In the months since she had last been in Hell, Zephaniah had recalled the experience with little more than fear and anxiety. When she walked into Crowley's dwelling this time, however, she did so with a cold look in her eye and all the confidence in the world.
Two demons stopped her outside of Crowley's throne room. She held tight to the demon knife in her hand, prepared to defend herself but assuring them she was not here to attack anyone.
"Then why are you here?" one of the demons pushed.
"I have a proposal for your king."
"Let her in," a voice bellowed from the other side of the door.
Zephaniah nodded to both demons before letting herself through the doors. She approached Crowley where he was slumped to one side on his throne, looking far less than amused.
"Have you finally come to get your revenge, Zephaniah?" Crowley asked, his tone conveying his boredom.
"Not today. Sorry to disappoint," Zephaniah smirked. "I seem to have reached a certain level of desperation, and I – God help me – need your help."
Crowley perked up. "You need my help? Well, you have my undivided attention now, dear girl."
"Months ago, Heaven asked me to prevent Dean from releasing The Darkness. I didn't know that's what it was at the time and – anyway. I have denied them several times over, and I've killed three angels in the process of figuring out another way to prevent The Darkness from being released. Nathaniel is leading the cause now, and, despite warnings from Castiel, I've chosen to maintain my stand against them."
"Honestly, Zephaniah," Crowley said, standing from his chair. "I can't say I'm not impressed. I'm still curious, what could you need me for?"
Zephaniah took a deep breath. "Nathaniel is going to wage war against me, and anyone who stands with me. Castiel and the Winchesters will stand with me, but that may not be enough. When I thought of anyone who may have something against Heaven that would be enough to fight in this war with me, you were the first that came to mind."
Crowley tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Why does this feel like a trick?"
"It's not a trick, Fergus," someone spoke up from behind Zephaniah. "The girl is truly here for your help."
"Mother," Crowley sneered. "I'd hate to think that you planted this seed in her head."
"The idea was all her own," Rowena assured, standing next to Zephaniah.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh God, the two of you in cahoots with each other? I truly am being punished."
"Your mommy said you could come out and play, Fergus," Zephaniah smirked.
"Do not," Crowley hissed. "You two women will be the death of me."
"If we're lucky," Zephaniah mumbled under her breath; she immediately held up her hands in defense and apologized. "That was uncalled for. Crowley, I'm being serious about this, I really am. I brought Rowena because, while she was not the first person I thought of to have join us, she was the next. She has already agreed to join us, and I brought her with me as a show of good faith. I want us to win this war, but we cannot do it alone. And, come on – you cannot tell me that you would pass up a chance to kill some of those feathered dickheads."
Crowley took a deep breath and considered her carefully. "What's in it for me?"
Zephaniah glanced at Rowena, who stepped forward. "If we win this, Zephaniah has agreed to give up her soul. In order for that to happen, however, you must agree, Fergus, to allow me to be your second in command."
"Win, win, win," Crowley replied in a sing-song voice. "I suppose I can accept both of those conditions. Count me in."
With newfound confidence since Crowley was on board, and Rowena was on their side, Zephaniah decided it was time to re-train a little bit, for all of them. Castiel spent the next twenty-four hours leading them all through a crash course in fighting angels. When the training came to an end, they were all exhausted. Sleep was more of a priority than eating, as was showering. Before they retired to bed, Dean and Zephaniah took the time to down a glass of whiskey each. They were sitting at the table in the war room, and Dean was working up to ask Zephaniah the question he already knew he didn't want the answer to.
"How'd you get Crowley in on this? And Rowena?"
Zephaniah polished off her drink. "I did what I've always done, Dean. I did whatever I had to do to keep us on the winning side."
"What did you do, Zephaniah?" This time, there was no mistaking the adamancy in his tone.
"To get Crowley and Rowena, I had to get both of them," Zephaniah said. "Crowley would only agree if I would give up my soul, and Rowena gets to be Crowley's second-in-command. All of that is contingent upon our winning this war."
"Yeah," Dean scoffed, "because we'll all be dead if we don't win it."
Zephaniah pushed her whiskey tumbler around in the ring of condensation on the, wooden table. "We may all die anyway. But the more people we have on our side, maybe we stand a little bit more of a chance."
Instead of the angry reaction Zephaniah had expected from Dean, she saw tears gather in his eyes.
"You're giving up your soul for me," he said on a shaky breath, as though it wasn't real until he said it out loud. "That's the absolute last thing I ever wanted for you."
"I know. Even when you were a demon, you tried to stop anyone from convincing me to give up my soul. It's my turn to protect you now, Dean. I'm not sorry and I don't regret any of the choices that I have made."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut then, allowing the tears to overflow and make way down his face. Zephaniah left her seat sit his lap and hug the man who held her heart as close as she would allow. His tears, as much as they broke her heart, also gave her the slightest bit of hope that there was true love in Dean's being for her, not only a connection created by The Mark.
