The house was quiet when Aubrey stepped onto the porch; quieter than she'd ever remembered it to be. Greg's car wasn't parked on the side of the road like Aubrey's; she guessed that he'd gone to pick Aiden up from school, since it was around 12:20 last time she'd checked her watch. She peeked through the front door's peephole, squinting so she could get a clear view into the house. Inside was about as empty as it could be compared to the front yard. There were no signs of movement anywhere.
Sighing, Aubrey took a step back and tried the door knob. Her heart dropped when she found that it was unlocked. Her hand unclenched, her mind going from organized to hyperactive. Why the hell was it unlocked? She placed her hand back onto the door knob and turned it, gently pushing it open. The door opened.
Aubrey stepped inside, taking in the familiar smell of lilac and freshly baked cookies that was always there whenever she visited. There weren't any signs of a break-in. Everything was where it should be. Rain drizzled outside, wetting the land and grass by the pavement. Inside the house, there weren't any muddy footprints except Aubrey's.
Greg had probably just forgotten to lock the door. Or at least, that was what Aubrey was hoping for. She took a turn down the main hall to the kitchen. On the table, she could vaguely make out a platter through the narrow slits of the plate cover. Maybe they were cookies (or pizza). Aubrey wondered if Greg could bake.
She went back out to the hallway and headed to the living room. The TV was off, and the pillows on the sofa were arranged as properly as they could have been. There weren't any dog ears on the corners of the carpet, and Aiden's toys were all inside their respective boxes.
She went to the bedrooms next. Greg had never told her to stay out of his room. But even so, she was reluctant, even though she'd practically been living with men all her life. And although she respected his privacy, his step wife's? Not so much.
Down the hall was his room, and adjacent to their door was Aiden's. Again, it wasn't a very big house. Aubrey slowly turned the knob to Greg's room and pushed the door open a fraction of an inch. The scent of men's cologne filled her nose, exactly the same way Greg smelled. Every time he passed her by, she would always notice. And likewise, when she would pass by his room on her way to Aiden's, she'd always assume that he had a tub of his cologne in there or something. Time to find out, she mused, smirking slightly as she stepped through the doorway.
If the smell from outside was overpowering, then inside would make even Dean dizzy.
Both the floor and walls were colored white, making the room look bleached. A beige-colored, king-sized bed was set in the middle of the room, complete with a comforter and two pairs of blankets folded above it. Beside that was a small table; only wide enough to accommodate a rather large Bible, and a small bottle of what Aubrey only assumed to be holy water. On top of the Bible were two rosaries, one colored black, and the other a shade of pink. Aubrey put the pieces together in her head, looking away.
At the foot of the bed was a grey carpet. A simple wooden cabinet stood in front of that, taller than anything else in the room. (Aubrey noticed that there was only one cabinet, but it was big, and she nearly gagged. They shared a cabinet? It was a petty reason, but somehow the thought of a good guy like Greg keeping his clothes in the same place as Lorraine's… it made Aubrey's head twirl, and not in the good way.)
There was a dresser standing in one corner. Tools for make-up lay scattered all over the top, and a mirror was attached to the flat board. It must have been Lorraine's, since Aubrey was fairly sure that Greg didn't wear make-up. (Did he even need to?)
Nothing else accountable was in the room except for the book shelf that stood beside the dresser; although, it wasn't as much a bookshelf as it was three planks of wood painted white pinned horizontally to the wall. Among the dozens of books sitting on the planks, there was an Encyclopedia, a pencil holder, the whole Lord of the Rings series, two books of A Song of Ice and Fire, three books about marriage and raising children properly, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, and the classic To Kill A Mockingbird. Aubrey wondered which one of the two adults was interested in fantasy, and which one was interested in classics.
Since everything seemed to be in order, she turned and closed the door behind her. She took two shortened steps, and in a moment was standing in front of the door to Aiden's room. Without a moment's hesitation, she turned the knob and stepped into the room.
Like the master bedroom, the walls were bleached white. The floor, however, was a light shade of brown. Aiden's bed had a cream-colored frame with red sheets, two red pillows, and a blue comforter. He had a bedside table as well, but almost nothing was on it except for an alarm clock, a lamp, and a few stray toy cars. A single window hovered over the side of his bed, light grey curtains keeping the sunlight at bay. At the foot of his bed sat a small, black crate. Aubrey didn't need to open it to know what was inside: either a stack of soft towels, or his toy collection.
