Chapter 28 – What You See in the Shadows
Certain habits from the military stayed with Ronnie. How she made her bed, how she drank her coffee, and above all, her sleep schedule. No matter what, she was almost always up before seven. She hadn't been a morning person before her enlistment, but she seemed forever cursed to be one now.
That's why, even after getting home late into the night and barely having slept for days beforehand, she still woke up at half past six, getting a whopping four hours of rest. She thumped her head on her pillow when she saw the time, groaning loudly. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but as soon as the memories of all that had transpired the day before hit her, she knew that was a no-go.
She dragged herself out of the warm (albeit a bit dusty) confines of her bed. She was not ready to face today. Not ready to face the King of Hell waiting for her in the room across the hall. Not ready for her family, who was going to want answers that she couldn't give. She wasn't even sure she was ready to go back to anything even close to normal, after the past few weeks of living in Crowley's world, debatably the real world.
But she had to. There wasn't any turning back from it. No hiding from it.
She rose to her feet.
Once changed into jeans and a t-shirt from her days at Georgetown, she exited out into the hallway. She was surprised when she heard the sound of the TV from the living room. Crowley was already up? Given how much he'd slept on the ride back to DC, she thought he'd be out for ten hours, bare minimum... but it seemed he'd beaten her to starting the day.
Emerging into the main room, Ronnie was greeted with a strange sight. Mainly, a former demon sitting on her couch, wearing one of her bath robes (a bright, fuzzy pink one, might she add) his feet up on her coffee table, digging into a pint of chocolate ice cream and by all appearances watching Oprah reruns.
"Um. Good morning."
Crowley glanced over his shoulder at her. "Morning." The underneath of his eyes were shadowed. He seemed exhausted.
"Did you sleep at all?" she asked directly.
Crowley shrugged. "Few hours."
She didn't know whether to believe him or not.
"I see you found the one edible thing left in my apartment other than ramen."
He offered her a spoon. "Want some?"
"Not at six-thirty in the morning. Also, Oprah? I didn't peg you as the type."
"Ah, well. Vanderpump Rules doesn't start until nine."
She honestly didn't know whether this was Crowley's way of coping with his new species, or if this was just a normal day off for him. "Pink is a good color on you," she offered.
"Mmm. Brings out my eyes, doesn't it? My suit is in the dryer. I needed something to wear."
"Not a fan of the jeans?"
"I hate denim. Makes me chafe."
"Uh-huh."
She wasn't sure Crowley's suit was strictly salvageable, but she decided not to tell him so. Maybe he needed something familiar. Maybe he needed to feel like himself for awhile, even if he wasn't strictly capable of being himself anymore.
Crowley didn't appear to feel particularly awkward in their current situation, but she definitely did. Even after seeing flashes of him in her mind for the past month, seeing him submit to his blood addiction, watching as he was forcibly turned human, the breakdown of demon to man...
It didn't change the fact that she'd only known him for a few weeks, and he'd more or less been the guy who would occasionally drop in on her, give her a supernatural history lesson, crack wise, then take her visions and go. They'd been through much in their short time knowing each other, but how well did she really know him? Or vice versa?
You have to know someone to know how to help them.
Brushing aside that thought, she tried to focus on what she could do today. One step forward. That was all she needed. "That actually reminds me. We should probably go clothes shopping for you, unless you just want to rewear your old suit forever. I have to go out and get groceries anyway, so..." She let the offer hang.
"You seem to forget that Moose pick-pocketed me."
"I can cover you."
His eyes flicked to her, an eyebrow raising, somewhere between condescension and amusement. "Love, with all due respect... I don't think you can afford my brands."
Ronnie raised her hands in a helpless gesture. "Sorry, your Highness. The Chaplain Corps doesn't pay as well as Hell does."
"Hell didn't line my pockets. I lined my pockets." Crowley smirked, but it rang hollow. "I'll deal with my financial situation. I've got accounts with damn near every bank in the country, under different pseudonyms. I should at the very least be able to get convenience checks until I can get a new bank card."
"Yes on shopping, then?"
"Oh, why not. But there is one tiny manner I have to attend to first." He reached into the pocket of Ronnie's bathrobe and pulled out a steak knife. "I have to go carve extensive Enochian warding into myself. Should only take a mo. And by a mo I mean roughly two hours. How precious are you over your towels, by the by?"
Ronnie stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
"Crowley, you're human. That means you don't have a ridiculously high pain threshold anymore, and it's a lot easier for you to bleed out. I am not going to call an ambulance here and try to explain why I have a grown man in a woman's bathrobe trying to carve a bunch of gibberish into his chest."
"Do you have another suggestion, then?" Crowley sat up straight, abandoning the ice cream pint on the coffee table. "Because as I see it, word is going to spread fast that the King is either dead, or human. If my enemies think I'm dead, all the better. However, if my... condition... becomes public knowledge, anyone who has ever had a score to settle with me is going to be at your door."
