AN: Wow you guys, we've hit 100 reviews! I'm so proud and happy! Thank you all so much, and special thanks to InLoveAndCrazy, my 100th reviewer. Keep it up! You've gotten me all excited about posting the rest of this story.

Chapter 9: In Which Gabe Realizes That Playing God Is Tricky. Also, There's Pie.

Of course, Gabriel didn't tell them all of the mushy stuff. He stuck to the bare bones of the story, and made sure to include the kiss, perhaps exaggerating its extent a tiny bit, just to see Castiel's face go a little whiter.

So he was being kind of mean. So what? He was stuck in a ring of fire facing, if not death, than excruciating pain via holy oil, his carefully constructed illusions shattered and the world back on track to be ending any day now. Plus, Beth was gone, and that soft look in Eli's eyes was directed, like a cartoon puppy, back at his stupid, stoic, emotionless brother again. It made him sick. He deserved a little revenge.

After he finished talking the group huddled in the kitchen to discuss his fate.

"I don't know," Sam was saying in a hushed voice. "I mean, what he did was wrong, but it does seem like he was doing it for the right reasons."

"Yeahhhh," Dean said, somehow infusing that one word with all the sarcasm in the world. "Seems like his version of 'saving the world' was really just a way to make Cas miserable and fuck with people's heads. He can't be trusted."

"I agree," Castiel said, looking troubled. He put his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and tilted his head down, his brow furrowed in thought. "But then again, he is an Archangel. Despite everything, he could be a powerful ally."

"Yeah, if you could trust him not to wipe your mind or throw you into television shows, sure, he'd be a great ally," Dean said. "In case you haven't noticed, dude's a little fucked up."

"What do you think, Eli?" Sam asked, and Eli snapped her attention from the spot on the wall she had been staring fixedly at.

"I..." she started, but couldn't seem to finish the sentence. In her mind she could still see him as Tom, still remember all of the good times they had, all the trust she had placed in him. She hated that he betrayed that trust, that he had made himself so indispensable to her and in the end it was all just a game to him. But she still had good memories.

"Hello? Did shooting yourself in the head make you brain dead?" Dean asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Sam is right," she said after a long hesitation, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "He did the wrong thing, and probably in part for the wrong reasons…but in part for the right ones. He was trying to stop the apocalypse the best way he knew how: by hiding. And he is an Archangel, the strongest one who's not trapped in the pit. We'd be fools to discount him as an ally."

"But what he did to you," Castiel said in a low voice, his hand reaching for hers. "It's unforgivable."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. It is. But if he's willing to help, if he's willing to behave, he might be our only chance at winning this thing. Plus, he owes me for what he did, and I think he takes debts seriously – as seriously as someone like him can take anything."

"I still have to say that this is a really stupid idea," Dean grumbled.

Bobby, leaning against the counter and drinking a beer in near-silence, shook his head and said: "Yeah, it's stupid, but she's right and we all know it." He put his beer into the sink and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. "Come on. We have an Archangel to free, and we better hope he's not too pissed."

Gabriel was surprisingly gracious about the whole thing. He even agreed to stick around and help them, and not throw them into TV shows whenever the urge arose. All of the hunters had a different theory as to why. Sam thought that it was because he understood the seriousness of the situation and genuinely wanted to help. Dean thought that he was finding it amusing to watch them all flail around and try to stop the world from burning, the smug bastard. Bobby thought that he had some hidden agenda, but it didn't matter as long as it didn't conflict with their own. He also thought that they were going to regret trusting him, in the end. Eli thought that it was because of his debt to her, and that he really did understand that the world was ending and that maybe some shred of Tom had been real and he was trying to help her.

Castiel believed that he was doing all of this, this whole mad scheme, to take Eli away from him. Whether it was because he actually cared about her or if it was just to hurt the brother he was so jealous of didn't matter. It got under Castiel's skin, like a splinter, and he hated it. He also knew one thing, down to his very core, a strange, cold, human certainty that he had never felt before.

When all of this was over, if they survived, something was going to have to be done about Gabriel.

Eli was sitting on the back steps, staring into the frozen night air and biting her thumbnail pensively, when the smell of something warm and sweet hit her nose. She sniffed curiously and turned to find Castiel sitting next to her, a paper plate in his right hand.

"You…brought me pie?" she asked, bemused. He held it out and she took it, her fingers numb with cold. The plate was warm and sagging slightly in the middle, the pie still steaming and gooey. It was apple.

"You and Dean have an immense fondness for them," he said. "I know Dean likes to eat pie when he is sad."

"And happy, and scared, and worried, and stressed, and…" she said, laughing. Then her face turned serious. "Why do you think I am sad?"

He gave her a don't ask stupid questions look. "You are sitting outside on a night when the temperature is below freezing, alone, staring into the dark. You just found out that the last few months of your life were a lie, you were betrayed by your best friend, and as Dean so enjoyed pointing out, you shot yourself in the face. You are sad. And deserving of pie."