Several days went by with nothing much more to do than wait. The Winchesters, Zephaniah, Castiel, Crowley, and Rowena – their small army – filled the time as best they could.
Crowley returned to Hell to mind his minions while waiting for the war to break out. Rowena studied the Book of the Damned, giggling every now and then at the pretty little spells she was finding.
Castiel spent his time between Earth and Heaven, making last ditch efforts to avoid violence between the two worlds. Nathaniel was having none of it, it seemed, no matter how many offers Castiel attempted to negotiate on Zephaniah's behalf.
Not that Zephaniah was offering anything. She told Castiel to go ahead and do what he thought he could do; she trusted his judgement. In the meantime, Zephaniah, Dean, and Sam continued to train and do as much research as they could. There were several possible outcomes for this fight, and they all knew there was no way to be entirely prepared for all of them – or any of them, really.
She had just finished reloading her favorite handgun when Dean found her in the shooting range. He admired the way she handled a gun that was just slightly too big for her hands, compensating by adjusting her grip and minding the angles of her shot.
"If you'd relax your shoulders a little bit, your shot would be perfect," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Zephaniah considered him momentarily before making the small adjustment. She emptied the magazine into a grouping of shots with expert precision.
"Thanks," she said, setting the gun on the bench in front of her.
Dean leaned against the bench, arms still crossed over his chest. He stared at the ground, trying to figure out how to put his thoughts into words. There were things he wanted Zephaniah to know; things he didn't want either of them dying without having been said and known.
"When I was a demon and I showed up in that hotel room the first time, Zeph, I think I knew right away that I was going to be addicted to you – and it wasn't The Mark. It was something more." He opened his mouth to continue, but Zephaniah cut him off.
"We aren't soulmates, Dean. I told you that. We've both read the lore on it, and this is not that at all."
Dean nodded. "I know that, but I also know it's more than The Mark. You saved me from all the worst parts of myself. Even when I tortured you, when I tried to push you away – you've stayed close. Even now, when you don't believe that this is anything more than the root of all evil pulling towards your soul, you've stayed. Maybe I'm wrong – sure wouldn't be the first time. Either way, no one has stood by me like you have. That's reason enough for me to love you."
Zephaniah couldn't help her breath catching in her throat. Maybe they weren't the kind of people who labeled their relationship or put emotions into words, but this, what Dean had said, meant the world to her.
"I'll let you finish up here," Dean said, interrupting her silent thoughts. He kissed her temple, then left the gun range.
With all manner of emotions bubbling up in her chest, Zephaniah loaded the gun's magazine again and emptied it out again. When all those tiny explosions were not enough, she leaned on the bench in front of her, and cried.
The knife in Zephaniah's hand was weighty but she was already in love with the weapon. Castiel had stopped her in the hall as she swiped quickly at her tear-stained face. He had made the knife himself; he was vague about its creation, telling Zephaniah only that it held elements of the demon blade, an angel blade, and even the Spear of Destiny. Though he didn't say how, Castiel assured her that the blade had been tested on both species, as well as some others. Besides The Colt, Zephaniah now possessed the most lethal weapon in existence.
"Dies Irae," Castiel said, reading the script on the blade of the knife. "The name of the weapon."
"Day of wrath," Zephaniah translated out loud. "I've heard that phrase before. I researched the prophet Zephaniah once, when I realized where my name came from. Much of the book Zephaniah wrote is a warning of the return and wrath of the Lord."
Castiel nodded. "That's right. It seemed fitting."
Zephaniah nodded. "Thank you, Castiel."
Castiel gave her a single nod before Zephaniah headed to find Dean to show him the gift from Castiel. His room, however, was empty. Zephaniah frowned; his belongings were still there but Dean was nowhere to be found.
Her eyes landed on white envelope on the pillow she used when she slept in Dean's room. Setting the Dies Irae on the nightstand, Zephaniah picked up the envelope with trembling hands. It had her name on it; she tore into the envelope quickly.
A picture of the two of them, one she remembered Sam getting a lot of shit for taking. She had no idea that Dean had a copy of the picture, until now.
It was one of the few nights between Dean being cured of the demon disease and Heaven's interference in their lives that they had all been able to just relax. Dean was sitting against the arm of the couch, and Zephaniah had her legs extended over his lap. They were looking at each other and laughing at something funny one of them had said.
Zephaniah flipped the picture over. When she read the message in Dean's scrawl on the back, her heart fell to the floor.
Don't come find me, Zeph. My turn to stand by you, no matter what.
.