"Can't you just get the warding tattooed on you?" Ronnie offered. "I mean, you can draw it out, and then bring it to a tattoo artist. It'll still hurt, but it'll hurt a heck of a lot less, and there's a lot less margin for error."
"Are you joking?" Crowley scoffed. "Some teenage numbnuts with a kanji tattoo is not touching me. Especially considering that this is now my one and only body."
"Well, I'm not letting you play pin cushion with that 'one and only body'. So it seems we're at an impasse."
Crowley scrutinized her. "Awfully bossy, aren't we?"
"I know a good tattoo artist," she offered. "My friend Dale went to him. No kanjis, I promise."
Crowley sighed deeply, seeming like he was at the very end of his already thin patience. "I'm not particularly accustomed to being told no, Veronica."
"Look, I'm not trying to–" She broke off, a sharp pain knifing into her temple.
"Not trying to what? Mother me? I certainly hope not, because trust me, darling, my experience with mothers hasn't been–"
Ronnie collapsed forward. She barely registered hands grabbing her arms before she slipped off the couch, just before being sucked headfirst into a vision.
A soaking wet Cas dumped the spell ingredients on the strategy room table, everything from Dead Sea salt to the ground up talons of a harpy, to the ever-illusive essence of Chernobog. Sam noticed that Cas had some new blood splattered on his trench coat and a nasty cut along the length of his jaw.
Overall, the angel seemed quite thoroughly done.
Cas promptly spat out a lungful of sea water onto the ground, grimacing.
"So... rough night?" Sam ventured, half-amused.
Cas shook his head like a wet dog, showering Sam with droplets. "It pays to have a stockpile of supernatural ingredients all over the globe. It would also have paid to find out the locations of said stockpiles from Crowley before you let him go." Cas sighed heavily, wrapping his tie into a ball and squeezing several ounces of water out of it. "It required a lot of legwork, but here it is. We're ready to enter Magnus's lair."
"Alright. Let me divvy this up so we have the right amount of everything, then we'll get going. Magnus's place is about twenty miles east of Lawrence, in the middle of state game lands. If you get us to the general area I can probably lead us the rest of the way."
Cas nodded. "In the meantime, I'm going to get a shower."
Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "You're back to full-blown angel. Can't you just use your mojo clean yourself up?"
"I could, but when I was human, I enjoyed the process of bathing. I find it relaxing," Cas told him. "I'll be done by the time you're ready."
Cas sloshed out of the room, leaving wet foot prints behind. Sam turned to the load of ingredients spilling out on top of the table.
Time to go to work.
"Um... Mr. Winchester? Sir?"
Dean looked up from his phone. "What?"
Kayce stood in front of the desk, a manila folder tucked under his arm. "You... you wanted me to find some sign of your brother and the two angels. Sam appears to be in the Men of Letters bunker at present, but I did hear word of the angel Castiel taking on a harpy in Belarus. I have some surveillance footage here, and eye witness accounts... if you're interested."
"Huh. You work pretty fast," Dean commented, closing out of Candy Crush and reaching out a hand for the folder. "Shouldn't he be dead by now, not up and going ten rounds with a– what was it? A harpy? What does that even–" He flipped through the pictures. "That is one ugly bitch."
"It appears Castiel won handily."
Castiel didn't seem to be winning in the pictures, but Dean took Kayce's word for it. "He looks fine. He must've gotten his Grace back, somehow."
"Would you like me to look into that as well?"
Dean shook his head, tossing the folder on the desk. "No. I don't really give a shit what hoops he went through to get back to normal. All I care about is that he is, and he's probably my best ticket to getting to Sam. Did you have him followed?"
"We tried, sir, but it's difficult. Very few demons can teleport at will, much less follow the subtle trail of an angel."
"Well, where the hell are the few demons that can?"
"Dead, mostly. There are a few Crossroads demons, but many went into hiding during Abaddon's coup, and to my knowledge, only one has resurfaced... and I use the term 'resurfaced' loosely."
"You gonna keep me in suspense?" Dean asked lowly, flicking his eyes up to Kayce.
Kayce swallowed, fiddling with the end of his pencil tie. "Bartimaeus. The King of the Crossroads once Crowley ascended to the throne. Allegedly, he met with Crowley shortly before his disappearance. Bartimaeus is, in terms of power, almost a match with Crowley. He would be useful in tracking Castiel."
Dean kicked his feet up on the desk, drawing out the First Blade. Kayce paled visibly at the sight of it. "Okay. Find him. Bring him to me. I just wanna talk." Talk being a relative term, Dean mused as he cleaned the edge of the First Blade off with a baby wipe.
"I'll do what I can."
"Better hope 'what you can' is enough, buddy boy." Dean's eyes flashed black. "Between you and me, I'm not the most patient guy."
Kayce nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Good. Get out of here."
The demon obediently scuttled out, leaving Dean to himself. He snatched up the discarded pages again, reading through with them with greater attention this time. If Castiel was taking on random harpies, he wasn't doing it for jollies. Chances were, there was something he was after... and he knew from flipping through the Letters' files over the past year and a half that plenty of spells required harpy bits and pieces.