He was completely serious, so Eli just nodded and took a bite of the quickly-cooling treat. "Mmm," she said, closing her eyes and savoring the taste. "That is some damn good pie."

Castiel looked inordinately pleased with himself. "It is from a bakery in the south of France."

She chewed for a moment, shaking her head. When she could speak again she said: "French pie. I'm a lucky girl. Don't let Dean know. He'll be pissed you didn't bring any for him." She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. She shifted on the frozen stoop; her feet in their flimsy sneakers were cold, but she didn't have any of her old clothing. What Beth had been wearing was soaked in blood and bits of brain, so she was dressed in a pair of Dean's jeans, the belt pulled tight to hold them up, and one of Bobby's faded football sweatshirts, making her feel raggedy, like a doll stitched together out of old patches. Her hair was still damp from the shower. "And thank you. I was sad. And cold."

A moment later his trench coat was draped around her shoulders, still carrying vestiges of his heat. Eli leaned her head against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around her. "I missed you," she murmured, blinking back tears. "So much. I didn't even remember you, but I missed you, like there was a hole cut out of my life and I had nothing to fill it with."

He kissed the top of her head. "I will always find you," he promised, his voice very low. She rubbed her cold nose with the palm of her hand and pressed deeper into him, nestling her head on his chest, the pie forgotten on the stoop.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, his body radiating that impossible angelic heat, his heart steady under her cheek. Then he said, his voice slightly raspy: "What Gabriel said…"

"I didn't make out with him!" she exclaimed, jerking back to stare at him with wild eyes. "I was just trying to seal the deal, I didn't…"

Castiel stopped her by pressing one long finger against her lips. "That was not what I was going to ask. I have more trust in you than that."

Eli dropped her gaze, embarrassed. "Oh. So, ah…what were you going to ask?"

He moved his finger to her chin and lifted it so that she was looking him in the eye. "Were you really so unhappy?" he asked, his eyes very dark and sad in the frigid night. "Were you so miserable with me?"

She shook her head fiercely. "No! Cas, God no, it wasn't…it was never you."

"But you were unhappy," he said with a strange note of finality in his voice.

She bit her lip and forced herself to meet that wounded-puppy gaze. "I'm human, Cas," she said, trying to find the right words. "You've got to understand that, no matter what I may really be, no matter who my father was or whether or not I have a grace, at heart I will always be human. And that knowledge always came with a time limit. An expiration date. Death was scary, but inevitable, like sleeping after a long day. My mind… it's not built to deal with eternity. And when I looked into the future and saw that yawning blank space of forever, a forever of not just hundred or thousands of years but really and truly forever, past when the earth falls into the sun and the universe collapses into another singularity and this all starts all over again, I just…"

She paused and took a deep breath, her hands trembling. "It made me…sad." She tried to laugh, reaching over to smooth the lapels of his black suit jacket. "That and the fact that Matrix-Heaven was weirding me out, and then I went and nearly jump-started the apocalypse again, and you were risking your neck in Heaven and I was powerless and we were being hunted by Archangels…" He caught her hands in his and she stopped her rant. "Yeah, Cas. I was sad."

"You should have told me," he insisted. She smiled a little and laced her fingers in his.

"Yeah, but you were so happy, and who was I to spoil that?"

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Next time, tell me," he said in a husky voice. "Please."

"Okay," she whispered, tightening her grip on his hands. "Okay."

They kissed, their first real kiss since she became Eli again. He pulled her into him, so that she was nearly sitting in his lap, and moved one hand to her hair to tilt her head back and deepen the kiss. In return she fisted her hands into his white shirt and opened her mouth, glorying in the feel of him, his smell and warmth and how he could make the simple act of kissing deeply, deeply erotic, sending shivers down her spine and causing heat to pool in her belly and…

"Oh, come on. Cas, man, I'm glad you're getting laid again, really I am, but seriously, dudes, get a room," Dean's highly annoyed voice sounded from behind them, causing the pair to break apart abruptly. Then his tone changed. "Is that pie?"

Eli couldn't sleep that night. She was exhausted, but sleep was elusive. She slipped into strange, disturbing dreams for about four hours, but when she woke up it was still dark and Castiel was gone from the bed, off doing whatever it was he did while the humans rested.

She padded down the stairs on silent feet, ruefully twisting her hair in a knot at the back of her head and heading to the kitchen to make some tea. There was something comforting about the ritual: boiling the water, tucking the dried leaves (which she forced Bobby to keep stocked) into a battered ball and dropping it into the hot water, watching the dark strains spool outward until the whole pot was stained brown. Layering the cup with sugar, then milk, a small spoon to stir it, pouring…

"Can I have some?"

