Another long chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Thanks as always to everyone that's left a review or favourite, big hugs to you all! And OMG superntural finale this week :/ I'm worried for Sam. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy! :)
Embriel threw his suit jacket, trench coat and tie at him from where they lay crumpled on the floor beside Miriana's bed.
"Put these on," she commanded. He shrugged on the jacket and coat, clumsily retying his tie like he had seen Miriana do. Embriel swept over to the bed and touched two slender fingers to Miriana's forehead.
"What are you doing?" he asked, buttoning his shirt and straightening his tie.
"Shielding her," Embriel replied, "For now, at least."
"How does he know?"
"He's been having you followed; someone else in the garrison," she explained, "Abandoning your duties today was the tipping point. They already mistrusted you before that; they think you've done too much for the Winchesters. Why didn't you listen to me, Castiel? I told you Zachariah would be furious if you left your duties for her again."
"I know," he said through gritted teeth.
"Why did you do it?" she asked almost desperately.
"Because...because I can't be away from her," he said, trying to find a way to explain how he felt. Easier said than done, when he didn't really understand what he was feeling himself.
"You have to be," she snapped, "It's that or they kill her."
His heart seemed to turn to ice in his chest and sink down somewhere close to the bottom of his stomach, "He wouldn't kill her."
Embriel smiled sadly, "Oh, yes he would. I would know."
Castiel frowned, "What do you mean, you would know?"
The ancient sadness in her eyes faded, "We don't have time. Go to him, it will look better, and besides, we can't risk him finding her."
He glanced across at her sleeping body, blissfully unaware of what was happening and the danger she faced.
"Do they know its Miriana?"
Embriel nodded curtly, "Yes. They know her name."
Embriel reached into the deep pockets of her cardigan and shoved two small brown, hessian bags at him.
"Put this under her pillow, and the other in her jacket," she told him, "They should keep her hidden from Zachariah and the others, at least until I can find a more permanent solution."
He walked over to her bed and brushed his lips against her forehead, feeling the shake in his hands as he brushed the hair away from her face and followed the curve of her neck and shoulders with his fingertips. He gently lifted the pillow and pushed the hex bag underneath it.
"Please be safe," he whispered into her ear. He reached across and slid the other hex bag inside her jacket, which lay across the end of her bed. He stood up and faced Embriel, trying to ignore the unusual sensation of fear that was choking him.
"Where is he?"
"Chicago, Illinois."
He took one last, long lingering look at Miriana, drinking her in with his eyes, well aware this could possibly be the last time he would see her. Something in his head told him to wake her up and tell her how he really felt. That he didn't know what love felt like, but that he was almost sure he was in love with her, and had been virtually from the day he had seen her from heaven. But he found he couldn't speak; his throat was tight and constricted with fear.
He spread his wings and in the space of a heartbeat, he had found Zachariah, sat in the executive lounge of an eight hundred dollar a night hotel on the top floor, overlooking the spider's web of lights that was the city underneath. He would have appreciated the view if he wasn't so terrified. Zachariah was seated in a wide leather armchair that reflected the flickering orange light from the fire, his legs crossed, black suit and silver tie immaculate as always. Two angels flanked him; both dressed identically in crisp black suits and white shirts, their faces completely expressionless. He could tell just from a quick glance at them that both carried long silver blades like the one Uriel had used in their pockets. He guessed trying for an escape was not a good idea.
Zachariah observed him with his cold, glacial blue eyes, whilst Castiel inclined his head towards his superior, "Zachariah sir." He kept his hands shoved firmly in the pockets of his trench coat, determined not to let them see the shake in his hands.
"Castiel," he said, his voice cold, "You're in some serious trouble boy."
Miriana came round from sleep slowly in the morning, reaching out with fingers clumsy from sleep for the warm body next to her. But her searching hands found nothing, just cool, empty sheets.
"Castiel?" she enquired of thin air, sitting up and looking around the room. He'd left.
She tried not to feel hurt by it; she was certain there was a good reason for it. Maybe his superiors had called him back, and this time he had been unable to ignore their summons. They sounded pretty persuasive from what she could gather. She stretched her back and neck, getting up slowly from the bed and stumbling towards the shower. She stepped under the boiling hot spray as soon as it was hot enough for her and scrubbed shampoo through the knots in her dark hair, mussed from sleep.