Grinning, Aubrey turned and left that room as well. What other rooms were left? She doubted that anyone could have been hiding in the one bathroom the Bishops had in the house; nevertheless, on her way back down the hall, she checked just in case. No one was inside, just the familiar minty aroma of air freshener. As she turned to close the door, a thought occurred to her about that one room she was yet to check.
Aiden's drawing room. The one with a child's handwritten sign on it, saying: "For Aiden only". Greg had told her that it was, in fact, Aiden's creative room—or at least, that's what the child called it. Thinking nothing of it, Aubrey immediately took a sharp turn left and was soon standing directly in front of the drawing room.
The sign was nailed to the door, explaining why it hadn't fallen off after so long. The door itself was the same shade of brown as all the others in the house, but with quite a few extra… designs on it. Designs placed there in crayon, by Aiden, obviously. Aubrey hesitated as she placed her hand on the knob, knowing that Aiden expected her to stay out of this particular room. He had always been very stern about it, but Aubrey could never take him seriously. What drawings did he have inside, a few doodles of cars and his favorite cartoons?
Aubrey couldn't have been more wrong.
As soon as she stepped into the room, her vision immediately swam with doodles of fire. Half the room was filled with papers taped to the walls that held only images of flame; orange, some red. A few were different, like one on the left side that depicted red wings. An isolated paper on the right that had more blue than orange, but it was fire nonetheless; the heart of the inferno.
Two green cushions were placed at the corner of the room, just beside a small bookshelf that held children's books. The center part of the floor was covered with Styrofoam, bubblegum-colored puzzle tiles. They were the only things that held a different source of color in the room.
Aubrey stared at the sketches in bewilderment. Either this boy had been to Purgatory and remembered, or he had a thing for fire.
But no, there was a single picture hanging limply on the center of the far wall, barely keeping from falling because for some reason, Aiden had only stuck one cut of tape onto it. It wasn't depicting fire, for once. In fact, there were more details on that particular drawing than Aubrey would have hoped. She strode towards it, snatching the tape dispenser off the book shelf and tearing off two cuts. As she stuck the tape onto two adjacent corners of the sketch, she inspected the drawing with wide eyes.
It showed a scene where everything was bright; the sky was a clear blue, no clouds to be found. The grass that covered the entirety of the ground in the drawing was yellow, like wheat during harvesting season. On the left side of the page, Aiden had drawn a rather large tree. Its trunk was wide and dark, its branches disappearing at the ends of the paper. Its leaves were gold; not yellow, but gold. Aubrey stared at it in wonder, knowing that it was the same tree she remembered.
It was official. Aiden was undoubtedly the boy Aubrey had met in Purgatory.
She then turned her gaze to the other side of the paper, where there was a depiction of a girl. Her heart faltered when she realized that it was her. Aiden had drawn her. The long blonde locks, the lightly tanned skin, the deep hazel eyes (the boy had drawn them bigger than they actually were so that Aubrey could see it clearly), the plaid shirt over a pair of jeans—it was unmistakably her standing in a parting of the golden grass.
So he remembers, Aubrey thought grimly. How much, though? Had he blacked out yet, just like what had happened to her not twenty-four hours ago? The idea of him crumpling to the ground in the middle of morning assembly was not something that Aubrey enjoyed, and so she pushed those thoughts aside, instead focusing on her task at hand: sweep the house (and not literally). She would confront Aiden about the drawings—and his memories—some other day.
No one was in the house though. Everywhere was clean… unless they had a second floor, but Aubrey was fairly sure that they didn't since there weren't any staircases to be found.
She was just about to conclude that Greg had just, in fact, forgotten to lock the door on his way out—when the doorbell rang.
Frowning, Aubrey glanced down at her watch, and found that not ten minutes had passed since she'd arrived. Surely the trip to Aiden's school and back hadn't taken Greg such little time?
"Back so soon, Greg?" Aubrey called to the door, still not looking up from her watch. No reply came. And, granted that it was possible that he hadn't heard her, she might have overreacted. She rushed to the door, swinging it open in a flurry. "Greg—"
Only then did she find that her overreaction might not have been such an invalid response. Because standing on the porch were the two people Aubrey never—in a million years—would have hoped to see within the same vicinity.
Balthazar hadn't aged a day, though Aubrey would have just assumed that angel-vessels didn't grow old. Castiel had already explained that to her. Balthazar had a pair of black pants on, with a grey shirt worn beneath his suit jacket. His hair was a mixture of salt-and-pepper fizzed with blond, just as Aubrey remembered. The clothes he had on could have been the same combination he wore the first time they met, for all Aubrey cared; most of her attention was on the boy standing beside him.
