Struggling under the pain of the bullet, Castiel looked up at Ion, who was pointedly looking away from his victim.
"How— how far can this go?" Castiel groaned.
"Shut up," Ion snapped.
"Ion. How far can we let it all drop? This is not our mission," Castiel spoke softly.
"How do you even know what the mission was, Castiel? They've been in all our heads. Naomi- all of them," Ion hissed through pursed lips.
"We aren't machines for them to program and reprogram. That wasn't what this was meant to be," Cas growled. Ion rolled his eyes and looked away again. As his gaze was diverted, Castiel managed to pry the silver, bloodied bullet from his flesh, carefully cradling it in his hand.
Seeming to think of another idea, and getting more comfortable now that Crowley had strolled a ways down the beach on his phone, Ion spoke softly again. He stared hard off to the left and didn't notice Castiel shifting to get footing from his crouched position.
"You soldiers, down in the garrison, at least they let you believe the lie. Upstairs, working for Naomi, working in intelligence, we had no option but to live in the dirt. She never reset me completely. I always knew too much, I had to— I had to do my job," the break in the end of his voice hurt Castiel's heart. He grimaced hard as he threw his body upright, grabbing Ion from behind. Cramming the silver bullet into the other angels eye, the white light flashed and poured as Ion died.
Crowley whipped around, ear still on his phone, just in time to watch Castiel vanish.
"Kevin Tran, the prophet?" Metatron asked.
"Yeah, he has been busting his butt, trying to decode your nonsense in order to slam the gates of Hell shut. He has lost everything - I mean everything. And a fat lot of help you have been," Dean snapped. Metatron looked curiously at them for a moment, thoughts turning in his mind.
"Okay," Metatron said. The five sitting on the couch looked at one another curiously.
"Okay?" Hermione ventured.
"I'll help. I wrote the tablets. I know the next step in the trial. I'll help," and he smiled in an awkward way.
Sam and Dean exchanged looks, clearly this was too easy to be kosher.
"You really intend on closing the doors of Hell?" Metatron probed again, looking serious.
Sam made a face that showed it wasn't even a question.
Metatron told them what he remembered, about what the third trial to close the gates of hell involved. Doubt oozed through the listeners; it seemed impossible. When they asked questions for more specifics, Metatron was infuriatingly elusive, seeming to enjoy holding the power of knowledge.
After some time, they realized they had gathered all that they could from this isolated angel. They made to take their leave and as Metatron watched them drive away from his hotel, the smile that played across his lips would have dumped doubt on everything they had just heard from him.
Eager to return to the bunker and hit the grind stone to try and shake out how to do this, they had left the hotel as soon as they had finished with Metatron. Sam was incredibly grateful to be away from the deafening sound that came from the Scribe. They drove straight through the night, Dean very accustomed to long trips. It was the middle of the morning when the door to the garage of the bunker creaked open.
Exhausted they poured into the library. Kevin came sprinting into the room, clutching the demon tablet, looking breathless.
"Iknowthelastone," he said in a slur of sounds.
"Whoa, dude, slow down. We have news too but by all means," Dean said slowly, gesturing to the excited Prophet.
"I...know what... the last... trial is," he said beaming pride. But seconds later, he looked defeated when no one reacted to his spectacular triumph.
"Cure a demon," Hermione said sympathetically. Kevin looked astonished and they quickly explained about the hotel, the angel, and what they had learned about the third trial.
It was in the next few seconds that they were again taken by surprise. Castiel appeared in the middle of the library, feet from Hermione, sprawled on the ground. He was still bearing bruises from the angel beating he had taken and blood was still pouring from the bullet wound.
"Hermi-one," he sputtered weakly and within the breath she was on her knees by his side. Three years ago the sight of anyone, let alone someone she loved, in such a state would have rendered her panic-stricken. But after the war she had lived through, not to mention other things, blood and bruising didn't bother her. All her focus was on what to do, how to help.
The others gathered around him, Dean quickly taking stock of his injuries.
"Doesn't look too bad. Knocked around a bit. Nasty bullet wound. Never seen something do that to an angel," Dean said quickly, pulling the blood soaked shirt up to look at the ragged skin. They carefully lifted him onto one of the library tables and set to work cleaning up his wounds. Hermione tried every magical remedy she had. She got the bleeding to stop by the hole wouldn't close and the flesh wouldn't fuse together. So she bound it as best she could, hoping that angels healed.
Castiel ambled slowly into the kitchen the next morning. Sam was sitting at the white table, drinking water clearly laced with medicine, surrounded by files. He had been there most of the night.
"Are you okay?" he asked looking at the pale angel.
"My wound isn't healing as quickly as I'd hoped... But I am getting better. And you're getting worse," Cas said, sitting at the table, looking at the youngest Winchester.
"Well, two trials down, one to go," Sam smiled.
"And the final test, do you - you know what it is?"
"I have to cure a demon," Sam said each word slowly. Even thinking on it all night, it still sounded ridiculous every time he said it.
"Of what?" Cas asked genuinely confused. Sam chuckled.
Hermione walked in yawning and smiled when she saw the angel.
"Hey," she murmured, sitting in the chair nearest him, her knees tucked between his. She gently brushed the side of his face and he closed his eyes, leaning into it, looking like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Sam became uncomfortable; he felt like he was invading on a very private conversation. Trying to distract himself, he shifted his eyes back to his papers.
A few minutes later, Dean came in fully dressed. Hermione and Cas were holding hands, Cas sitting contentedly with his eyes closed and Hermione, reading through the file that had been sitting nearest her. Dean smiled to see the angel up already.
"Hey man, good to see you," he grinned as Cas opened his eyes and smiled at the brother. Dean threw open the fridge, staring at the bright white, nearly empty contents.
"Geez... guess I need to make a supply run," and he let the door shut. "I'll grab breakfast while I'm out," and he snagged up his keys and jacket off the counter, making for the door. As soon as he shut the door, Sam sat up a little straighter.
"7b... 7b..." he murmured and he made to stand. It was shaky and unbalanced. Hermione instinctively moved to help him. Had it been anyone else, Sam would have pushed them away. But he never pushed her away. When she offered a hand or tried to help, he always let her. She smiled, wanting to take care of him. And he smiled, enjoying the mothering.
Down through the bunker, Sam stumbled, leaning on Hermione every now and then. Castiel walked beside her, letting her help Sam and smiling all the while. When they found the room, Sam told them what file number that the file in his hand had mentioned. After a few minutes, Castiel lifted the dusty box onto the metal table. In the same moment, Sam gave a great heavy on some wire shelves and they shifted across the floor.
He looked back at Hermione and Castiel with a surprised face, "I saw shadows back there and I thought there might be something," and he continued on into the space.
The dark black room held the tang of salt and iron. There was an evil looking chair laced with manacles in the middle of the room. Surrounding the chair was a huge Devil's Trap. Hermione swallowed hard, paled, and looked pointedly away.
"I guess we have a... chamber," Sam said, pointedly avoiding the word torture. Cas was fishing in the box, uninterested in the chamber, feeling the sickness and evil pour. There had been dark things done in that room; things that left a permanent mark. He found a tin with the file number Sam had named on it and held it up.
"Sam," he said. The brother looked at it curiously and smiled.