Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or events from Supernatural, which are property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Nor do I own the characters or events from Good Omens, written by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. Please don't sue me. This is a fanwork, and I receive no money for doing this, only an author's creative satisfaction. :3
Reviews are always much-loved and appreciated and cherished, but never necessary.
Title: The Fifth World
Chapter 11/24
Word Count: 8,547
Fandom: Supernatural & Good Omens
Characters: Serpent of Eden, Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, Bobby, Dean, Sam, Jody, Castiel, Nanael, Zachariah, King of the Crossroads, Gabriel, Balthazar
Warning(s): Language, implied multi-partner intercourse, horror, queer implications, threats
Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Post Date: Friday, February 7, 2014
[Long story short, for the year-and-then-some hiatus: Lost contact with someone dear to me, had some emotional trauma that had to be worked through from that, got my first part-time job, then got a full-time job (with benefits!). Things have settled down enough, finally, for me to find some free time to write. Sorry this isn't as long as some of the other chapters, but I've yet to get back into the true swing of this fic. Have been thinking on it since the last update (on September 21, 2012), guys, it's just been crazy-goings for me.
As always, my apologies for any typos.
Also, for updates and possible (sporadic) pics, track the "5thWorld fanfic" tag on Tumblr.]
Anno Domini 2,002 = "In the Year of Our Lord 2002" (AD 2002)
Annis Domini 1,995 ad 2,004 = "In the Years of Our Lord 1995 to 2004"
Anno 4,004 Ante Christum = "Year 4004 Before Christ" (4004 BC)
: : : = Change in P.O.V.
: : : : : : :
The Nine Satanic Statements, #9
Satan has been the best friend the church has ever had, as he has kept it in business all these years!
: : :
-Annis Domini 1,587 ad 2,011-
Crowley had meant it as a joke.
Face it, he'd never really thought the ridiculous name "Mephistopheles" would ever catch on, much less become a character igniting centuries of human debate. But, alas, his judgment had swerved, dooming Crowley to forever cringe after Aziraphale (ever the angelic do-gooder, when it came to literature) sent him a copy of the "Historia von D. Johann Fausten" in 1587.
It was only the beginning. Eight more books on Faust and his 'adventures' in Hell with the demon Mephistopheles would be published until 1725. It was seventy-five years later that Crowley would go down for his century-long nap, only to wake and hear from Aziraphale that Goethe had published a sodding play on the subject, in 1808. Then there were the other versions published throughout the 1800s; all operas. This list included Hector Berlioz's "Le Damnation de Faust" in 1846, "Charles Gounad's Faust" in 1849 and Arrigo Boito's "Mefistofele" in 1868. Crowley was very glad he hadn't been around for those premieres. He was sure he would've felt obliged to go out of pure morbid curiosity, and the way humans interpreted demons, these days – well. Crowley was fairly certain he would've discorporated on the spot, out of sheer embarrassment – or sheer amusement, depending on how bad it was.
No one knew Mephistopheles was him, at least – except, well, probably Aziraphale. But even then, the angel had started to pay less and less attention to modern literature, hoarding his prophecy books like a right librarian. Still, Crowley kept tabs on the namesake – he hadn't told the original author his real name, of course, just come up with a long, hard-to-remember name on the spot. It sounded a little Greek, a little Hebrew, a little exotic, and with just enough syllables to make it a pain to write down and remember. Crowley'd thought he was safe. He'd never though the stupid man would actually take the time to write it all down.
The rumors about "Mephistopheles" having a lover-type of relationship with Faust made Crowley want to bash his head into a brick wall. That writer had certainly taken liberties with the facts. And the humans who supposed Faust was really saved, in the end – oh, please. As though he'd escape after all that debauchery. No, Crowley recalled very well claiming that soul for Hell. It was the last one he put any actual effort into, personally, seeing as how it was still blowing up in his face, centuries later.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 16-
They drove in silence. There was no music, no need for it. Crowley was tapping the side of the wheel with his fingers, obviously agitated and ill-at-ease. Aziraphale, for his part, was simply sitting in the right-hand-side passenger's seat of the car Sam'd drove up to the house in, quiet. His expression was faraway and mildly anxious, but it almost seemed as though he were still in shock. The silence was broken some time later by a mumbled comment.
"Castiel did seem like such a nice lad, I can't fathom why – " Crowley barked a short, mirthless laugh, veering around a minivan on the interstate.
"What, did you forget what Heaven was like? Didn't they keep you all on a short leash?" Aziraphale tutted softly, shaking his head before gazing out the window.
"It has been twenty years, my dear. And he truly seemed as though he might – "
"Well, stop assuming that just any angel is going to side with you, yeah?" Crowley snapped, jerking the wheel slightly in his irritation. The car swerved, and Aziraphale squeaked, snatching at the side-handle on the inside of the door with wide eyes. Crowley went on in his bad temper, heedless of this. "I mean, it's stupid, really. Getting involved with those Winchester kids. Nothing good to come of it, we're better off just watching out for ourselves. We've survived this long without mucking it up, right? Why fix what's not broken."
"But the apocalypse – " Aziraphale murmured softly, but Crowley steamrolled over him.
"Who cares about the sodding apocalypse, angel? Let those kids get sucked into whatever plans Above and Below've got for 'em, I say. Leave 'em to it. No concern of ours, right? We just keep going, keep our heads down, don't get involved in any – "
"So you wish for us to take Father's stance, then?" Crowley fell silent. "He has not shown up for any of the past apocalypti, you know. He clearly believes it is 'no concern' of his, yes?" Another beat of silence, then a soft hiss.