There was the slightest sense of anxiety and dread settling in her stomach, for reasons she couldn't fathom. She didn't think he was in any danger, but her instincts were telling her something was amiss, despite the fact the more rational side of her brain argued that she was being stupid, and far too needy. She dressed and applied her usual eyeliner, keeping her mind firmly trained away from anything angel related.
She made her bed, and it was only when she flipped the sheets to air them that she caught the smell of him, sunshine and cologne, all over her sheets. She lifted them to her nose, breathing him in deeply and closing her eyes, as if she could conjure him up behind her. As she pulled the sheets a little tighter to her nose, she noticed something roll out from underneath her pillow, thumping to the floor. She reached down and picked it up, frowning. It was a hex bag. She couldn't imagine who could have put it there or why; except for Castiel. Realization hit her like a freight train. He'd disappeared and left her with a hex bag and no explanation. There was trouble with someone, somewhere. She glanced at her leather jacket and saw the bulge in the inside pocket. Shoving her hands inside, she found yet another hex bag. She clutched it in her trembling hands, starting when there came a knock at the door.
She stuffed the hex bag back under her pillow and went to the door, throwing it open to find Ethan stood behind it, dressed in his biker jacket.
"Hey," he said brightly, "We're off."
"Oh."
The smile faded from his face a little, "Are you okay?"
She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head and bring herself back to reality, "Yes. Sorry, I-uh...I didn't sleep very well last night. I'll come down and say goodbye."
The dazzling smile returned to his face as she grabbed her jacket and followed him down the wide staircase to the front door, keeping the smile plastered to her face.
The other hunters were gathered outside on the gravel drive, leaning against the battered Chevy truck. Jack waved at Miriana and gave a goofy smile, which instantly fell from his face the second Frankie slapped him around the back of the head.
Rhea stepped forwards and gave Miriana a hug, "Thank you so much for letting us stay. I could sleep last night without the fear of getting bitten by bed bugs the size of rats."
Miriana grimaced, "No worries."
The other hunters said their goodbyes and clambered into the truck, which burst into life with a choking cloud of fumes and a deafening roar. Ethan was the only one that hung back, lingering by his Harley.
"I guess I'll see you around then," he said, swinging his leg over the motorbike.
She caught his arm, "About the knife, if you guys want-"
He cut her off with a wave of his hand, "It's yours fair and square. It was in your dad's pickup after all. So, no worries ok?"
"Thank you."
He tipped her a wink, which made her cheeks burn, then jammed his helmet onto his head and kicked the engine into life. Miriana stood next to Nate and waved the group of hunters off, watching as they pulled out of the drive and disappeared down the long winding road that led back to the highway.
Nate nudged her in the ribs, "You okay? You look a little uptight."
Miriana nodded and flashed him as genuine a smile as she could manage, "I'm fine. I just need to go upstairs for something."
"I'm picking up Aunty in a minute," he said, reaching into his pocket for his car keys, "The hospital rang before, they said she could come home."
"Right," she called over her shoulder. She was very aware of Nate's eyes burning a hole into her back as she swept towards the house, sprinting up the staircase as soon as she was out of sight.
Banging the door of her room against the wall, she dug under her pillow for the hex bag, ripping off the cord that held it together and spilling the contents onto the bed sheets. She had considerable knowledge regarding hex bags; maybe if she could look at the contents she could work out what she was being shielded from. But as she sifted through the contents, she found there were no sprigs of devils bane and cats bones to shield from demons; in fact there was nothing she recognized, even from her studies of arcane lore. Whatever this was, it was shielding against something heavy duty, and whoever had put it together was skilled. It must have been Castiel, she reasoned. But what worried here more than anything was his whereabouts. She wasn't that worried about what was after her; she was more worried about the fact he had left without waking her up to say goodbye. And he hadn't reappeared yet.
"Castiel?" she called quietly. This was the only equivalent she had of ringing him on a mobile. Otherwise she had absolutely no idea about how to contact him.
She tried a few more times, but there was no reply. What was so bad that he couldn't get to her?
She reached for her phone, fully intending to ring Dean. She stopped herself before she pressed the dial button. He wouldn't be interested, and even if she could get to him to listen, he would be pissed when he realized she was still hounding after Cas like a 'drunken hooker', as he had so eloquently put it. Cursing, she dropped the phone back onto the bed. Pacing back and forth across her room, she racked her brains to think of what could have happened to him. She knew perfectly well that most normal people would not get as panicked as she was, but then most normal people weren't romantically involved with an angel who was defying heavens orders to be with her, who then disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving her with no reason and a powerful charm for protection. It seemed more natural to worry under those circumstances.
