Author's/Underhill's Note: Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Well! I'm alive, and this is chapter 28. Since it's December my hours at work have been increased and are now earlier, and since I already have trouble nailing down a sleep schedule my existing one is thrown off and I've gotten like no sleep to the point where I woke up this morning physically ill. *takes deep breath* So I stayed home today and slept. Then, when I woke up I finished the chapter. Hopefully getting some sleep will get me back on track so I can write the next few chapters quicker (apologies for how late this is, my god). So, now on to the other stuff: disclaimers, disclaimers, I own nothing but original plot. Also: I love and adore you, reviewers! Virtual pie for everyone! You guys make this worthwhile to write, like serious, your reviews are the bright spot of my days. So, let me know if this chapter sucks, or if you find mistakes or inconsistencies, and all that jazz. CHAPTER 28 OMG. ...Okay maybe I need some more sleep still...


March 25, 9:52 PM, Van Nuys, California

Cas is gone. Sam's not sure where. When the angels were blown away in that single blast of white light, Sam opened his eyes and found Cas gone too. He hadn't thought that would happen even though Cas had. I mean, Cas's pretty much human now, right? he'd reasoned. Apparently not human enough is what he found.

It's his own fault, he knows. The plan had been stupid; Bobby told him as much. Cas thought it too but followed anyway because… Well, it's Cas; who knows why he does anything.

He curses. Bobby has just begun to forgive Sam, and now this. Bobby is going to kill him. Somewhere along the line Bobby started thinking of Cas like he did Sam and Dean, a surrogate son of sorts, and lately Cas's kind of been his favorite. Probably has something to do with helping clean up around the house, doing all that research, and, oh, not starting the Apocalypse like me and Dean, Sam thinks. Oh, but give it time.

The plan hadn't extended farther than getting to the warehouse and the door to the Green Room was locked. It was an ambush. Since they have a vessel now, they figured it was time to nab Sam.

"They want to break you," Cas says. "Then they will let you fall into the hands of Lucifer's agents, so that the Apocalypse can begin."

Sam doesn't know what he was thinking. That they could burst into the Green Room, guns a-blazin? That they could take on Zachariah - - an ex-blood junkie and a half-Fallen angel?

"Whoa, wait. You're gonna take on five angels?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that suicide?"

From the look in Cas's eyes it is and he knows it. "Maybe it is." Before Sam can protest further (or, he thinks shamefully, NOT protest, even though he knows he should), Cas has a box cutter in his hands.

"What the hell are you gonna do with that?"

Shit. Who the hell knows where Cas is now, or if they'll ever find him. Yeah, Bobby's going to kill him alright. Might as well get it over with now.


March 26, 1:07 AM, New York, New York

Bela ends up drugging Dean to get him to sleep. Though determined to sleep and give Gabriel a piece of his mind, laying in bed with your arms crossed and a scowl on your face isn't conducive to rest. He'll have quite a headache, but he'll thank her in the morning.

When she closes her own eyes shortly after and is sucked into his dream, she thinks, okay, maybe not.

The landscape is Hell. In Dean's dreams, it usually is. But after about ten seconds the flames die out and all that is left is grey. Bela looks around, wondering where it all ends. Then she turns towards the voices.

"Gabriel," Dean growls.

L is still too insubstantial to see, but the smile comes straight through. "Finally figured it out, eh?"

Bela comes up behind Dean and lays a soothing hand on his shoulder. "No," he says, "we found your stupid ass vessel off the coast of Greece, you moron. How the hell did you end up there?"

"So thaaaat's where I left it. Figures, always the last place you'd look. Found my Grace yet?"

"No, and tell me one good reason I should try."

The Voice - - L, he reminds himself - - Gabriel, he re-reminds himself - - doesn't even pause. "Because I can help you."

Dean scoffs. "Help me what?

"I can help you fight the Apocalypse."

"Yeah, not interested," Bela calls over.

"Uh… what?" Gabriel is genuinely confused, so Dean decides to enlighten him.

"I'm not a Hunter, man. This end of the world shit? It sucks and all, but it's not my problem."

