AN: Hello! Sorry it's been so long. Life...Stress...Blah, blah, blah, 2020. I haven't watched the SPN finale. From what I've heard about it, I like my version better, anyway. I'm not thrilled with this chapter, but I wanted to at least get things moving again. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 17

Castiel was not a happy angel.

He should have been, given that Lucifer was gone. Another Apocalypse had been averted and the world was once again safe from supernatural destruction.

Except…It wasn't that simple. It never was.

He was happy to see many of his resurrected brothers and sisters: They began working together immediately to ensure that every soul was put back where it was supposed to be, which was no small task. There were a few angels that just had to make things difficult—some of them had actually been killed by Castiel in the past—and he wished they'd stayed in the Empty. They bickered about chains of command; what sort of presence was needed to clean up on Earth; even suggested invading Hell while the demons were weak and distracted. Some saw the Nephilim as a threat, despite the fact that she'd just resurrected them, and wondered aloud about wiping her off the playing field. Cas advised them that there was still a vacant spot in the Empty for each of them if they didn't like the way he was running things.

And Cas was running things. He hadn't meant to—it just sort of happened, and everyone had gone along with it. Gabriel had vanished almost immediately after the battle, convinced he'd done his part and paid his dues, and anxious to avoid the impending family reunion. As the last surviving archangel (that wasn't insane and locked in the Cage, at least), Gabriel should have been in charge: Without him, a power vacuum opened up, and Cas was sucked up in it.

He was exhausted, his Grace almost completely drained. His clothes were covered in blood, much of it belonging to Ash or demons he'd killed. He stank of sulfur and blood and an acrid smell that reminded him of freshly dead bodies. He should be resting in the bunker; giving himself time to restore his Grace; but here he was, trying to sort fifty-four John Smiths into their proper Heavens.

Then there was the hellhound.

No one knew how it had gotten in, and no one really knew how to get it out, either. It had started out on an angry rampage, tearing through Naomi's filing system before breaking into the Heaven of a fifteen-year-old boy whose Make-a-Wish program had sent him to space camp.

The hellhound had not enjoyed space camp.

Three angels chased the thing in and out of multiple Heavens until it happened to collide with Castiel, who was busy trying to recruit more angels to catch it. He thought it was going to rip his arm off, and he knew he didn't have the strength to smite it. Bracing himself for the attack, he was surprised when the thing started licking his face.

It recognized him from when he'd worked with Crowley.

Hooray.

Now it was following him like a pet, its tongue lolling out of its jaws between elongated fangs, a dopey puppy smile plastered on a face that made demons run for cover. If Cas ignored it for too long, it would nudge his hand and he would pat its head, cringing at the feel of hot, sticky skin under sparse, coarse fur. It was like petting a burn victim that was still on fire. One of his sisters had offered to stab the beast, but he couldn't bring himself to let her do it. Yes, it was a hideous creature from Hell stuck in Heaven; but hadn't there been enough death today? It's not like it was hurting anybody at the moment.

"Castiel!"

An angel dressed in the traditional battle-white of a soldier approached and saluted him, eyeing the hellhound as he did. The beast growled at him, and Castiel put a hand on its back.

"Ramiel. You don't have to salute me. I'm not your commander."

"Yes sir," Ramiel said, firing off another salute. "News from below, sir. A hydra has been spotted in Egypt. Looks like the demons tried to handle it, but it's too much for them. Would you like me to assemble a team to take care of it?"

Cas blinked. He swayed on his feet, using the hellhound as support. "…Yes. Sure." He was trying to remember what a hydra was. A red octopus…No, that was something else. Some pop culture reference. If only he could rest for a while…But there was so much work to do still. And he still had to go to Hell to give their dog back.

"Are you alright, Castiel? Maybe you should sit down."

"I'm…Yes, that's a good idea."

Ramiel gave him one more worried look, saluted, and headed off to recruit a team of hydra hunters. Castiel leaned against the hellhound, which licked his hand.

"Let's find a spot to sit for a minute, buddy," Cas said to it. He started down a hall that would lead back to the central meeting area, which had more than enough seating for his needs.

He was almost there when the hound went nuts. Its whole body started to shake, and it yelped excitedly, though the sound that came out of it was more reminiscent of something being murdered. It ran around a corner and the angel ran after it.