Trying to be more productive, she gathered up the contents of the hex bag and carried them carefully down to the study, laying them out on the heavy oak table in the middle of the room. A glance out of the window told her Nate had set off for the hospital, so there was no threat of intrusion and awkward questions. She dragged a stool out from underneath the table and climbed onto it, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach the highest row of books, running her fingers along the leather bound spines. She found the book on warding and protection and yanked it free from the bookcase, almost falling flat on her back. Slamming it down onto the table, she rifled quickly through the pages, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Tears of frustration began to collect behind her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly; there was no time for tears and moping around the house like a child.
There was nothing in the first book, so she pulled down dusty tome after tome after tome, flicking through endless yellowed, fragile pages that held no form of help whatsoever. She was beginning to lose hope, or perhaps turn to the internet, when a fluidly curling symbol in the middle of one of the pages caught her eyes. She turned back to it, tracing over the pattern with her fingers. She pulled the rough piece of hessian towards her, following the same pattern over the textured cloth, painted on in thick black paint. Feeling considerably more optimistic, she scanned her eyes over the page, squinting at the faded print. With every word she read, she felt her stomach drop a little lower and the fear lodged tight in her chest got a little more choking.
"Angels," she whispered. She was being shielded from angels.
As it turned out, Zachariah decided to hold Castiel in a room next to the executive suite, at least temporarily. The two angels that had been flanking Zachariah had been joined by four others, four of them flanking the door from the outside, the other two stood against the wall of the room, ensuring he couldn't make one movement without being seen. He couldn't understand why Zachariah hadn't just dealt with him already, why he had left him in his temporary prison and hadn't dragged him off to the garrisons' prison yet. His fate seemed inevitable; there was no point in delaying it.
The angels beside the door, again dressed identically in black suits, hadn't moved at all since they had marched him into the room and forced him to sit in the nearest chair. They kept their cold eyes trained somewhere above his head, their arms firmly folded across their chests. There was no chance of escape; he was quick, but he knew they would be far quicker. And there was nowhere he could run without being followed by Zachariah. He was persistent, if nothing else.
He prayed for Miriana, prayed that the hex bag would work; he had a strong feeling that Zachariah was searching for her whilst he waited, trapped in the room. Zachariah was known for being creative, and he couldn't think about what tortuous punishment he would enact upon her if he found her. He worried that if he couldn't find her, he would go for her family, and he knew what she would do if that happened. She would offer up her own life in exchange, she had done it once before. At least that time he had been there to save her life. Now he was pinned down, waiting useless and unable to help himself or Miriana. What must she have thought when she had woken up alone? How furious would she be, how hurt? He hadn't even had the chance to speak to her, or explain. Even if he could break free from heavens' guard, he still wouldn't be able to find her; the hex bags Embriel had given her would shield her from the eyes of all angels, friendly or otherwise. It was a discomforting feeling.
At that moment the door banged backwards, slamming against the wall and Zachariah swept in, straightening his tie.
"Well, Castiel," he began, pulling a leather chair across the cream carpet and sitting in it, "I don't know what you've done, but we can't find your woman."
He had a thousand retorts in his head, but he bit his tongue. It wouldn't help to put himself in more trouble.
"But we will," Zachariah continued, "Don't you worry about that."
"Please leave her out of this," he said, meeting his superior right in his cold eyes, "Please. I'll do anything."
Zachariah gave a cold smirk, "Anything?"
He nodded.
"Hmm," he said, regarding him with a spark of interest in his eyes, "Anything. Well, that whore of yours really must be something, huh?"
That slur made him feel sick with fury, "She's not a whore."
"She must be, I can't imagine what else would make a soldier as strong as you turn your back on your brothers and sisters," his voice rose in volume, "You're no better than a human. Just as weak and pathetic as them."
"Why do you speak of them in such a way?" he asked, exasperated, "They're wonderful creations. Most of them are better than us."
Zachariah shook his head, looking disgusted, "What has she done to you?"
"She hasn't done anything to me," he replied, raising his chin, "Everything I did I did through my own choices. So leave her alone."
A steely glint of fury flashed in Zachariah's eyes, "Don't order me, boy."