"It's everyone's problem," Gabriel says in disbelief. "You're the one that - - "

"That said to stand up to your family? Yeah, you should probably do that. But Michael, Lucifer? They're not my family. And their vessels? Well, I'm not down to be Michael's prom dress and Sam…" Dean looks away. "He's not my family."

Gabriel is shocked into silence. He literally has no idea what to say. The Winchester brothers, the goddamn WINCHESTER brothers, aren't family anymore? What the HELL, he wonders, happened here?

"We'll help if we can," Bela says, coming up behind Dean. "We don't WANT the world to end. We rather like it up here."

Dean looks up aggressively now. "But we're not fighting. This isn't our war." Anymore.

"I - - " Gabriel starts, but the dream is already starting to fade.


Time: Irrelevant, Heaven

Every angel is accounted for. Every angel is present.

Except one.

One angel is not in ranks because this one angel has missing for millennia. An archangel. An archangel named Gabriel.

The roar Zachariah lets loose echoes throughout Heaven.

Balthazar is in awe. Gabriel, THE Gabriel, has stepped out of hiding to assist the humans. If he had any doubts before that helping Cas is the right choice, he no longer has them now.

No one knows what to do now. Gabriel, one of God's eldest angels, has essentially declared war on the host of Heaven.

Balthazar wonders if anyone will survive this thing.


March 27, 5 PM, New York, New York

"So what do we do with him?" Charlie asks. Bela and Dean picked her up a few hours ago, and now Gabriel's vessel is just… sitting there. Every once in a while he'll slump over with no provocation, so Dean and Charlie haul him back into a sitting position. Bela paces and tries to think.

"You said he needs to be reunited with his Grace."

"Yeah. He said he can't absorb it like Anna did either, something about how he separated from it, and how it affected his vessel. There's some sort of ceremony."

"Of course there is," Bela mutters. Things are never uncomplicated. "Did he say where his Grace was?"

Dean pauses, because she was there… "No…"

"No, that's right. No he didn't." She continues pacing and muttering.

"But there's word through the grapevine."

"Which one?" she asks, because they've discovered something: there's more than one information network. Hunters talk and share information. People in the 'Antiquities' business do too, and those circles sometimes overlap. But the monsters? They have their own party going on.

Monsters - - and Dean uses that word lightly now - - don't just talk to their own kind. It's not just vampires interacting with vampires, or werewolves talking with werewolves; there are Ghouls talking to witches, and witches dealing (not just with souls) with demons. And like it or not? Dean and Bela are part of that network since the skin walker job, and it is FAR more extensive than any of the human circles combined.

"A ball of pure, unblinking light was found off the coast of Maryland. Sold to a pawnshop owner, who called a special client he thought might be interested."

"Stop dancing around the point and tell me, Dean."

"He called one Rufus Turner, and sold it without even having to bargain down the price."

Bela stopped mid-pace. Her fists clenched, her eye twitched. "What."

"Who's Rufus Turner?" Charlie asks.

"He's a, uh, old associate? Is that the right word?" Dean asks aloud.

"So, let me get this straight. A Hunter - - a particularly belligerent Hunter we both know and have not so wonderful relations with - - has the Grace of an archangel that we need to save humanity? Wonderful. That's just wonderful. How are we supposed to combine them now?"

"Well, why don't you just give him to Rufus?" Charlie asks. "He can fix him, right?"

Bela looks at Dean with wide eyes. Could it really be that simple? her eyes seem to ask. Dean raises his brow. What have we got to lose? "I mean, it's only GABRIEL," Dean adds aloud.

"It's not like we can just drive by and dump him on Rufus' porch," Bela says.

"Or CAN we?"

"NO, Dean."

"Why do you care if he gets put with his Grace in the first place?" Charlie asks. It's not that she BELIEVES any of this (she thinks that Dean and Bela are beyond delusional at this point) but that doesn't make this any less interesting. Plus, she's kind of attached to coma-guy now; she's the one who found him. "I thought you didn't like him."

Bela and Dean exchange a look. How do you explain to a civilian that said annoying angel could possibly save the world? That probably the only thing that can take Lucifer down is another archangel? And, like they told Gabriel, this isn't their war - - but that doesn't mean they don't care about it.

"It's complicated," Dean sums up.