"Don't throw my words back at me, Aziraphale. I'm just saying maybe it's the right idea. Twenty years of laying low, we rush to the aid of this Bobby friend of yours and what happens? An angel appears, and heads Up to report you. Sticking around for more to show up doesn't look like a healthy idea to me."
"So you would leave the world to burn, simply because you are worried for my safety?" Aziraphale asked carefully, after a short silence. Crowley's ears went a bit pink, and he shook his head in a curt motion.
"N- "
"Now don't you start lying to me, again, you old serpent." Aziraphale warned, even despite the old fondness in his tone. After a moment he reached a hand out, settling it on Crowley's, on the stick shift. Crowley grumbled.
"Shut it." Aziraphale sighed, patting his hand.
"My dear, you do know it was never about us, yes? You were so willing to face down Lucifer twenty years ago – no regrets, isn't that right? Don't you remember?" Crowley made a grunt that could've been an answer. Aziraphale went on as though it were. "Do you remember what I said to you, after all the ruckus had died down?" Crowley was silent for a long moment. The car rumbled on the road in the background, almost music on its own.
"No." Aziraphale smiled tiredly, and lifted his hand slightly, to rest on Crowley's arm.
"You do."
"No, I don't, because it's rubbish."
"Ah, always the same answer, dearest."
"'s because it's nothing, so shut it, you – " Aziraphale interrupted him.
"It could very well be, that Father put us here on Earth so we would become friends. And thus our true purpose, since we can find no other way of thinking, is to strive to stop the end of the world, no matter when an apocalypse appears." His voice softened, grip squeezing gently. "It is not about us, my dear. What if this is the last time they will try the apocalypse, and thus it is our fate to die preventing it? What if that is our purpose here, Crowley? Would you turn away from Father's ineffable plan, simply out of – "
"I'm a demon, in case you hadn't noticed." Crowley growled, wrenching his arm out from under Aziraphale's hand and locking its fingers around the steering wheel, glaring straight at the road ahead. "I don't buy into all that, not anymore. And who cares if this is 'the last time'? What if it's not? You going to lay down all your existence over a 'what if', angel? Well, not me. I'm not going to throw myself in front of the bull just because something 'might' be trying to tell me I 'should' get gored."
"You did twenty years ago, my dear." Aziraphale noted quietly, and Crowley grit his teeth.
"Twenty years ago it was different." The angel turned to look at him, forehead furrowing with perplexed wrinkles.
"'Different'?"
"Different." Crowley said in the sort of tone that brokered no argument. Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, then sighed inaudibly, leaning back into his seat. This argument was getting them nowhere (because Crowley was obviously stressed, and when he was stressed he tended not to listen to reason – no matter how well-formulated). The angel cast a sidelong look at the grumpy demon, and fought the tender urge to smile.
"All right, Crowley." Aziraphale conceded, glancing back out the window. "Where are we going?"
"Away." Crowley answered after a silence that lasted just a beat too long. Aziraphale looked back at him.
"'Away'? Not back to London?"
"No."
"Why ever not?"
"Because, angel if you'll recall, they've tracked down our residences in London." Crowley cut him off before Aziraphale could protest. "And yes, thank you, I am aware that the Fates are more on Hell's side than Heaven's, but they also said both Above and Below wanted to 'administer punishment' once we were called up after being discorporated by Atropos, yeah? That means Heaven knew just as much about us as Hell, and I don't know why neither of us were carted back, but that angel heading Up to report you changes things a little bit, don't you think? You told him your name, didn't you?" Crowley accused, already knowing the answer. Aziraphale floundered.
"Well, it would have been rude – "
"Idiot." Crowley cursed under his breath, straightening up out of the tense, locked-elbow, straight-armed shoulder-ache-inducing pose he'd hitherto been driving in. "Doesn't give us a lot of choice on heading home, does it? 'sides, the country here is huge." A dry, half-sure smirk curled up a corner of his mouth. "They'd have a Manchester of a time finding us if we stayed here."
"But wouldn't it be better to leave the country, entirely?" Aziraphale pointed out. "It's been quite a while since I visited Russia, or China for that matter, and if we're going to – "
"This isn't a vacation, Aziraphale, it's witness protection." Crowley huffed, exasperated enough to level a single baleful yellow eye on the angel out of the corner of his vision. There was a pause, during which Crowley locked both eyes back on the road. "'sides, you want to watch out for your friends, yeah? In case they need help, we can't be too far away." Aziraphale blinked at him, blankly astonished at this sudden change. Crowley cleared his throat. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to be in the same general country as them, 's all." Aziraphale smiled, recognizing a compromise when he heard one.
"Yes." He agreed mildly, sitting back with a thoughtful hum. "Although Canada is also lovely – "
"Don't push it, angel." Crowley shot back.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 16-
"Well, that coulda gone better." Dean glared at Bobby from over his coffee.
They'd found Azzy and the… snake-Crowley hugging in the kitchen when they'd gone back inside, sans Castiel. Jody had cleared her throat and they sprang apart, but snake-Crowley's hand lingered on the angel's shoulder. He had seemed panicky but angry—a weird combination—and gave some babbling excuse as he dragged Azzy out the door behind him. Not long after, the sound of a car starting caused them all to look out the window. Sam's voice was perplexed as they drove away in his redundantly stolen car.
"What spooked them? " Dean had snorted, to that, shaking his head.
"Guess Castiel didn't take to Azzy's demonic bum-buddy." Sam gave him an annoyed look. Dean turned defensive. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Jody sighed, turning back to the house.