Eli nearly dropped the hot pot, tiny beads of near-boiling water splashing on her skin. "Ow! Shit." She hastily put it down and spun around, hands on her hips. "Don't do that!"

For once in his life, Gabriel actually looked a bit abashed. "Oh…sorry."

She wiped her hands on a towel, realizing belatedly that her impromptu "nightgown" was actually one of Sam's old sweatshirts, freakishly large, dropping to her knees and rolled up ten times so that her hands poked out the ends. Modest, really, but it still made her feel like she was just wearing a shirt and no pants, feet bare and cold on the tile. That and the fact that she was wearing nothing under it. It was 4:00 in the morning, for God's sake. Everyone else was bound to sleep until at least 7:00. She hadn't anticipated meeting anyone in the five minutes it took to make a drink.

"What are you doing here?" she finally hissed, turning and starting to pour the tea again. "And no, you can't have any. Douchebags don't get tea."

"That's a bit petty, don't you think?" he asked, tipping his head. She stirred her tea, studiously not looking at him.

"And you would know all about petty, wouldn't you, Tom?"

He sighed. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me right now—"

"Damn right I don't."

"—but I have a problem."

She paused to sip at her drink; it was perfect, hot and creamy and sweet, and tasted like home. "And you want my help? I'd laugh, but… it's really more pathetic than funny."

He sighed, irritated. "It involves you. You're gonna wanna hear me out."

"No."

He sighed again, shoving his hands in his pockets and frowning. "It's about Lucy."

That made Eli pause. She turned to him, drink still clasped in her hands and sending up small spirals of steam into the chill morning air. "Lucy doesn't exist," she said flatly. "You created her."

"Yeah, about that…" Gabriel hesitated, actually rubbing the back of his neck with one hand in a very awkward, un-Gabriel gesture. "You see, the thing is…"

"Spit it out," Eli snapped, shifting uncomfortably, her toes cold against the kitchen tiles. Gabriel sank into a chair.

"Everything I created that was fake – the memories, the voices of your parents over the phone, your social security number, job, acceptance to university – it all just vanished when I waved my hand. Poof—" He paused, actually making a gesture with his fingers that looked like a mini-explosion. "Gone. Easy-peasy."

"And?" Eli asked, hating the topic of conversation. Gabriel looked her in the eye, dead serious.

"I waved my hands, and it all disappeared. Except for Lucy. She stayed. Against my will, she stayed." He stopped, letting his words sink in. "An illusion couldn't do that."

Eli slowly sat down on a chair across from him, careful to tug the sweatshirt over her knees, tea rapidly cooling in her hands. "What are you saying?" she asked warily.

Gabriel shrugged. "I had tried something new with her. Tried to create a sense of… sentience. Free will. She can think for herself, that one. I just… think I did my job a little too well. She's not…exactly an illusion anymore."

Eli blinked rapidly. "Are you…are you trying to tell me that you accidentally created a person?"

He beamed, the expression disconcerting. "Pretty cool, right? I'm like God."

"You…you…Lucy's real?" Eli stuttered, barely able to form coherent words. "You created a human being? Holy shit, Gabe, that's….holy shit. That's just… wrong. That's insane. It's impossible."

Something gleeful sprung up inside of him when she inadvertently used his nickname, but he suppressed it, forcing his tone into something almost resembling seriousness. "Thing is, little Lucy's in a bit of a pickle. She technically doesn't exist, and now that you're gone, she's, well, non-existent. No job, classes, apartment, parents, friends, money…you get the idea. It's a problem. And to be honest, I feel kind of bad about it. I am her maker, after all."

Eli snorted at that, then blanched. "Oh hell, I guess you are."

"Yeah," he said flatly, running a hand through his floppy brown hair. "So you gonna help me or what?"

"What can I do?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Talk to her. I dunno. I didn't expect to be in this situation, but…"

"She needs help," Eli said softly, staring into her tea. "You're not lying to me? This isn't one big trick or trap or…"

"Get your boyfriend to read my mind if you want," he snapped angrily, standing up. "All I want is to make sure that she's not in a gutter somewhere. I made her, for God's sake. I'm not just gonna watch her freeze to death."

"That almost sounded like worry, Gabe," she said, peering shrewdly at him. "Tin Man's got himself a heart?"

"I've always had one, Blondie," he shot back. "Just never saw a reason to use it. Now stop being a pain in the ass and help a brother out." He paused. "Please."

Eli continued to stare at him, her face all warm shadows in the darkness of the kitchen. He was struck by the very tired, sad look in her eyes, a look he hadn't seen in all of the months that she was Beth. He wanted, just for a brief flicker of a moment, to wipe that sadness away the way one would wipe words from a blackboard. Then she gave him a tense, curt nod, and he tore himself away from the scene in a flurry of wings.

Eli drank her tea alone in the dark.