"Okaaaay," she says with a roll of her eyes that reminds Dean distinctly of Bela. "Then get someone ELSE to drop him on Rufus's porch."

"…That's…"

"Not a bad idea," Dean finishes. "But we can't FedEx him." Although he thinks that would be hilarious… "Who the hell could we persuade to go to RUFUS'? Or blackmail. Or guilt trip…"

"Oh, I know JUST the person," Bela says, a bit of a vindictive smile forming on her face. "I just need to make a call."


March 28, 11 AM, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Bobby didn't kill him, but Sam thinks it's probably a close thing. Instead, Bobby wears a resigned look on his face, like he knew something like this was bound to happen. In this odd ball family they had going, nothing goes good for very long.

They're sitting at the kitchen table nursing Bobby's worst scotch when the mail comes. Bobby is surprised because usually they leave it in the box near the gate. He motions Sam to go fetch whatever's on the porch and Sam goes without complaint. On the porch is a small, brown-wrapped package, with the word 'Fragile' stamped in red on the side. Feeling contrary, Sam tosses it across the room to Bobby. Bobby scowls as he turns it to the side with the warning. "Idjit." Then his face turns curious. "Well lookit this, it's from Rufus."

"He mails stuff to you?"

"Occasionally, if he thinks I'll find it interesting. He's not one to drive out and visit or nothin.'" Bobby starts tearing the package open.

A bright light fills the room that makes both men shield their eyes momentarily. It's bright, much too bright for comfort. It's nothing manmade, that's for sure.

"What the - - "

Bobby leans back but Sam leans a little closer. His jaw drops in complete and utter shock. "That's not…"

"That's not what?" Bobby asks. Sam belatedly realizes that Bobby has never seen one before.

"That's an angel's Grace," he says. He's dumbfounded. Why in hell would Rufus send them some winged bastard's Grace, and more importantly where had he GOTTEN it?

Bobby drops the ball of light onto the desk like it's fire. "Well," he says. "This can't be good at all. Are you sure?"

Sam recalls the night Alistair and Uriel faced off in a fight for Anna.

Anna, bright light flooding her body. A terrified look on her face.

"Shut your eyes. Shut your eyes! Shut your eyes!"

He gulps. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Shit. Will anyone come looking for it?"

"Depends on whose it is," Sam says. He doesn't want to touch the thing even though it's exuding no heat, so he prods it with a pen instead. It flares briefly before settling. Huh.

"And whose is it?"

"Are you serious? How the hell should I know? It's not like I'm some angel expert or something, Bobby!" He gets a long, hard look for that outburst, then:

"I hate to break it to you, boy, but you kind of are. At least, you're the closest thing we got."

"…What?"

"With Dean and Cas gone, who knows more about the things? Who's dealt with them the most?" He points at Sam. "That'd be you."

Sam realizes that Bobby's right, but it doesn't make him happy. Instead, he curses. 'Expert' or not, Sam has no way to know whose Grace this is, and with Cas gone Balthazar in Heaven, there's no one to call for information. There's no book to reference for this one; there's no research.

Bobby rolls his eyes. Winchesters, he thinks. Drama queens, the lot of 'em. "Sam, get me the phone. I'm callin' that jackass Rufus and demandin' some answers."


March 28, 11AM

There's a van parked across the street from Rufus' house. It's been there for about half an hour. He can see a single occupant, a young woman with long red hair, leaning heavily against the steering wheel and muttering something unintelligible from this distance. He puts down his binoculars. She's obviously working herself up to come inside. When the van's door swings open Rufus grabs the rifle by the door and decides to meet her halfway.

She's not alone, it turns out. He's halfway across the yard when he sees her struggling with a still man - - too still, he might be dead - - to get him out of the back of the van. He's a few meters behind her when he sees her spine straighten and she drops the guy, but it's too late and she's too slow. "Who are you?" he asks, cocking the gun next to the woman's head. He can feel the echo of her gulp against the barrel. "And what are you doing on my property?"

"Hey, don't shoot," she says, holding up her hands. He nudges her to spin around and she turns. Despite the fact there's a gun to her head, she seems relatively relaxed, like she's had guns pointed at her before. "I'm just here to make a delivery."