Aiden shivered at Balthazar's side, looking tiny compared to the towering figure of the angel. This time, he had a pair of khaki shorts on topped with a red t-shirt. Despite his seemingly thick hoodie, the child was dripping rainwater all over the cement porch; unlike Balthazar, who was very much dry. Aiden held a terrified expression on his face, quaking visibly beneath the angel's arm.
"Phoenix," Balthazar said, his lip quirking upward in a smile. "We meet again."
Aubrey immediately turned hostile. "What are you doing here?" She tried to hide her fear behind a mask of aggression, but couldn't help but to flick her eyes over to Aiden. He was still shaking.
Unfortunately, Balthazar noticed this brief little exchange, and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't worry," he said. "I won't kill him. I don't have to."
Beside him, the boy flinched visibly. "Jenna…" Aiden whimpered, his face contorting into one of great panic. Balthazar had his arm around the boy's shoulders; from the corner of her eye, Aubrey saw his hand tighten its grip on Aiden's shoulder.
She growled inwardly.
In a desperate move to get Aiden out of the danger zone, Aubrey held her hand out in a receiving gesture. She didn't look away from Balthazar's taunting eyes, glaring at him through her eyelashes. The hand was for Aiden to take, but she knew that he was afraid. She only hoped that he got the message, that she had his back.
Seconds passed. Aubrey wasn't sure how many. She focused on keeping the rebel angel's gaze away from Aiden. He was an angel though… was it even working?
After half a minute or so, the arm that was around the boy's shoulders disappeared. "Alright," Balthazar said, sighing. Aiden scurried away from his side and into Aubrey waiting arms, where he buried his face into her stomach. A slight dampness appeared from where his eyes touched her blouse, but Aubrey couldn't tell if it were tears or raindrops that had clung onto his face.
"Honestly, I have no idea why children are so afraid of me." Balthazar's voice dropped with sarcasm. "I've done nothing wrong!"
"You plucked him out of class and dragged him back here, in the rain." After that single burst of anger, Aubrey felt more afraid than confident; and though she was determined to protect Aiden, Balthazar would beat her easily in a fight. He had heaven's weapons; Aubrey had Powers she didn't how to use yet. All she knew how to do was heat a damn tub of water.
Balthazar waved his hand indifferently. "They'd already been dismissed anyway. I was just offering to bring him home." (Aubrey made a mental note to get Bobby to sue Aiden's school.) "His father was taking quite some time—"
"You couldn't afford an umbrella?" Aubrey cut in, snarling slightly.
"We flew here," the angel replied casually. "An umbrella would have just hit someone in the face and given them a concussion."
No wonder he looks so terrified, Aubrey thought, glancing down at the boy hugging her abdomen. Memories of her first time teleporting (flying?) with Cas came to mind, and she silently sympathized with Aiden. She praised him for keeping his lunch down.
"Aiden," she cooed to the child, squatting so that they were eye to eye. "Go to your room, okay? Get into some dry clothes. I'll deal with this." On the porch, Balthazar hummed, about to say something but Aubrey threw him her most intimidating glare—given the circumstances. Some part of her hoped he wouldn't smite her for such defiance. In the end, however, he just smirked.
Aiden sniffled in front of her. "Jenna," he said in a small voice. "I thought you weren't gonna come for a long time..." He stopped, and then started sobbing. "I'm scared—"
"Just go to your room, alright?" She ruffled his hair, straightened up, and gently turned him away. "And lock the door."
She watched as he disappeared down the hall, thankful that he hadn't questioned her. A few seconds after he turned the corner, there was an (almost) inaudible click. Aubrey waited a few moments more before turning back around to face the slightly homicidal angel standing on the porch.
He grinned. "I don't recall Jenna being your real name."
"It's not," Aubrey muttered in response, scowling deeply. She crossed her arms, hoping it would stop her hands from shaking. There was a positively powerful and arrogant angel standing in front of her, who so happened to arbor several heavenly weapons. What was she supposed to feel?
"Would you care to tell me what it is then?" the angel then asked, to which Aubrey set her jaw and raised her chin defiantly. Balthazar made a tsk tsk sound with his tongue. "Come now, Aubrey,"—she steeled her gaze—"Won't you make this easier for me?"
Uncertainty flared across her chest, and she struggled to keep a straight face. "That depends," Aubrey said, looking for the slightest hint of malice in his eyes. "Why are you here?"
Balthazar stepped through the doorway and into the house, forcing Aubrey to take a step back. "I'm quite surprised our mutual friend Castiel hasn't reported to you yet. He's very fond of you, if you don't know already." Aubrey's glare faltered, and the angel smirked. "But no matter. Down to business then." He clapped his hands together. "Crowley's been looking for you—you and the boy."