"Let's get you boys some coffee."
And here they were, the four of them sitting around the kitchen table trying to pretend like there hadn't been an angel-on-angel facedown in here, not a half-hour ago. Bobby broke the silence after a long drag from his mug.
"Guess we won't be hearin' from them for a while." Sam drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
"But why'd they run? Aziraphale seems like a pretty nice guy, and – " Dean snorted, cutting him off.
"C'mon, Sam, don't you remember what we told you about them stopping the apocalypse, and all? Those two're probably skittish around new people."
"Well, sure, but I've never seen a demon act like that… – hey, who is this 'Castiel', anyway?" Dean shifted uncomfortably, and Bobby explained.
"He's the angel that brought your brother back from Hell."
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 16-
Zachariah was not expecting him. That much, Castiel already knew. Nanael was not expecting him, either, and she frowned up at Castiel from behind her desk, but did not rise.
"Castiel?" Belatedly, he realized he had failed to speak. Stepping forward, manner insistent but still gritty and calm, he explained.
"I must speak with Zachariah. I have located a rogue angel." Nanael's eyes widened. Her fingers flew to the keyboard, eyes narrowing back on her screen.
"The name?" Castiel repeated it with no hesitation.
"Aziraphale." Nanael typed it in, and Castiel noticed a frown on her face. She looked back up at him.
"There is no angel by that name recorded in Heaven." Castiel stared at her. This was impossible. The angel had told him, himself – perhaps a different spelling. The ending of the name had sounded odd.
"Aziraphael?" Nanael's typing was quick and decisive, but she shook her head, again, looking up at him with concern.
"There is no angel of that name, Castiel." The dip between Castiel's eyebrows grew darker, but before he could utter another word, the door to Zachariah's office opened. The Seraph caught both their attention – and respect – immediately, but Zachariah frowned at Castiel for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin, and striding forward to clap him on the back.
"Castiel! My favorite guardian. How's old Dean-o, doing, on Earth? Nothing's happened, I trust?" Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Nanael beat him to it.
"No, he gave me his report on the successful Raising of Dean Winchester, and was just about to leave. He didn't wish to bother you, sir." Castiel glanced at her, but Nanael's eyes were on Zachariah, steadfast and competent. He didn't contradict her. Zacharaiah nodded, patting Castiel on the shoulder before starting to walk away.
"Very good, very good. Best get back to it, Castiel. Humans are so fragile." His laughter faded away as he walked out of the waiting room, and into the hall, the door shutting behind him. Castiel looked pointedly at Nanael, who was busy at her computer, again, eyes on the screen.
"Why did you lie to him?" She didn't look up as she answered, curt and clipped.
"Because you rushed up here for no reason, Castiel, and that would hardly put you in Zachariah's good books. If the angel you met existed, he would have appeared in the files." Castiel frowned.
"Why is it important to be in Zachariah's 'good books'? Have I not fulfilled my duties satisfactorily?" There was a brief flash of brown as Nanael glanced up at him, and Castiel couldn't identify the emotion. It was gone before he had a chance, although Nanael's voice was tight as she continued typing.
"Nevermind, Castiel. Just get back down there and do your duty." Perplexed as to why his brother was so short with him, after a pensive moment he nonetheless complied to the order and, with a flap of his wings, was gone.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 17-
It was a rough night. The wind was blowing up against Old Man Doppler's houseboat, shaking it something awful. His German Shepherd, Rex, lay on the floor by his bed. His grandson, Joey – only six years old and visiting for a week from Chicago – was sitting up in the spare fold-out bed across from him, blankets wrapped around his shoulders and flashlight illuminating his scared face, making it look pale.
"What's goin' on, Grandad?" Old Man Doppler cleared his throat, scratching his head.
"'s gotta be Ol' Chessie, Joe."
"Chessie?"
"Aye. That'll be the monster that lives here in the Bay. He's swishin' his tail around somethin' fierce, makin' the waves rough." Joey's eyes widened, his hands tightening on his flashlight.
"D-Does he have teeth?" Old Man Doppler grinned, crooked and only half-kidding.
"Aye. Big as yer fingers, he does. So don't y' go messin' around outside the boat when it gets choppy like this, y' hear? Chessie might just come and take a chomp out o' ya." Joey nodded quickly, and Old Man Doppler sniffed, turning to lie back in bed. "Now turn off th't light, an' get s'me sleep." A click only a few moments later, followed by the rustling of sheets, signified he was being obeyed.
Old Man Doppler went back to sleep, to wait for morning to come.
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 18, a little after midnight-
The sound of something scratching across the underside of the boat woke Joey up. Rex heard it, too—Joey could see, in the dark, how the dog's ears perked up, and he let out a low growl.
"What is it, boy?" He whispered, not wanting to wake his grandad. Rex looked over at him and dropped his ears, whining. Joey jumped a little as he heard the scratching, again, and clutched his unlit flashlight to his chest. The boat wasn't rocking as much, anymore – had the storm passed? What were they scratching against? Had the rope come undone, in the rain – were they floating out in the Bay, now? Surely Grandad couldn't get mad at him for wanting to check? Climbing quietly out of bed, Joey grabbed his rubber boots and tiptoed over the cold metal to the door. He opened it carefully, and slid out, putting a finger to his lips as Rex whined, standing up and starting to walk towards him, the loud clack of his nails on the metal startling. Joey closed the door behind him and slid on his boots before ascending the stairs to the main deck.