He snorts. A delivery. Sure. "And what kind of delivery would that be?" He nudges her head to the side just to see what she'll do; she doesn't react. Then he fishes her wallet out of her jacket pocket and flips it open to her I.D. Carli Arnou. Interesting.

"If you'll take that clipboard off the ground that you made me DROP," she says significantly (and if she thinks she's getting an apology she's MISTAKEN), "you'll find the invoice right there."

He does, keeping the gun carefully on her the entire time. One handed he starts flipping through the papers. It is an invoice, or a shipping memo, or something, Rufus observes. "Lugosi and Steele Antiquities," he murmurs, folding back the page. "One Empty Vessel, free of charge, no delivery costs…" He looks up at her. "Is this serious?" he asks.

"It seemed pretty serious," she says. "Or else they wouldn't have asked me to come find a HUNTER." The word's said with such indignity that Rufus would know she's no human even if he didn't already know. But she's not attacking, so Rufus guesses he won't shoot her. For now.

He continues scanning the page. There's a place for him to date and sign, and under that an area designated: notes. The spot has a short handwritten script that reads, "Body to be combined with Grace. Spell attached for reference. Yours, Bela. P.S. Please don't shoot the messenger."

Lugosi. Bela Lugosi. "God damn." He signs and dates the form and hands it to the woman. "Get lost."

The woman snorts in a decidedly animalish way. She tosses her hair and turns back to her car. Rufus guesses that Bela told him that he wouldn't shoot her without provocation. She's right, but he can't believe the girl went with it. What is Bela doing consorting with monsters?

He watches as the young woman - Carli - gets into her van and drives away in a flurry of dust and the scent of burnt tires. Rufus is left at his porch with a passed out and prone body on his lawn. He kneels down.

"Well, well," he says. "Who might you be?"


March 28, 11:30 AM, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

When Bobby dials Rufus always answers on the second ring. This time is no exception.

"Hello?" growls Rufus' grumpy voice.

"It's Bobby."

"What do you want?" Sam, who is listening in, rolls his eyes. He leans back and motions for Bobby to put the phone on speaker.

"Some answers. You know that package you sent me?"

"Yup. Was hoping you could tell me what the hell it is. Thing's not in any of my books."

"It's an angel's Grace, Rufus."

Long pause, then an amused huff. "What a coincidence. I happen to have had an unexpected delivery of my own. An 'empty vessel,' I'm told, going by the name of one Gabriel Lahki."

"GABRIEL?"

"Dammit, Bobby, you got me on speaker phone? You know I hate speaker phone."

"Shut up, Rufus. It's easier this way. Now what's this about a delivery?"

"Some skin walker showed up at my door with a body in tow. Said she was dropping the guy off." He snorts. "She even had an invoice. Lugosi and Steele Antiquities, can you believe it?"

Sam interrupts before Bobby can speak. "How did you know she was a skin walker? Did you get off a shot?"

"I could smell it on her," Rufus says. "That wet dog smell, follows 'walkers everywhere. Couldn't hide it if they tried."

Bobby glares at Sam, interrupting idjit that he is, and horns back into the conversation. "You said Lugosi and Steele? Who's Steele?"

"I - - "

Slow on the uptake, Sam finally asks, "Lugosi? Like BELA Lugosi?"

"Yes," Rufus says, slowly as if speaking to a particularly slow child. "Juuuust like Bela Lugosi." Bobby snorts on a laugh.

"So… Someone's taken on Bela's persona?" It makes sense to Sam, as Bela's reputation is pre-built and widely spread. Plus, how many people know what she looks like anyway?

"I don't think so, Sam," Bobby says.

"Ha, so what are you saying, Bela's back?" Bobby is silent and Sam's jaw drops. "BELA is back? HOW?"

"That's a good question, kid," Rufus says, though when he says kid it sounds more like moron. "I'll put some feelers out, see what I can dig up. Bobby?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll call some people. You really think it's her?"

"The whole thing has her stink around it. And no one, NO ONE, can make a situation like this both annoying and amusing - - except Bela."

"Bela. Funny. Right," Sam says. Because that is ridiculous.