provided. She started to snicker and Dean followed her gaze. "Oh-ho-ho, sweet roll's 'bout to be filled with cream."
"I gotta get him outta here," Dean muttered, staggering to his feet to get his brother before his minimally conscious self could encourage the drunken man coming on to him. "Help me get 'im, will ya?"
"You're no fun, pet," Angel sighed, rising from the stool to help remove Sam. Dean stood for a moment to try to get his balance, watching as Angel glided over to his brother and convinced him to follow her out of the bar. She came back for him and pulled his arm around her shoulders as well, supporting the two of them out to the car. She transferred the car to outside Bobby's house and glanced in the back seat, where the brothers were piled in a drunken, half-conscious tangle, and rolled her eyes. "You two would be helpless without me."
"Nn-nn," Dean protested vaguely, trying to remember exactly how many shots he'd had and how long they'd been gone. If the clock was right, they'd been gone two hours and, although he couldn't really remember, he was fairly certain at least thirteen shots had been downed. Angel snickered and got out, opening the back door to pull Sam out.
"I'll be back, lover, once I get your brother inside," she informed him, leaving the door open as she supported Sam into the house. Alarm shot through Dean, worried about Sam, and he stumbled out of the car. He realized there was gravel in his mouth and got himself back to his feet using the side of the car, cursing under his breath. He'd had more before, but he was feeling it bad and some part of him wanted to blame that on his age, or would have if he'd been able to think that coherently.
By the time he got into the house, he was angry at Angel, more so than he would've guessed. It was her damn fault he couldn't trust himself to walk and she'd even drugged Sammy. Angel smiled at him when he stopped in the doorway and crossed her arms over her chest, daring him to do something.
"I told you that you'd get angry and do something, lover. Looks like its time. Let's see what you do. Just remember—you can't blame me when you can't stand yourself in the morning."
...
"I see you got my message," Raphael greeted as Angel popped into existence on his couch, across the room from him.
"Kinda hard to miss, lover," she retorted, rolling her eyes as she put her feet up on his coffee table. "What's the plan—and the pay?"
"We're making progress on God's location. We should know within the next few months. In the meantime, I would appreciate your assistance in offing those annoyances you've been working with," he answered. "Do they still trust you?"
"Somewhat. They're starting to realize that I may be a bitch, but I'm nobody's whore. The number of times I've 'risked my life' are the only reasons they still trust me at all," Angel shrugged. "And, speaking of trust, how do I know you'll continue to work toward finding God if I help you off them now?"
"How do I know you'll trap them for me if you speak to God first?" Raphael countered. Angel crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on the couch.
"Have I broken my word before, lover?" she asked drily. "This is a closed contract I'm obligated to fulfill. The one with the Winchesters is too vague and open—not to mention I made it clear from the beginning I would leave the moment a better deal was on the table and they accepted it as part of their contract. I'm free to move on to your deal or I never would have agreed."
"Somehow I doubt they understand that, if it's true at all," Raphael remarked.
"It is, lover, I promise," Angel responded with no little irritation, her red-stained lips settling into a disapproving frown. "I'm unlikely to help if I think you're not going to pay up and my help would really make your job so much easier."
Raphael walked behind the couch, crouching behind it to bring himself closer to her level.
"I think you're forgetting which one of us has the power here, sister," he cooed threateningly.
"Careful or I'll kiss you, ducks. I do have a history with questionable Archangels," Angel mocked, smiling. Raphael stood with a scoff, his disgust disguised, but clear to her. Part of her was disappointed, but she'd expected it. Not everybody was willing to take Lucifer's reject, no matter how appealing that reject might be. Besides, she'd already calculated that the chance he could be controlled by the formation of an attachment was rather slim. He had always prided himself on being the most logical Archangel.
"If I get a zip code for God, so to speak, will you take them out?" Raphael asked. Angel considered for a moment before nodding. "Good. Get out and I'll let you know when I have it. Keep them from doing anything before I contact you again."
"I will. Lay low and I'll keep them on the Baduhenna hunt," she replied, grinning, before popping out of the room.
...
There was an anxiousness building in the house. Nothing was making sense about the hunt for Baduhenna. More than that, the feeling was rising that something was going to happen—and soon. Something bad was coming and they didn't know what to do. They hadn't been out on a hunt in weeks that wasn't related to Raphael and they were starting to go stir crazy. Three adult men, an angel, and whatever-the-hell-Angel-was trapped in one small house for weeks was a recipe for disaster and they all knew it.
"I'll be out until Friday or so," Angel announced as she passed through the crowded living room.
"Are you going to the location Baduhenna was believed to be in our last exam?" Cas asked, referring to the detailed goose-chase of a system Angel had been encouraging him to follow.
"Of course," she replied lightly as she reached the door. The humans all looked up. Cas didn't seem to think her response was unusual, but the humans certainly did. Her voice was too even and her words were too uncharacteristic. It wasn't like her and that meant danger—for them or for someone else. It awakened all of their hunting instincts more than her presence usually did.
"Cas, why don't you follow her to help her? She might miss something on her own," Bobby suggested. A subtle nod from Sam and a glance from Dean assured him that he'd picked the right solution, if they could swing it. Cas looked at Bobby in a typically quizzical way.
"Yeah, man, you ought to help her out. What if the Bad Bitch's still there?" Dean pressured.
"I don't know where she is now," Cas pointed out slowly, realizing that they were all looking at him.
"C'mon, she can't be that hard to find. She doesn't have any wards on her, does she?" Dean insisted. Cas looked at the wall for a moment while he checked. He stood before answering.
"No, she does not. Will you inform me of anything that occurs before I return?" he asked.
"Yeah, yeah, of course we will. Go find her before she decides to hide herself," Dean answered. Cas popped out of the room and Sam and Bobby looked at Dean.
"You worryin' about what she's up to as much as I am?" Bobby asked. Dean nodded.
"Yeah, there's something that isn't right. Hopefully Cas'll figure it out," he answered.
"Do you think we should've waiting to send him after her, then? She might not be into anything if he catches up now," Sam pointed out.
"Better that she doesn't start it at all," Bobby grumbled in response.
"Unless it's ongoing," Sam insisted. Bobby and Dean shared a look. They'd been wondering about her for a while and Sam's suspicions didn't make them feel any safer.
"Next time, we should send Cas to follow her instead, then," Dean answered. "It's too late this time. He'll have found her already."