"Please, Zachariah," he implored, "I follow my orders, I'll save any seal you-"
He stopped when Zachariah let out a cold chuckle. Even the stony faced angels behind him smirked a little. He couldn't help feeling there was something he was missing.
"What?"
"We've really kept you in the dark about them, to be honest," Zachariah said, brushing invisible dirt off his suit trousers, "But you know, you just weren't that important. Still aren't, really. We assigned you to save Dean Winchester, but after that, we weren't too concerned about you and the rest of your garrison's safety. It just so happened that you fell into the role, but we had plenty of angels lined up for the job. They probably would have done it better to be honest."
"What about the seals?" he asked, ignoring the burn of anger and hurt that flashed through him after Zachariah's revelation.
"I may as well tell you," Zachariah sighed, "You could be useful. We never wanted to stop the seals, Castiel. If we had, do you really think Michael and the others would just have let them break all over the place? You know yourself that there's only fifteen left."
"I don't follow," he said. He had the feeling he wouldn't want to know the answer.
"We need the devil to rise," Zachariah said, slamming his fist against the leather, "Think about it. He rises, and we fight him and cleanse this earth of all the filth of humanity. Burn the earth clean, purify it. Then we start all over again."
"Why?" he asked. His brain didn't seem to be able to process what he had just been told. It was too much.
"Why?" Zachariah said in a surprised tone, "Why do you think? We deserve this earth, not the demons, and especially not the humans."
"But...what about all the people?"
Zachariah snorted, "What about them?"
"If we fight Satan, they'll all be killed," he said, his hands shaking inside his pockets, "They'll all burn in the fight."
Zachariah shrugged, "Not all of them. And those that do survive will be left to enjoy the paradise that we have created. Not that bad of a deal if you ask me."
He opened his mouth to protest, but Zachariah cut across him, "Come on, Castiel, think about it. Don't you want a perfect world, a world where you can live in harmony with your brothers and sisters? No demons, no Lucifer. We can end this fight once and for all."
Although he didn't want to admit it to Zachariah, the idea did sound tempting. He was tired of fighting, tired of the constant war. This paradise that Zachariah described was more than a little appealing. He imagined a peaceful life with Miriana, but the thought of her shattered the perfect illusion in his head. If Zachariah did manage to enact his plan, there would be a fight of monumental proportions, a conflict that would burn half the world to ashes, and Miriana would most likely be caught in the celestial cross fires, just another insignificant part of collateral damage. He couldn't imagine Zachariah would let her live when he believed that she had tainted one of his soldiers. Even if she did manage to survive, she wouldn't want to be a part of this paradise Zachariah was selling, not if it meant the destruction of the human race and all that she knew of her home. Who was he fooling? She wouldn't want to spend her lifetime with him. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure why she spent time with him now, why she seemed so attracted to him. He wasn't well matched for her, and he knew it.
"You can't let this happen," he said, but Zachariah merely smirked in response.
"Not much we can do about it now," he said, almost smugly, "The ball is rolling. The end is nigh."
Dean. Miriana. He had to get to one of them and tell them, somehow.
At that moment, the door opened and one of the cold, expressionless angels that had been guarding the room swept over to Zachariah and whispered something in his ear.
Zachariah stood with a heavy sigh, "Well Castiel, it seems I am needed. Busy, busy, busy- I really need a holiday."
He followed the angel to the door, "Wait here. I'll decide how you will be punished when I return."
He left, slamming the door behind him. He calculated that if he moved fast enough, he could destroy the sigil that was keeping him pinned in the room and escape. He wasn't strong enough to fight them off, but he could be fast enough. What he would do after that was another question. He didn't really think he could stay hidden from Zachariah forever.
In a fast as movement as possible, he threw himself from the chair and swiped his fingers through the intricate pattern that was painted across the back of the door. He felt the restrictive forces that hold been holding him snap like an elastic band that had been pulled too tight. Before the other angels could even register the breaking of the sigil, he spread his wings and set off the farthest, most isolated corner of the world he could find.
It had been a few hours since she had discovered the hex bag, but it felt like days. She sat in the window seat in the lounge, staring out at the darkened garden, scrutinizing very shrub, flower and tree as if it might hold answers as to where he was and why he had left. Nate had called and told her he was taking Eve into town for shopping and wouldn't be back for a few hours, so she had the cavernous house all to herself, to pace up restlessly up and down the rooms. She drummed a tattoo on the wooden window sill, jittering nervously. She knew she wouldn't sleep tonight. Not without his arms around her.