It was dark outside, and even the brave beam of his flashlight couldn't pierce it. He shone it around, and felt a chill as he realized they were, indeed, just drifting. There was no sign of the dock – just the vast expanse of the Chesapeake, yawning out like ink around him. Joey backed up, scared of the deep, dark water – and especially Chessie, now that he remembered Grandad's last warning before going to sleep.
Seemingly beckoned by his thoughts, a dark shape starts to rise out of the water – like a head. Frozen in sudden fear, the line of light from Joey's flashlight shakes as it follows a long, shiny neck up and up to the finger-large fangs hanging down over the creature's lower lip. Its pupils dilate at the sudden light, and it hisses. Joey drops the flashlight and it rolls across the deck, still on. The creature – Chessie, it must be! – blinks a few times before seeming to regain its sight. Even though Joey has started backing up toward the staircase, it's not fast enough. The sea monster lunges, and his screams of terror wake his grandfather.
By the time Old Man Doppler gets to the deck, the water of the Chesapeake is still.
The only signs of his grandson are the abandoned flashlight and one rubber boot.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 18-
The down time didn't last long. Hardly had Dean settled back into his old room than there was a call for another hunt – an old fisherman, a 'retired' hunter who lived over in the Chesapeake Bay area. He claimed the monster living in the Bay had taken his grandson and so he was out for blood, calling in all his long-accumulated favors. It was a bit of a drive, but Dean didn't mind. In truth, Sam was glad to see the Impala out, again. When Dean had been dragged to Hell, Bobby had snatched the keys out of Sam's hands and said he'd keep it in the garage, at the Yard—for when Dean came back, of course. (Besides, he'd caught Sam eying his iPod, and wouldn't have such a classic car ruined by letting Sam install an iPod dock in the damned dashboard.) The ride passed with Dean's usual metal music blaring, and neither Sam nor Dean talked very much, Bobby having stayed behind to watch the shop (and give the brothers some time to themselves).
But not all goes as planned.
Some point after passing through Ohio, Dean glances at the rearview mirror and sees a face staring back at him. He yells out in surprise, the Impala swerves, and he just manages to narrowly avoid hitting another car as he regains control and jerks the wheel off towards the safer, empty right shoulder of the road. Sam's already bitching due to the wild move, holding onto the dash and glaring at him with accusingly startled eyes.
"What the hell, Dean?" But Dean's just whipped around in his seat, staring at the angel sitting there. Sam slowly notices this, and follows Dean's gaze. The angel stares back at his brother, taking no notice of Sam.
"Hello, Dean Winchester." Dean scowls at Castiel.
"What are you doing in my car. Who said you could sit in my car?" The angel squints at him, a little, as though not able to understand why he's upset. Sam's voice interrupts the stare-down as it lengthens towards awkward.
"Wait, so – Dean, who is this?" Dean's jaw works, and it looks like he's grinding his teeth.
"This. Is Castiel." Sam's eyes snap back on the angel. He's got to admit, the guy doesn't look like much.
"Wait. So he's – ?" Castiel speaks to Sam without looking at him.
"Yes. I am the angel who dragged your brother's soul out of Hell." Then – there, the angel gives a fleeting half-glance towards Sam. It's almost dismissive. "Sam Winchester." Dean's jaw works, again, noticing that, his hackles rising.
"Hey, you gotta problem with my little brother?" Castiel visibly refocuses his entire spectrum of attention on Dean, response matter-of-fact in the face of Dean's anger.
"He is a detrimental influence on you, Dean. I can hardly approve. You would be better off without him." Sam finds himself huffing in disbelief at the brazen statement, and can almost hear Dean's protective side snap out of its shackles. Dean points at the angel, his jaw tight in the back – the way it gets when he's well and truly pissed.
"You. Get out of my car." The angel's brow furrows, as though he doesn't understand where this surge of sudden hostility has come from. Sam almost feels sorry for the guy,
"Hey, Dean, it's OK – "
"Like hell it is, Sammy! He doesn't even know us, he's got no place to judge – "
"I have angered you." Castiel's voice is perplexedly monotone, and both brothers stare back at him, incredulous at the interruption. "Why?" The sound of Dean grinding his teeth is telltale.
"Get. Out. Of my car. And quit following me." Castiel stares at him, although now it seems more stubborn.
"No. I have my Orders. I am to watch over you, Dean." Before Sam can react, Dean's pulled his gun out and has it aimed at the guy's head – square-on, dead-center. He's practically growling.
"Get the fuck out of my car or I swear I'll pull this trigger. Angel or not, this has to hurt." Belatedly, Sam notices it's the Colt. He takes in a sharp breath. It hadn't worked on Azzy, had only stunned him for a few moments, but –
Castiel is unmoving despite the threat, staring steadfastly at Dean's eyes from over the barrel.
"Dean Winchester. This is not who you are. You do not shoot in anger." The corner of Dean's lip curls up in a contrary sneer.
"Oh, no? Where've you been while I've been down here hunting all my life, hunh?" Castiel continues to speak, matter-of-fact and oddly convincing in his gravely tone.
"You spend your anger on monsters. Not humans. This body is still human." Dean cocks the gun, and the expression on his face is real rage, now – personal rage.
"Don't go trying to preach to me, you sonuvabitch. How long've you been riding Jimmy? Four, five years? So don't try to tell me you're human when you're just as bad as one of those body-snatching demon bastards with their meatsuits." Castiel stares quietly at Dean, and there is a moment of silence.
"You are angry because you believe Jimmy to be gone?" Dean grins at him, tight and fed up.
