Chapter 36– The Haves Have Naught
"I don't know where to go from here."
Castiel and Sam sat in the strategy room, both utterly dejected and covered in an ugly collection of cuts and bruises. The misadventure with the Cintamani Stone had not been kind to either of them, and Cas hadn't bothered to self-heal since he'd been tossed around like a rag doll within the confines of the bunker's garage. He'd become empty and hopeless in the wake of the day, even with the Horsemen Rings sitting out on the table in front of them, the thing they had set out to win.
He still felt as though they had lost.
The Cintamani Stone could've been the key, had they only had a chance to harness its power.
"You didn't ask about his ring?" Sam responded, exhausted, head resting in his hands and his fingers caught up in his hair.
"I didn't think of it in the moment," Cas admitted. "It doesn't really matter. We don't need to unite the Horsemen Rings, we have no intention of opening the Cage. Perhaps it's better that death still holds one. If we fall, he's the last line of defense between the world and the apocalypse."
"What if Asmodel figures out how to bind Death?" Sam asked him, leaning forward on the table, elbows on Russia. "All it would take is the ingredients."
"Not like those were exactly easy to come by," Dean piped up from beside Cas. He had his arms crossed, his feet up on the table. Cas didn't allow his eyes to slide fully to Dean, worried that Sam would pick up on the motion.
The revelation that this version of Dean he was seeing was a part of him, a fragment of the hunter's soul that imprinted itself on Castiel's Grace when he raised him from the Pit...it was simultaneously comforting and crushing. To have his best friend back, but only as a ghost, visible only to him (and evidently Death) and unable to touch or interact with the world.
"Your very own double-edged sword," Dean commented, privy to Cas's thoughts as always. "Give it a week, and you'll tell me to take a hike. Nobody wants me stuck in their head forever."
"Then we still have the remaining three, and we have to protect them at all costs," Cas insisted, brushing off Dean for the moment and meeting Sam's troubled eyes. "If Asmodel attempts to bind Death, he's likely to die before he starts. I believe Death was very clear about that the last time you and Dean bound him, and I doubt he would be merciful to an angel."
Cas chose not to comment on the purpose of the binding; that is, the fact that the brothers had commissioned Death to kill him.
Perhaps that would've been for the best, for all the good I've done the world since, he thought, hands clenching.
There were a few beats of silence before Sam spoke again. "You said Death refused to help when you asked...maybe it's can't, not won't. Maybe he can't take away the Mark. Maybe he wouldn't even be able to kill Dean."
"If Dean is so powerful that Death can't stop him, then any hope we have is already lost. Let's just hope that he remains focused on killing you, and continues misusing Hell's resources for that purpose."
"So, he's really taken over? Dean is the new King?" Sam asked, voice showing signs of breaking.
Cas swallowed with difficulty, his vessel's mouth feeling akin to a desert. "It would seem so."
"I don't understand how he could take over so quickly. It took Crowley months to get the throne after we threw Lucifer in the Pit."
"I suspect the demons fear Dean so deeply that they're obeying purely for the sake of self-preservation," Cas theorized. "Which makes him all the more dangerous. He has an army so terrified of him that they'll do whatever he asks, no matter how trivial."
"So, what do we do, now? Hope Dean doesn't bring all of Hell down on our heads? Protect the rings from Asmodel until either he gives up looking, or we die?"
"I don't know, Sam," Cas bit out, the frustration evident in his voice. "Death said that we are sitting on top of the only solution. Other than finding a secure place to keep the Horsemen Rings, all I can think to do is search the bunker. There must be something here that we're missing."
"The bunker is massive. There's tons of books and magical objects here that Dean and I haven't even started to catalogue. It could take months, it could take years—"
"Dean isn't going anywhere," Cas reminded him.
"How many people will he murder while we're down here searching the bunker top to bottom for—for what? We don't even know what we're looking for, Cas!"
"Do you have any better ideas?" Cas burst out, rising from his chair. Sam just stared at him, eyes dark. Cas tried to calm himself, taking a deep breath. "Sam, please, I'm doing all that I can with what little I have. I don't know what to do next. This is the only answer that I have."
Sam seemed to deflate somewhat at that. He ran a hand through his hair, looking years older than he was. "I'm sorry. I just...every day he spends like he is..."
"I understand," Cas assured him. "I do. But Dean's fall was many months in the making, and if we're to save him, it may take just as long, if not longer. We can only hope that the destruction he wreaks on the world will be manageable."
