The room fell quiet. The sound of blood rushing within Gabriel's ears suddenly sounds as though it was the only sound in the room. He realized he dropped a major bombshell, but he couldn't lose his nerve now.
"This task is necessary and must be done immediately. Abaddon," it felt so foreign on his tongue, his mother's name. "She has eyes and ears all over the cities, maybe even some in this room. That being said, they need to be taken care of before word can travel. Are we clear?"
"Is there a reward?" A man asks, fingers twitching nervously in his pants pockets.
"She will find out who everyone is that has turned against her in a matter of hours, so your reward is your life. Meaning you will not be killed for insubordination against the Council, my seat and Lucifer's now being replaced by Abaddon and Metatron. Nothing can protect you from them unless they are dead and buried. Have I made myself clear?"
The man rubbed his fingertips idly against his scruffy jawline, "I ask because obtaining them seems to be a suicide mission. Wanna know if the rewards outweight possible consequences."
Gabriel moved from his spot, striding to the man directly and halting a foot in front of the man's face. His words were nothing more than a breathy whisper, "Death is not scary, not really."
His eyes cast down, "But I wanna know if the goodie basket is worth getting killed over."
"Mr. Winchester-"
"John."
"John," Gabriel corrected himself, "The longer we all wait to revolutionize, the more we are likely to be putting your son in danger. If he goes to kill Michael, and certain conditions are not in place, he will surely fail and be publicly executed. The symbol of our revolution will be replaced with a dead martyr. A dead martyr is of no use to a cause that needs that boy alive. Sure, we could all try to kill Michael but with the loss of the symbol for the reason we are fighting, we may not only lose support and morale but we will eventually lose the revolt. We will all die if we lose power and the Council wins. Do you see my point?"
"Yes," he exhaled, his hand moving to pinch his eyes between his fingers. "If my son doesn't kill the Leader, we all die- including him. However, if he kills him, what then? Has anyone considered what to do once all this is done? Oh, I don't know, like what will be the replacement of the government now?"
Silence fell over the room, yet again.
John Winchester sighed loudly, "Well, seeing as none of us 'humans' likely have the historical knowledge of other possible governments. When this is all over we need to join everyone together, angels and all, and figure this all out."
There was an assortment of agreements and nodding, Charlie's voice the only one above the crowd. "Well, let's find the King and Queen!"
The crowd cheered with her. And so it began. The downfall of Arya.
Metatron sat in the kitchen, a red apple perched between his fingers, turning it in inspection. He was practically carefree. He knew what was coming and he mildly feared his own death, but the fearless and insane part of him that wanted abolsute chaos to occur- another angelic war- wanted to know the feeling of a blade against his throat as a small trickle of blood would bead down his neck and into his collarbone in torture until his throat was eventually slit open. A death experienced only by those who had reached a pillar of infamy.
Infamy sounded like pleasant legacy after death, to die in the midst of chaos. He sighed in disappointment, he knew that it wasn't how it used to be in the Old World, and that a war would never occur per-se. War was not the fastest solution, and the ends in no way justified the means when good warriors were lost, especially when the death toll would mean most on the minority side he resided in.
Abaddon watched her husband's inner monologue with disgust, he was so dramatic. Theatrical, even. She exhaled sharply and smacked Metatron on the arm.
"Don't hurt yourself. I have some followers to meet and, as you say, 'conspire' with. Expect me back in a few hours, my rats have hopefully found something useful this time."
So Abaddon left the manor to meet in the darkest part of Arya with her small but capable alliance members.
Dean, with Bobby's house far behind him, made a trek through the woods in the direction of the Central-Aryan manor. He had never taken this direct route before, the obstables within the forest slowing him down- therefore making long trips impractical- but now he had no choice. If there was a traitor in the streets as he walked them, surely the odds would not be in his favor, his death would be the next morning's main attraction.
Therefore, the long route was the much better option. He was a lot less likely to be caught. As he stumbled along the path, vaulting over fallen trees and leaping over creeks beginning to form, he began to wonder how he would kill Michael.
He knew that the toll of killing another living thing had already left some scars in his mind, like the day in the bathroom when he had to be soothed by Castiel, but what the actual action would do terrified him. He wondered how much he would change. How would his feelings for Castiel change?
The thoughts were halted as he found the form of Balthazar lying in a small gush of water, face paling. Dean threw himself to his knees and dragged the former angel from the spot, setting him beneath a tree. He slapped Balthazar's face gently, trying in vain to rouse the man, the sight of Balthazar without his wings enough to tighten his throat in fear. Balthazar was becoming lifeless, his breath shallow and forced.
"Balthazar! Balth! B! Wake up!"