"He had a home and a family, and here you are, dragging him into some Heavenly war. What part of that is right?" Is it Sam's imagination, or does Castiel hesitate to respond, to this? Eventually he does, but it's perhaps a beat too late.
"I have my Orders, Dean Winchester. God's Will be done." Dean just scoffs at him, but he pulls the gun away, uncocking it.
"Who needs a God who sacrifices the innocent? Get out of my car." That last part is said almost tiredly, as Dean turns back to the steering wheel, starting the car again. Sam glances back at Castiel, and it's clear the angel doesn't understand.
"Dean Winchester. I am your – " They pull out onto the highway, Dean staring straight ahead at the road.
"Would you just stop it? I don't need any angelic guide. So do us all a favor and beat it." There is a short pause, as though Castiel didn't understand the phrasing, but got the meaning.
"I cannot. It is my duty to guide and protect you." Dean just laughs, short and bitter, to that.
"Oh yeah? For how long? Until I've fulfilled Heaven's reason for saving me?" There is another long silence, so long that Sam has to glance back to make sure Castiel is still there. The angel looks vaguely troubled.
"That information is classified. I am not at liberty to divulge such details." Sam sees Dean squint into the rearview mirror, and knows he's giving the angel an once-over.
"Sounds like they don't tell you much, up there." Castiel, Sam notes, seems to stare right back at Dean, meeting his eyes through the mirror.
"It is not my place to ask. I am a soldier, Dean Winchester. I follow Orders without question. Surely this, you can understand." Sam is surprised when Dean doesn't offer up a pithy rejoinder, and instead looks away from the mirror and back to the road.
"Stop calling me that. You sound stupid, saying my last name all the time." Castiel hesitates.
"What am I to call you, then?"
"Dean. Just… Dean. Since you're going to be hanging around for a while."
"I see. Thank you… Dean." Sam just watches as Dean doesn't answer Castiel's last comment, and just turns up the music. Sam offers a smile back to the angel, and Castiel slowly focuses on him. Sam puts his hand out, over the back seat.
"Nice to meet you – Castiel, was it?" The angel blinks at him, and Sam slowly draws his hand back. "Er, right. Thanks for saving my brother. I missed him, you know?" Castiel eyes him distrustfully – even as Sam feels Dean's brief side-glance on him, as well – before seeming to come to terms with something that's kept him from responding to Sam, directly, up until now.
"Yes. You are… welcome."
The rest of the ride to Maryland is spent in a relatively peaceful silence. [1]
[1] Barring Dean's loud and metallic taste in music, of course.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,010, December-
"Nice job there, mate." The demon offered cheerfully, appearing already-reclined on the couch of their hideout with a drink in hand.
"Yeah, well, I could've handled it." The angel shot back defensively, stomping over to the window (presumably to check the sigils scrawled over them). The demon scoffed, eyes following him.
"Right, I saw how well you were handling it. Wanted me to just let that kid stab you, eh?" He asked, patronizingly.
"Once he stepped inside the circle, I'd have got him." Gabriel said hotly, turning around to glare at the demon, who grinned.
"Oh, now, Gabby, don't be like that." He purred, swirling the whiskey in his glass and waving a hand. An identical drink appeared on the table. The archangel shoved his hands in his pockets, still glaring. Crowley gave a put-upon puff. "Can't we just forget about this? Azazel let the cat out of the bag, the Moose found out and tried to stomp you, I dangled my axe over Dean's head and here we are, safe and sound, no harm done." Gabriel snapped his fingers and the drink from the table appeared in his hand – only now it was a martini. He pointed at the demon from around his hold on the glass.
"Easy enough for you. Now that they know how, they can summon me anytime!" Crowley gave him a pitying glance.
"You really think I wouldn't've taken care of that?" Gabriel frowned at him.
"You can't alter memories. You're not powerful enough."
"True!" Crowley conceded with a nod, but smirked when he looked back up at the angel. "But that doesn't mean I don't have friends who could." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and Gabriel huffed, but his shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Yeah? So by morning they'll have forgotten all about me?" Crowley grinned, showing teeth.
"And maybe the spell to summon angels, too. Can't be too careful." Gabriel shook his head, but at last he headed over, sprawling on the other end of the couch. He gazed into his colorful martini for a moment, before raising it to drink.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Crowley said mildly, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Can't lose my pet angel, now can I?" A flick of Gabriel's fingers and the glass disappeared, splashing whiskey all over Crowley's suit. He sent a pleading glance the angel's way. "Really? Not even once?" Gabriel's normally joking face was steely, guarded, and Crowley sighed, taking out a pocket handkerchief to dab at the stain. "I'll have you know I buy these. Specially fitted, my own preferred blend of fabrics. My tailor is going to be furious."
"More furious than if he discovers you're a demon?"
"Oh, now don't play that. You know Mark loves my business. I highly doubt he would care. 'Money talks', and all that." Gabriel scoffed, and glanced around the small shack as Crowley miracled himself a replacement drink.
"This place could use a makeover." Seconds later, it was decked out in all sorts of elegant drapery, expensive furniture and even a modern, stylish kitchenette. After a beat, the sound of girls giggling could be heard coming from the bedroom and Gabriel cast a sidelong grin at Crowley as one shouted 'Pillow fight!'. "Care to join?" Crowley checked his pocket watch, then snapped it shut, glancing over at the angel, tone painfully saccharine.
"So sorry, but I'm out of time. Not my flavor, anyway, but do enjoy yourself. I'm off to see what I can do about Lucifer's errand." Gabriel's expression sobered, suddenly serious again, with an edge of guarded curiosity.