"Manageable," Sam scoffed. "A manageable casualty count." He shook his head, looking at the ceiling, as if to ask for divine assistance. "I still can't believe what he's become. I never thought..."
"Never thought he would be this dark?" Cas finished.
Sam nodded.
"Yeah. Neither did I," Dean said quietly.
Cas put a hand to his forehead, sighing. "You should begin searching. I'm sorry I can't give you more to go on. I need to return to Heaven and speak to Hannah. I sent Gadreel ahead of me, but I can't continue to be so absent there. It'll only encourage mutiny or defection."
"You have to put in an appearance," Sam summed up.
"Yes," Cas confirmed. He scooped the three Horsemen Rings up off of the table.
"You're taking those with you?" Sam furrowed his brow.
"Heaven is the safest place for them."
"Asmodel is there," Sam reminded him.
"Asmodel has no way of knowing that we have the rings. He is too occupied with the war in Heaven to have spies on Earth. Trust me. I know how to hide them so that they will never be found," Cas tried to reassure the hunter.
Sam seemed dubious, but acquiesced anyway. "Okay. I believe you...just be careful."
"I always am." That was a lie, but he had been taught over the years that humans told each other little lies like that to comfort one another. "I'll return soon. Pray to me if you find anything, and good luck."
With that, Cas vanished, off to take stock of the ongoing combat in Heaven.
Don't lose control. Don't lose control.
Dean had forcibly teleported himself somewhere deep, deep in the Boreal Forest of Canada, away from any living thing that he could possibly slaughter. He wasn't sure how many hours had passed since he'd left the facade that covered Magnus's complex, but he was still too angry, too out of control. Blood poured behind his eyelids each time he closed them, and he could feel it building up in him, turning black and hungry.
He'd been so damn close!
He needed a clear head. He held the Blade in his right hand in an attempt to find clarity. He had no idea how Sastiel had gotten away with his angel buddies, but he highly suspected it had something to do with that glowing rock around Sam's thick neck. If they were in the wind, chances were they were back in the bunker, the one place Dean couldn't reach them.
If he wanted Sam dead, he was going to have to be smarter about it. Sam would only leave the bunker by flight with either Cas or Gadreel, that much was obvious. He had to know their movements, and he wouldn't be so lucky to catch them putting together a portal spell again, he could almost guarantee that. Kayce's international 'round-the-clock surveillance was great, but not enough.
He needed a satellite honed in strictly on Sam.
"I need Ronnie," he growled when the realization hit him. He paused in the middle of a glade. He watched the sun move behind the pine trees, slashing out between the branches and painting him orange. He should've never let her get away from Crowley's mansion in the first place, but he just hadn't cared all that much at the time.
She'd taken Crowley's car, though, and that thing wasn't exactly subtle.
Dean's smile spread slow and sinister. "Bingo."
With a thought, he was back in Nevada, standing in Crowley's office. Dean's office. He had to start thinking of it that way. Hell was his to control, and there was nothing left of the old administration, he'd made sure of that. He'd already murdered anyone who seemed too precious over Crowley.
He sheathed the Blade and took a deep breath. Okay. Time to get Kayce in here and start figuring out how to catch up with Ronnie—
"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come back," a voice piped up.
Dean turned, surprised to find he wasn't devoid of company. A blond demon sat on Crowley's sleek leather couch. He wore a blue sports coat with a gray button-down, and matching chinos. He had a pair of those dumbass hipster glasses on, too.
"Who the fuck are you?" Dean asked without ceremony.
"Bartimaeus. You may have heard of me?"
"You're Crowley's Crossroads replacement, right?" Dean leaned against Crowley's desk. His desk. Damn it. "What the hell do you want?"
"Me? Only an amicable working relationship, nothing more," Bartimaeus gave him a false smile. "I came to bend the knee, so to speak. I'll gladly swear fealty to you, so long as you still allow me to have a purpose."
"Meaning?" Dean asked shortly.
"Let the Crossroads Department do what it does best: continue to make deals, and continue to bring in souls...with me at the head, of course."
"Why should I give a shit about the Crossroads?"
"Because it's all the more power for you, your Grace. Hell grows stronger, and you'll grow stronger with it. It's a happy, healthy, symbiotic relationship," Bartimaeus told him, spreading out his hands. "Any complaints? Questions? Suggestions?"
Oh, the 'your Grace' was a real nice touch. Fucker. Dean narrowed his eyes at the Crossroads demon. Crowley had met with the guy right before Sam had captured him. Bartimaeus was one of the last people to see Crowley alive.