"No! Bad hellhound! We do not eat celestial beings!" he shouted, but he was too late. It had already knocked an angel to the ground—no doubt weakened from fighting Lucifer—and was tearing at its face. The angel screamed—

No. The angel laughed. As Castiel caught up, he realized the hellhound was licking her, not eating her. How many angels had Crowley been in cahoots with?

"Okay! Okay! Off!" the angel said, her voice muffled as the beast slobbered all over her. "Iago, off!"

She was finally able to shove the hellhound back and get to her feet. She wiped her face with her sleeve, removing thick, sticky, sulfurous saliva. "Ugh." The angel cast a disapproving look at Iago, then glanced up at Castiel and smiled. "Castiel. It's been too long."

Castiel's jaw worked up and down, trying to think of something to say. He recognized the angel in front of him, but it had been, as she said, too long since he'd seen her.

"I can take care of this guy for you," she continued, patting the dog's head. "If you wouldn't mind showing me the exit…?"

He cleared his throat, coughing up a few drops of blood. "Ah. Yes. Thank you. This way." He led angel and hellhound back down the corridor, and they fell into step beside him. After a few moments' silence, he said: "I can take you to the Winchesters, if you'd like. Preferably without the hellhound."

She smiled. "Thank you. That would be fantastic."

Dean woke with a start and immediately flipped onto his side to check the hospital cot they'd wheeled into his room three days ago. And for the first time in three days, he saw Ash move.

He sat up and kicked his blanket off, accidentally knocking an empty bottle of Jim Beam onto the floor. It hit with a 'clunk' but didn't break, and rolled under the bed. Ash shifted in the cot and opened her eyes.

Her face lit up when she saw him: She tried to sit up, but her arms didn't want to support her. She tried to say his name, but her throat was too dry, and all she managed was a hoarse cough.

Dean took the few steps to the cot and looked for a part of her he could touch without hurting her. The Enochian symbols Gabriel had carved into her skin were slow to heal, and she was bandaged pretty much head to toe. All he could do right now was pat her head. "Alright, take it easy, babe. You've been out for three days; you're not exactly in great shape."

Ash sank back, giving up on trying to move. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her: It looked like "you're alive."

"Yeah, I'm alive," Dean chuckled. "Me and a crap-ton of angels, too. You did it, kid. Heaven's back where it's supposed to be; Hell's…More or less where it's supposed to be."

Her lips moved again, and her voice came out as little more than a squeak. Dean had no doubt about the word she was trying to say: "Crowley."

Of course she would ask about him right away. He'd been hoping she wouldn't. "Uh…No one's seen him. Or your mom. Uh…Merida."

"Marian," Ash squeaked.

"Marian. Right." Dean cleared his throat. "Sam's already back in the game. There's a bunch of stuff that came out of Hell that the demons are too chicken-shit to deal with, so it's up to us, again. He's gone to Oregon to help some local hunters with a basilisk."

Ash coughed and swallowed, clearing her throat a bit. "You didn't go with him?"

"Nah. Someone had to stay here and hold down the fort. I've had to do Sammy's job, looking through all the old lore books, to find a way to take down this stuff. And I had no idea when you'd wake up." He sat down at her side and gently peeled back a bandage from her arm. She was almost entirely wrapped in bandages, like an old B-movie mummy. "Looks like you're finally starting to heal. How do you feel?"

She shrugged, wincing when the movement pulled on the wounds on her back. "Tired. Hurt."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. Cas should be back any day now—he had to go to Heaven to help sort stuff out. He might be able to heal you."

Unlikely, she thought. Cuts made with angel blades seemed to require healing the old-fashioned way, at least for her.

"I can probably take these off now," Dean continued, peeling the bandaging back more, "Since you aren't bleeding anymore."

Ash nodded. He helped her sit up, and carefully began to unwrap her. "Who—" she started to say, but her throat felt dry and tight, and she coughed hard. "Who's still…Uh, did any of the other hunters…?"