"Lucifer's got you running errands?"
"Searching for a way into Purgatory, I'm afraid." Crowley said, sounding off-handedly disinterested. "Nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure." Gabriel's eyes narrowed.
"Why'd he want a way into Purgatory?"
"Mm, well, maybe not a way, just yet – he wants to have a chat with some of the natives." Crowley glanced at Gabriel from the corner of his eye. "There's a tight lid on the reason why, but it can't be anything favorable, now can it?" Gabriel frowned, and Crowley went on, almost mocking. "But by all means, go bang your floozies. With the end of the world coming up, relaxing evenings like this one will be in short supply." Gabriel huffed, draining the rest of his martini before standing up.
"Think I will. You'll keep me updated?" Crowley smiled lazily up at him.
"I promise. If you find any info floating around about this, you'll let me know?" Gabriel smiled thinly – as though he didn't like what Lucifer was up to, but he wasn't really annoyed by knowing it.
"Sure. Can't have my insider getting flogged for not completing his 'errands'." Crowley nodded, raising his whiskey glass as though in a toast.
"Much obliged." His tone turned thoughtful, then. "Although flogging really isn't so horrible, if done with the right company, in the right place." Gabriel shook his head, then turned and headed for the bedroom, placing his empty martini glass on the kitchen counter as he passed it.
"See you later, Crowley." The bedroom door shut behind him, and Crowley fell to staring into the recently-manifested fireplace, contemplative. The sounds of the girls in the other room slowly morphed into something far less PG.
"Cheers." Crowley said quietly to himself, downing the rest of his whiskey. He leaned forward to set it on the table, and with the 'thud' of his abandoned glass against the polished wooden coffee table, he was gone.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 17-
Since leaving Bobby's, they had been driving for twelve hours straight. Crowley had said it was because he wanted to make good time, but Aziraphale knew the real reason was to get as far away from Dean (and thus, Castiel – once he returned) as possible. It wasn't as though they needed food, or the loo, and stiff muscles were something reserved only for mortals.
This car wasn't the Bentley, and Aziraphale was acutely aware of that little fact. Firstly, the steering column was on the wrong side, and secondly, the seats weren't nearly as comfortable. There was a Compact Disc player in the dashboard – which was curved, and a far cry from the familiar boxy one the Bentley had. Soon they came upon signs for Yellowstone National Park, and Aziraphale voiced the thought that they might as well go see it, since they were out here.
Crowley had grumbled something about bears, but veered off onto the exit ramp, nonetheless.
They spent the night sleeping in the car, and the next day visited the park. It was while they were slowly wandering amidst the picturesque forests towards Old Faithful, that Aziraphale realized something, and turned to his companion, eyes bright.
"Oh, my dear, I do believe I know somewhere we would be welcome to stay." Crowley had given him a side-glance from out of the edge of his sunglasses, brows rising slightly in question. Aziraphale smiled, a little small, a little abashed at having not remembered, sooner. "How far is Las Vegas, from here?"
Crowley stared at him for longer than was strictly necessary, Aziraphale felt. He cleared his throat, linking arms with the demon and directing him off towards the geysers, looking ahead.
"I have an acquaintance, in that area, who I believe would be of help." Crowley huffed, softly, and Aziraphale felt dubious eyes on him.
"Who is it? You trust them not to rat us out?" Aziraphale nodded, patting the hand of the arm entwined with his own.
"Yes. I'll fill you in when we get back to the car, dearest. For now, let us simply enjoy the sights."
-Anno Domini, 2,010, April-
Ever since Aziraphale had first noticed other angels on Earth, while staying with Jesse and his family, he had started to venture out in an attempt to observe them. The further he went, however, the more angels he found – all with the same tendencies to live low-profile lives, all possessing humans. It had to be an Order from Heaven, as there was no feasible reason why so many angels would desert without having been found out and taken Above, to be enrolled in the HRC for abandoning their posts. [1]
One such 'mission' (as Crowley would likely call it – he did so enjoy his spy movies) seemed routine enough. This angel resided in Las Vegas, and Aziraphale was careful and cautious as he approached the hotel. He rendered himself invisible to mortal eyes, and took one of the elevators to the top floor, where he sensed the strongest Grace. Hardly had he stepped out of the elevator when he felt the presence of wards. Strangely enough, they didn't deter him – they weren't strong enough, or weren't attuned to his Grace enough that they worked. [2]
Keeping his own Grace silently sealed, he crept to the door of the suite that took up the entire floor, listening at it. There were voices, sounds, the clinking of glasses, laughter. Aziraphale's brow furrowed. This was not typical. Most of the angels he had found were isolated, and kept away from the company of humans. But this one seemed to revel in it. Sliding silently in through the wall, Aziraphale blinked at the scene before him.
Numerous scantily-clad ladies were strewn about on the armchairs and the sofa, all surrounding a handsome, smoking angel clad in black, with a v-neck in his shirt that dipped well down into his chest. Aziraphale felt his cheeks pink as this angel shared a kiss with one of the ladies, while the others draped around him rubbed their hands over other parts of his corporation. It was, belatedly, that Aziraphale realized that not all of them were ladies, and seemed to go to no lengths to hide that fact. He turned to go, having seen quite enough –
"Leaving already, mate?" He froze, glancing behind him. Sharp eyes were on him, and time had frozen for the mortals around them. Aziraphale let his guise of invisibility fall, and the angel's expression turned confused. "Wait… who are you? I don't recognize you."