"Yeah, a question: were you with Crowley when he got demon-napped?"
Bartimaeus's smile slipped incrementally. "Tragic, but yes. I was able to slip away unhurt, luckily."
"And what were you and Crowley talking about when he got nabbed?" Dean pushed himself away from the desk, taking a few steps towards Bartimaeus.
The demon replied unflinchingly, "The same thing I'm talking to you about right now. I'm very adaptable."
"So how come you didn't try to save Crowley?"
"Because I don't care about Crowley," he answered, not missing a beat. "I care about me, myself, and I, and I would just love my old job back, and I will gladly serve whoever is willing to give me that opportunity."
Dean considered the offer; the more power in Hell, the better, that was obvious. But trusting a demon that had clearly somehow managed to dick over even Crowley? He didn't like that shit one bit. Even if he couldn't be killed, it didn't make him invincible, and he didn't want to let any demons with half a brain into his operation. Minus Kayce. That scrawny bastard was too useful to murder.
"Tell you what. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," Dean told Bartimaeus.
"What do you propose?"
"I need to find someone."
"Your brother, I assume?"
"Yeah. But no. I need a prophet. The prophet. Her name's Veronica Whitaker. She peeled outta here in Crowley's Bentley last week, and no one's seen her since. All I know is that she's in the wind, and she's got Crowley's hellhound with her. Find her."
Bartimaeus frowned sympathetically. "Oh? You haven't heard?"
"Heard what," Dean spat irritably. He wasn't going to like this, was he?
"Prophet omens, in Louisiana. Storms like you wouldn't believe. Means that dear Veronica's already found her way into a meat-grinder, somewhere. I would imagine that after Crowley died, his hound turned feral and killed her," Bartimaeus elaborated, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, eyes intent on Dean. Trying to gauge his reaction, chances were.
"She's dead," he muttered. "That's just fucking great."
Dean grabbed the nearest table lamp and flung it into the wall. It burst into flames halfway there and exploded impressively against a tapestry. Said tapestry caught fire as well, but Bartimaeus quenched it with a wave of his hand. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."
"She was the one edge I had, the only one!" he snapped. He pointed a finger at Bartimaeus. "You want your fucking job back? Go find me the new prophet. Now."
"But your Grace, that's like looking for a needle in a haystack—"
"You want to serve me, you fucking serve," Dean interrupted harshly. "Now get the hell out of here before I decide to kill the messenger."
Bartimaeus rose to his feet. Lips twisting in a fake smile, he gave Dean a shallow bow. "As you wish. I never disappoint."
The demon disappeared, leaving Dean alone in Crowley's office. Dean's office.
"Fuck!" Dean yelled, and murdered another innocent lamp.
Cas noticed immediately that their encampment in Heaven had shrunk since he'd last been there. The tents no longer spread to the edge of his vision, instead forming a sad looking cluster around the pond in the eternal Tuesday afternoon. Cas trudged through the rows of tents to the command center that Hannah had established. He pushed through the outer flap, and inside, he found her, Gadreel, and Cathetel gathered around a map.
They paused mid-conversation, all of them turning their attention to him. "Castiel," Hannah greeted him. "It is good to see you. Gadreel told us that you secured the Horsemen Rings."
"We did," Cas answered, not willing to offer up further information. He couldn't bring himself to trust Hannah any further than he already had. "It's a substantial blow against Asmodel. If he can't open the Cage, all of this is pointless."
"Do you think he'll surrender?" Gadreel asked, a note of hope in his voice.
"Why would he do that?" Cathetel spoke before Cas could. "With the Reapers on his side, he's more powerful than we could hope to be."
Hannah pursed her lips, and Gadreel looked to him, mouth forming a grim line.
Cas cleared his throat. "The Reapers...?"
"All of them," Cathetel told him, his young vessel's face contorted with anger. "Azrael and Samael gathered them all and led a mass defection. We lost a third of our number, and now Asmodel has some of the most powerful angels still alive on his side."
"They haven't made any attempt to attack us yet?" Cas inquired.
"No. But I think they have a different plan for the Reapers," Hannah told him. She gestured at the map on the table, and Cas realized that it was a world map of Earth. Red tacks were in many places, at least thirty, spread across the globe. "Reapers have touched down in these spots over the past forty-eight hours. Ambriel has been able to track their movements through angel radio."
"Reapers on Earth..." Cas shook his head. "Why?"
"We don't know," Gadreel said gravely. "Nothing good, that is undeniable. And we don't have the manpower to spare to track each one."