Discovering that he was shielding her from angels was the worst thing she could have thought. Had it been demons, she might feel a little better; he would be more likely protecting her whilst he went and fought. But the fact that he was shielding her from angels no doubt meant he was hiding her from his superiors while they punished him for their relationship. She couldn't help but think it was all her fault; if she hadn't thrown herself at him quite so persistently, he probably wouldn't be in this situation. Honestly, she didn't think she could have stopped herself even if she had really tried. He was like a magnet to her, the attraction was impossible to resist. Maybe if she was stronger she could have stopped all this. She had scoured very book she could possibly think of for ways to help him, but everything she read only fuelled her fear and desperation. It was only after reading the lore books that she realized quite how terrifyingly powerful the angels were. It gave her a whole new perspective on Castiel, one that scared her a little.
She heard the car door slam and the sound of footsteps heading up to the door, followed by her aunt calling her name. They had been gone for a long time; it was almost completely dark.
"Hello sweetie," her aunt said from the doorway, "How are you-"
She stopped dead, frowning, "What is it?"
Miriana was very aware that the tears of frustration and anxiety that she had been fighting all day were bubbling up behind her eyes.
"It's Castiel," she whispered, "I think-I think he's in trouble."
Her aunt said nothing, but swept towards the window and sat down next to her on the window seat, pulling her into a hug.
"I wondered how long it would be before you'd end up with him," her aunt said, stroking Miriana's hair, "I could tell how you felt from the first time you spoke about him."
"He's hiding me from angels," Miriana said, her voice thick with tears, "That means they're after him. And I can't help him; I can't fight angels."
"I know sweetheart," Eve soothed.
"What do I do?" she asked desperately.
"You need some sleep," Eve said, cutting off Miriana's protestations, "You need rest." She followed Miriana up the stairs, calming her raw nerves and promising to look through the lore books again, just in case. With a sudden pang of guilt, Miriana realized she hadn't asked how her aunt was doing; she had just been discharged from hospital after all.
"I'm fine," she assured, pushing Miriana towards the bed, "Now sleep. You never know, things might improve in the morning."
She tried to believe what her aunt was saying, tried to let herself be comforted, but it wasn't easy to ignore the unease twisting knots in her stomach. Eve kissed her forehead and tucked the sheets around her like she had done when she was young. She lay in the darkness, tossing and turning beneath the covers. It didn't seem right without the warmth of his body and the shelter of his arms; he may have only stayed with her for two nights, but it felt so natural it was like they had been together for years.
It took her well over forty five minutes to slip into an uncomfortable, uneasy sleep.
He had a head start on them, but Zachariah's angels were still diligently following him all over the earth. He flitted to Australia, in the middle of the arid, desolate outback, then to Russia, to the coldest, most isolated forest he could find, then to a grubby back alley in the middle of New York, but they still followed him. He couldn't stay anywhere long enough to get a message to either Dean or Miriana. He finally stopped in Rio de Janeiro, sheltering in the masses of people that flocked through the narrow, claustrophobic streets. Nobody looked at him twice. He only needed a few short minutes to contact the hunters, just enough time to give them address at which to meet before he carried on his whistle stop tour across the world, trying to throw off his pursuers. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, throwing his mind out to find Miriana.
When Miriana opened her eyes, she wasn't lying in her bed like she had expected. She was stood beside Lake Pleasant at dusk, the sky painted in stripes of mandarin, violet and indigo, a cold breeze knifing through the thin cotton of her t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. Had she been sleepwalking? She was sure the sky had been much darker before she had fallen asleep.
Aware that someone was behind her, she turned to see Castiel, feeling relief flood through her like a tidal wave.
"Oh my God," she said, steeping towards him and throwing her arms around his shoulders, "I thought-I thought you were-"
He pushed her backwards, holding her at arm's length, "I don't have time. You need to listen."
"What? I don't understand, what is-"
He cut her off, "Listen! They might be listening, just meet me here."
He pressed a folded piece of paper into her shaking hands, and then vanished, leaving her stood alone and shivering by the lapping waves of the lake.
She jerked awake in her bed, staring at the stripes of moonlight on the ceiling of her room. She remembered the address perfectly, even though it had been given to her in a dream. 35, Northpoint road, Chicago, Illinois.