It was something he should have been prepared for, and yet he wasn't. Aziraphale simply nodded, once, and made to slip out the wall through which he had come in, but the angel was at his side, holding his wrist and grinning, a little strained.
"Hold on, hold on, I can't let you leave. What if you tell someone where I am?" Aziraphale looked up at him, surprised at the contact.
"Why – Why would I? Balthazar." For even though it had been millennia, Aziraphale would still know any of his brothers by name. Balthazar frowned down at him, eyes searching his face.
"How do you know me?" He asked, quietly, expression darkening. "You're not one of ours. Did Zachariah send you? I swear, that bastard thinks he's Aniel, sometimes, with how he tries to order our garrison around." [3] Aziraphale stared up at him, blinking. It was disorienting, to be conversing with a fellow angel, after all these years. He could hear Crowley saying not to give up his real name, but it would be impolite not to at least introduce himself.
"My name is Aziraphale." He said softly, watching as Balthazar visibly had difficulty trying to place the name. Aziraphale set a hand on the one around his wrist. "I have been on Earth for millennia. It is not my business what Heaven wants with you." He hesitated, for this second part, but – "Truly, I am investigating why so many of our brothers are here on Earth. Do you know, Balthazar?" Balthazar eyed him, sizing him up before answering.
"I think we have a lot to talk about. Care to join me for some drinks?" Aziraphale hesitated, glancing around at the well-populated suite.
"But your guests – " Balthazar waved his hand, and they disappeared. He grinned a little when Aziraphale looked back to him, surprised they had all been dismissed, so suddenly (for they had been humans, not mere enchantments).
"I think the first angel to show up on my doorstep not trying to run me through for my lifestyle deserves some preferential treatment, don't you?"
For the next three days, Aziraphale and Balthazar talked. It was a relief for Aziraphale to find another angel not aligned with Heaven, and Balthazar hinted that Aniel didn't like how things were going, Above, either. He explained that there were three Captains under Aniel's supervision, but would not give any names. One, Balthazar said, would hear nothing against Heaven's mandates, and the third had not been heard from in over twenty years, so there were rumors he had been Lost. Aziraphale noted the sadness in Balthazar's face over this speculation, and tried to give as much reassurance as possible. The other angel had given him a wan smile, and changed the subject.
Eventually, they agreed to keep away from one another, lest Heaven find one, and thus, the other. Aziraphale was saddened by this, as it had been hard enough to find other angels and not be able to talk with them, but supposed it was for the best. Besides, Balthazar was different. He was a little over-eager in experiencing everything 'human' about Earth, but after millennia Above, who could blame him? He almost reminded Aziraphale of Crowley, and this brought a fond smile and a realization that he had been away for nigh on three days without any word. Standing abruptly, Aziraphale apologized but said he really must be going – responsibilities to attend to, and the like. Balthazar just gave him a sly grin, and waved him off, parting by saying Aziraphale was welcome to stop by any time he needed help.
Neither could have known, at that point, that Aniel would Fall over a year later.
[1] Heaven's Rehabilitation Curriculum (if you'll recall, this is first introduced in Chapter Two).
[2] Aziraphale might have taken a moment to worry about this, but this was before his meeting with the Three Fates in 2011, and thus he was not aware of how his own Grace had been subtly modified by Adam's actions, as of yet.
[3] Let us remember that Aniel Falls on May 21, 2011, more than a year after this conversation takes place.
[To refresh your memory, this meeting hearkens back to the following scene from Chapter Four:
Crowley kept an eye on demons in the area and Aziraphale traveled further and further during the day while Jesse was at school, locating more angels the more ground he covered. He was well-versed in keeping himself invisible to his brothers (he'd been on Earth for over six thousand years, after all) and so managed to gather information without being discovered. One time he was gone for a few days, however, and Crowley was forced to 'make nice' with Jesse in his absence, assuring the boy that Aziraphale was fine even as he himself hummed with worry.
Aziraphale returned after three days, looking a little worse for wear but sporting a tired smile, nonetheless. He assured Crowley he was fine, just a little unexpected bump, but sharp eyes noticed the remains of Grace not his own—as though the Principality had gone a few rounds with another angel. Still, Aziraphale firmly insisted it was nothing to worry about, and in the end Crowley had to let it go. ]
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 19-
Thirteen driving hours later, they were in Las Vegas. Aziraphale only hoped Balthazar's word would hold true – only hoped that he had not been called Above, once Aniel Fell, and been subject to Zachariah's wrath. [4]
[4] But then, Balthazar had seemed smart enough not to be the type to go walking straight into his own noose.
: : :
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 18-
The pulled into the marina, Castiel still sitting silently in the very center of the backseat. Neither Sam nor Dean had tried to make small talk with him – Sam mostly because he got the feeling the angel didn't like him, and Dean because he was trying to ignore said angel. Once parked, they made to get out, and as soon as the angel did, Dean glared at him, pointing.
"You. Go wait somewhere else." Castiel stared at him, and Sam sensed stubbornness.
"Why? As your guardian, I am to – " Dean sneered at him.
"I don't need no guardian, Feathers. We're doing real work, here, and you'll just get in the way." There was a small 'v', Sam noticed, dipping between Castiel's eyebrows.
"Dean." Dean scowled at him, waving him off.
"Go on, get. A kid's life's on the line, and you're no help." Castiel stared at him, jaw set in such a way that Sam just knew he was unhappy about this, and Dean met that glare head-on. Eventually, Castiel spoke.
"It is dangerous in these waters, Dean. I cannot approve you putting your life at risk merely to satisfy a deep-seated need to prove – " Dean turned around, at that, flicking the angel off over his shoulder as he strode away.