Aubrey scoffed, but didn't dare roll her eyes… yet. "Haven't you been keeping up with the news? Cas turned him to ashes the day they broke me out of his house of horrors."
"Haven't you been keeping up with the news?" retorted the angel. "Crowley's still kicking. He went and enhanced this house of horrors of his somewhere else. But mind you, he's alive. Very much so."
"That's stupid," Aubrey said, but her voice had turned into a croak. Fear rippled through her chest and it was all she could do not to panic immediately. "If he was still alive, he'd have found Aiden and me by now. I'm sure of that."
Balthazar strutted through the hall as if he owned it. He turned and picked up a picture frame from a table by the side, looking at it for a moment before setting it down again with a bored roll of his eyes. "Maybe he's got more problems to deal with than trying to pin you down."
"He wants Purgatory, and he's convinced that Phoenixes know the way back—which we don't. I barely remember the place at all; how could Aiden?" She glanced worriedly down the hall, looking past the angel and to where the boy's room would have been.
"It could just be because he's stupid." Balthazar shrugged. "But I highly doubt that. Anyway, you won't have to worry about him for a while. I didn't come here to chat with you about the King of Hell."
Aubrey crossed her arms, frowning slightly. How did he mean 'for a while'? Like, for a year a-while? She sincerely hoped so. "What is it you wanted to talk about then?"
The angel stopped fretting with the objects in the house and turned to face her. "It's about the Mother," he said.
"Mother," Aubrey repeated, raising an eyebrow. "As in, capital-M mother? The Mother of All, the one that dragons apparently raised from Purgatory? That one?"
"Stop babbling," Balthazar complained, a very slight, but dangerous bite in his tone. "But yes, that one. I came to tell you that she's not apparently out. She's out." At the dazed expression on Aubrey's face, his smile widened.
She blinked, trying to snap out of her stupor. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Millions of thought swirled around in her head, but she tried to focus. "Well, where is she?"
"That, sadly, I cannot tell you," Balthazar replied casually, walking back to stand by the doorway.
"Can't or won't?" asked Aubrey sharply.
The angel's eyes blazed for a moment, and that was enough to make her reel her anger back in. He smiled slightly and said, "Can't. Why? Because I honestly don't know myself."
"Then how can you be sure that she's out?" asked Aubrey. She started hearing the low purr of an engine, and she looked over his shoulder just in time to see Greg's Prius stop in the driveway.
"Alas," Balthazar said, clapping his hands in conclusiveness. "I wish I could tell you more, but that"—he pointed over his shoulder to the newly-parked car—"is my cue." The angel turned to leave, but stopped just as he reached the front steps. "Oh, and Aubrey?" She looked at him expectantly. "I suggest you keep your eyes peeled. Neighborhoods are never this quiet."
His words made her stomach drop. Before she could ask him what he meant—before she could even blink, in fact—he had disappeared. Replacing him was Greg, who rushed through the wet lawn and up the steps to meet her by the doorway.
"Jenna!" he exclaimed, seeming to be out of breath. "How'd you get in?"
"The door was unlocked," muttered Aubrey, gesturing lamely to the door. Her thoughts were still elsewhere—namely, on the Mother of All walking around in stilettos—but she tried to put on her best straight face.
"Why are you here anyway? I thought you were busy for work."
She smiled nervously. "Just couldn't stay away, I guess."
Greg laughed, but it sounded half-hearted. "Is Aiden here?" he said. "I went to his school to pick him up and his teacher said someone had been there already. I got worried and thought that maybe—"
"Oh, sorry about that. Yeah, I picked him up," Aubrey lied easily, schooling on a tight smile. "He's in his room."
Greg released a relieved sigh. His shoulders sagged forward, and he laughed slightly. "You couldn't have given me a call to tell me?"
"I'm sorry. It must've slipped my mind."
"It's fine," he replied. Aubrey stepped to the side to let him in, and closed the door behind her. His hair was slightly wet from the drizzle, but not so much as Aiden had been minutes ago. "Who was that you were talking to anyway?" asked Greg, disappearing into the kitchen as he took his jacket off. "Someone from the neighborhood?"
"Neighborhoods are never this quiet." Aubrey remembered the angel's words so easily that they might have been seared into the back of her mind.
When Greg poked his head out the doorway of the kitchen with a curious look on his face, she slapped on an easygoing expression and said, "Just an old friend." A very, very old friend.
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p.s. ABM has become my elective.