"Then we track as many as we can," Cas insisted. "Before they do whatever it is that Asmodel has ordered them to."
"Reapers are difficult to kill, we'll have to send our best—" Hannah began
"You will not kill them," Cas cut her off without hesitation, slamming a hand down on the table. "I don't know how much clearer I can be. We will not kill more of our brothers and sisters, not unless we're pulled into open combat again. This is a capture mission, not a kill mission."
"You tell 'em, Cas," the remnant of Dean rooted for him from the corner of the tent.
"That will only lead to more of our own being killed," Cathetel argued.
"The angels number less than a thousand. If we continue killing our own race, we will go extinct," Cas emphasized, looking his underling dead in the eyes. "We must do all that we can to preserve the few of us that remain, enemy or not."
"Asmodel's attitude is...not similiar," Hannah said hesitantly.
"Then let it be known that the Horsemen Rings have been found, and destroyed," Castiel said, raising his voice. "Spread the word as far as you can. Make sure someone from Asmodel's camp hears."
"But the rings haven't been destroyed," Gadreel pointed out, confused.
"Yes. We're going to lie," Cas explained as patiently as he could. "A war of diminishing morale is far less bloody to win."
"If we're not all slaughtered in the meantime," Cathetel said, half under his breath.
"If you disagree with my choices, you know where the exit is," Cas told the other angel lowly, voice empty of anger. Cas had not desired to lead, they had all come to him. If they were not willing to rely on his judgement, then what was the point?
"I'm sorry, Commander. This war has made me grow anxious," Cathetel apologized with surprising sincerity.
Cas nodded. "It's already forgotten, Cathetel, but please don't call me Commander." He flicked his eyes to Gadreel. "May I speak to you outside?"
"Of course."
The two of them departed the tent side-by-side. Castiel struck out towards the outskirts of camp, with the hope that they wouldn't be overheard. "How is Gazardiel?"
"Being tended to in the medical tent. He grew more lucid once I brought him to Heaven. There were tears in his eyes." Gadreel seemed distracted. "I have never seen an angel cry before."
"It's a rarity, to be sure." Castiel tried to focus on the birds chirping, the wind gusting through the branches of the trees, anything but the din of the camp. It reminded him all too much of the Civil War, memories he had little to no desire to relive. "I don't know that the Horsemen Rings can be destroyed. I'm almost positive that they can't be. So we need to hide them, and hide them well."
"What shall we do with them?" Gadreel asked.
Castiel drew in a deep breath. "Gadreel, what I'm about to ask you..."
"Brother, you know that I would do anything you require of me," Gadreel broke in.
Dean snorted. "That's a dangerous proposition."
"I want to hide the Horsemen Rings separately," Castiel told him, hoping that Gadreel would be true to his word. "You said you found my Grace inside of Metatron. It gave me an idea."
Realization dawned on Gadreel's face. "I see."
Under the shade of a large oak tree, Cas paused, pulling the Horsemen Rings out of his pocket. "War, Famine, or Pestilence. Which would you like?"
"Will it...affect me?" Gadreel asked, looking down at the rings with apprehension.
"It would only affect you if you were to wear it."
Gadreel nodded stiffly, selecting Pestilence's ring. He held it in his hand for a moment before pinching his eyes shut and shoving his hand through his vessel's stomach. Blood burst out of him in large globules, staining the grass at their feet crimson when they fell.
"Thank you, Gadreel," Castiel told the other angel, clasping his shoulder. "This is a burden, I understand that."
"Just another manner of atonement. I have no qualms about it," Gadreel answered, pulling out his hand with a grimace. He ineffectively wiped the blood on his vessel's pants. "What of the other two rings?"
"I'll stow one inside of myself. The third...I have a plan."
Gadreel merely stared at him.
"This may sound morbid, but if you were to be tortured, you would be better suited to truly not know who held the final ring," Castiel said quietly. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes. With everything I have."
Cas wasn't worthy of that much, but he nodded anyway. "Thank you," he repeated. "Organize the capture squads. I hope you'll know which angels are fit to go, and which are not."
Gadreel obviously understood his meaning. "I'll make sure the capture squads are even-tempered and like-minded. We must avoid bloodshed."
Gadreel headed off back to the camp, a clear destination in mind. Castiel lifted his head up, and remembered when he came to this Heaven, pleading for guidance from his Father.
"Anything to say?" Cas whispered to the flat blue sky.
Only silence followed his query.
Cas closed his eyes, sighing. "No, I didn't think so."