"Fuck off. My life's not worth more than some innocent kid's, and I've fought more monsters than lil' old Chessie. You stay here and keep outta our way. C'mon, Sam." Sam watched the storm growing on Castiel's face for a moment before offering a strained grin, and hurrying after his brother.
"Don't you think that was a bad idea?" He hissed, once he had caught up and they were walking around on the docks, Dean alternately squinting between the address on a slip of paper in his hand and the numbers on the houseboats. "I mean, he's an angel, Dean. He could fry us up like bacon!" Dean snorted.
"What, now you're afraid of the bastards, Sammy? You can't give 'em an inch, and if we're stuck with this one I sure as Hell ain't gonna cowtow to him." Sam let out a huffed sigh.
"Real smart, Dean." Dean waved him off.
"C'mon, as long as he stays on the docks that won't interfere with us from scouring the Bay for this kid. This guy's an old pal of Bobby's, it's the least we can do." Sam was about to respond, but just then Dean perked up, and waved. He looked up, noticing the crotchety old man tying up the rigging on his sailboat.
"Hey! Old Man Doppler?" The man looked up, and scowled.
"Sam and Dean? You're late. C'mon, get aboard and let's shove off. Joey ain't gonna find himself."
Neither of them mentioned that it was highly unlikely they'd find the boy in one piece, if the rumors about the size of Chessie's teeth were true.
-Anno Domini 2,012, January 18, later that day-
Old Man Doppler explained that he hadn't called in a missing person's report, even though it'd been twenty-four hours. He figured the less attention, the better, because if he went and spouted off to the police that his grandson had been abducted by Chessie, of all things, he'd get laughed out of the station and then shipped off to some mental asylum. Dean and Sam agreed.
While they still had daylight, they scanned the coasts of the Chesapeake, searching for some sign of Joey, and asking the neighbors if they'd seen anything. They had no luck, and by the time the sun began to set Old Man Doppler dropped anchor a good distance from the marina, clearly intending to sleep out here. He mentioned that it'd been the middle of the night, when they'd been drifting in the Bay, that Joey disappeared, and now they he had backup, re-creating the situation might lead to some headway. Dean and Sam told the old man to get some sleep, as it was obvious he hadn't had a good rest since Joey'd disappeared. Begrudgingly, he went below, and they sat on the chairs bolted to the deck and watched twilight descend, guns in hand.
They hadn't found anything specific about something able to kill Chessie, so they figured regular guns would probably do just as well. Just in case, Dean had also brought a longknife on board, and kept it within reach at all times. At the moment, it was propped across his lap, one hand holding the hilt and the other cradling his gun against his knee. Sam had found a harpoon – probably a Navy relic – buried in Old Man Doppler's storage unit onboard, and this was propped up next to him as the waves gently rocked the sailboat.
Night fell, and the Chesapeake was almost eerily quiet. They sat, and they waited.
There was nothing, that first night. The second day passed much the same as the first, with them scouring the banks for signs of a body washing up, or asking any people they ran into if they'd seen anything strange. The second night, Sam took first watch, and around midnight swore he heard something scratching under the port quarter [5] of the boat. He didn't dare get too close to the railings (just in case it was Chessie) and slowly backed down to the door to the bedroom, knocking on it and hissing 'Dean' under his breath. There was scrambling inside, and his brother appeared at the door, instantly wide-awake. Sam motioned for him to be quiet, and Dean's eyes widened as he heard the scratching, too. There was a splash off the starboard bow [6], and both brothers stealthily crept up the stairs, flashlights in one hand, weapons in the other.
There was something near the front point of the boat, half-lying on the deck. It moved as the flashlight wandered towards it, shrinking back. Dean and Sam were left staring as the thing was illuminated – a little ragamuffin girl, her hair scraggly, wet and eyes wide, clutching to the body of another young child. Sam was the first to approach her, kneeling down so as to be nonthreatening, trying to coax her closer.
"Hey, it's OK – c'mere, we won't hurt you. You're safe, now."
She shook her head, eyes wide with fear, but Sam slowly put out his hand to her, fingers crooking towards himself, indicating for her to come forward and take it.
"Let's get you inside. You must be freezing. C'mon, it's OK." The girl was silent, but the fear slowly started to diminish in her eyes, and she scooted a bit closer to Sam, still clutching the other sodden child to her chest. Sam smiled gently, trying to inspire confidence. The little girl stared back at him, then reached out a shaking hand. Her fingers were ice-cold as they curled around Sam's thumb. He smiled a little more, and took her wrist carefully in his hand.
"C'mon. Let's get you some dry clothes." Dean stepped forward, then – movements slow so as not to startle her – and moved to pick up the other child. At this, the girl made a not-sound in the back of her throat, something that would have no doubt been a shriek if any noise had accompanied it. They stared at her, and she shook her head, burying her face against the other child's hair and holding on, tightly. Sam sighed, and moved forward to scoop them both up, holding her close to his chest. She stiffened, but he murmured something to her, and slowly she relaxed.
The whole thing was weird, Dean thought, but stranger things had happened.
When Old Man Doppler woke up to them bringing the kids below deck, he lunged for the other child, tears in his eyes and, surprisingly, the girl let go of her companion. Old Man Doppler clutched him to his chest, one hand palming the back of the boy's head, whispering a prayer that sounded suspiciously like –
"Joey."
[5] Port quarter = back left side of boat
[6] Starboard bow = front right side of boat
~END CHAPTER ELEVEN~