So. What kind of spell was Cas trying to cast? Dean wished he could get into the Men of Letters bunker and see if he could figure out what Cas was after so he knew where the angel would be headed next... but if he could get into the bunker on his own, he wouldn't need Cas in the first place.
Theoretically, he could just lie in wait outside of the bunker. Sam would have to come out eventually. But if Cas was back at full-throttle, Sam would know better than to do that. He wouldn't be leaving the bunker using the front door anytime soon. No, it was gonna be angelic taxi from here on out.
In other words, if he wanted to get to Sam, he had to get to Cas first.
And oh, he'd get to him.
It was only a matter of time.
"Sam, are you positive that you know the way?"
Sam held up one hand, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the other. "Just give me a second to get my bearings, okay? This looks familiar."
The two of them walked side by side down a rural highway, Sam's eyes scanning all around. When he'd originally been here with Dean and Crowley, it had been early spring. The grass had been dead and most of the trees barren. Everything was in lush, full bloom now.
It made things a little difficult. Especially since Crowley's directions back then had left something to be desired. The demon seemed to get a kick out of telling Dean to turn about three seconds before he needed to. Sam barely remembered how they'd reached the proper spot the first time around.
"Wait..." Sam's eyes narrowed. There was a pull off spot up ahead. "I think this might be it. That looks like where Dean parked the Impala last time."
He sped up, Cas right in step with him. "I recall Dean mentioning something about Abaddon keying his car shortly after you met Magnus," Cas commented.
"Oh yeah. She did. If anything made Dean hate Abaddon, it was that. When he saw the Enochian scratches she left behind, he looked like he was gonna cry. Or kill someone."
That someone would've been Crowley, if he hadn't grabbed the Blade and made a run for it the first chance he got.
The familiar wave of rage surged up at the thought of Crowley, but it receded relatively quickly. The demon had gotten his well-deserved comeuppance, and then some. The King of Hell was a thing of the past, and there was no point in having him take up any more room in his head.
They made their way to the pull-off spot. A quick glance through the trees, and he saw the foot path that the three of them had followed to the clearing where Magnus's stronghold was hidden, both invisible and intangible.
Honestly, given the fact that Dean was no doubt hunting him down, he was considering looking into as much of Magnus's research as possible. Anything to make the bunker more secure and keep himself, Cas, and Gadreel from ending up on the wrong end of the First Blade.
"Come on. It's through here."
They wove their way down the overgrown path. Other than Cas's trench coat occasionally getting caught by a pricker bush and the stifling heat making Sam's t-shirt stick to his skin, they didn't run into any issues. He knew the clearing when he saw it. He put an arm to bar Cas from moving forward.
"This is it."
Cas's brow furrowed. "Are you sure? I can't sense anything here."
"That's not surprising. Crowley couldn't pick up anything either. Magnus... Cuthbert Sinclair, whatever... he was the Master of Spells from the second he was initiated into the Men of Letters. The guy was a complete creep, but he still was one hell of a witch. He warded this place to the nines."
He sank down to his knees in the dirt, shimmying the duffel bag off of his shoulder and letting it hit the ground with a dull thud. "Alright. Let's do this."
In the proper amounts at the proper time, the ingredients went into the steel bowl Sam had brought with him. After a few stirs, the concoction was ready to go, smelling "eerily of lavender" just as the instructions in Magnus's notes stated.
Sam looked up at Cas. "Before we say the magic words, you might want to go get Gadreel."
"Why?"
"I don't know just how much Dean told you about our last trip to Magnus's house, but it wasn't pretty. He's got a zoo, Cas. A zoo of everything that goes bump in the night. We saw shifters and vamps. God knows what else he's keeping in there... and given that their master's long-dead, I wouldn't be surprised if some of his pets have gotten loose."
Cas seemed to see the wisdom in his words. "I'll contact him immediately." Cas's eyes glazed over. Sam assumed he was speaking to Gadreel over angel radio.
"Hello."
Sam nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice just a breath behind him. He whirled around, and Gadreel stood barely a foot away from him.
Gadreel seem perplexed by his response. "Are you alright, Sam?"
"I'm fine, just..." Sam took a step back. "Personal space, okay?"
"My apologies."
Sam merely sighed and turned back to Cas. "For better or for worse, here we go."
Sam lifted the bowl off of the ground, taking a deep breath as he recalled the Latin words that would ignite the spell: "Ingressum domi dona mihi."
A few seconds slipped by, leaving them all tense and waiting, but soon enough, the mixture in the bowl exploded into brilliant yellow flames. Sam felt wind rushing around him, and a moment later, the wispy white portal that led into Magnus's lair came into being before them.
Sam tossed the bowl to the side. "I don't know how big our window is. Let's go."
Together, the three of them stepped forward, allowing the portal to swallow them whole.