"They're okay," Dean said. "Jody, Donna, and the girls have gone back to Sioux Falls. Garth went to help some hunters in Georgia take care of a—Well, we're calling it a 'cockatrice', but all we know for sure is it came out of Hell and it needs to go back. Eileen's gone to stay with her sister; she had a pretty bad concussion, and Sam convinced her to take a break from hunting until she feels better. We offered to let her stay here, but…" He shrugged. "I dunno. I guess she missed her family. Charlie's here, but she probably won't stay for long. She's sort of possibly seeing this hunter not too far from here, and they might go after these dark shadow-creatures that've started popping up in Arizona."

Ash watched a growing pile of blood-stained gauze fall onto the sheets. She wheezed, coughed, and felt a large chunk of phlegm dislodge from her throat. "So—" she began, stopping to cough down more of the nasty throat-crud. "So you're alive, and Lucifer is dead. Heaven and Hell are…Where they're supposed to be?"

"Well, more or less. Aside from the stuff we're having to clean up."

Someone knocked on the door, and Dean nearly jumped out of his seat. "Come in, Charlie."

The door swung open. Dean turned and was surprised to see a different face.

"Hello, Dean. Ash. Good to see you awake."

"Cas! I didn't think you were coming back for a while."

"I can't stay, unfortunately. I had an old friend that needed to find you." Castiel stepped aside, and a second person stepped through the doorway.

Dean blinked and scrunched his eyes. He looked at Ash, who was covered head to toe in Enochian scarring, then back to the newcomer. It was Ash again, but without the scarring. Was it a shape-shifter? He reached for his knife as the figure approached.

"Hello, Dean," the woman said. She sounded…Almost identical to Ash, but not quite. "Ash," she greeted, nodding her head.

Now that she was closer, he could see subtle differences. Her hair was long like Ash's but lighter in color. She was a few inches taller, and she wasn't quite as muscular, though she was still in good shape. Her chest was a little fuller, but that might have just been because she was standing so straight. They had the same eyes, though, and the same facial structure: There was no way they weren't related. But…Ash would have mentioned if she had a powerful Nephilim sister, right?

Still half-covered in bandages, Ash struggled to get out from under her blanket and stand up. Dean gave her a steadying hand, and when she couldn't manage to support herself on her own legs, he caught her and helped her sit back down.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"That's my mom," Ash said. "That's—"

"Marian," a voice said from behind her.

All heads turned at once to take in the intruder. He leaned casually against the wall, a playful smile on his face. As they turned to face him, he shoved his hands into his suit pockets and stepped toward the group.

"Miss me?"

"Crowley!" Ash shouted happily. Again, she struggled to get up, avoiding Dean's 'help' and nearly falling off the cot. It was like watching a dog that hadn't seen its owner in years, only the dog didn't have the use of its legs anymore but was still determined to go to them. Crowley blinked to her, catching her and setting her back on the mattress. Dean's muscle memory kicked in, and he automatically looked for his angel blade (on his nightstand, just out of reach), then realized it would be in poor taste to kill the demon Ash had just worked so hard to bring back to life. He settled for a half-hearted glare, which Crowley ignored.

Ash couldn't believe it. She'd wanted this so badly, had tried to resurrect him with everything she had in her, and she'd thought she'd failed. But Crowley was alive! He was here! And she'd brought back Marian, just like he'd wanted! It was all a bit much for her in the moment, and she felt her eyes filling with tears. She blinked them away furiously, but she was weak and tired, and it was hard not to be emotional. Before she realized what she was doing, she'd thrown her arms around the demon and buried her face in his chest.

Cas's eyebrows shot up. He'd never seen anyone hug a demon, much less Crowley. He couldn't read Crowley's expression, but he certainly seemed thrown off by the gesture, his usual collected façade cracking. Cas glanced at Marian: The angel was hiding a smile behind her hand, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Crowley made eye contact with her and she turned away, taking a sudden interest in the piles of books on Dean's dresser.

Dean calculated, in his head, how many seconds it would take to grab his angel blade.

After a moment, Crowley gave Ash a sort of half-hug back, putting his arm around her shoulders and using his free hand to pat her head. When Ash realized what she'd done, she let go of him like she'd been shocked. She tried to pull away from him, but he still had his arm around her, so she couldn't get very far. Her face turned bright pink and she refused to look directly at anyone. Crowley kept his grip on her, as if she hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

"I like the new look," he said, addressing Marian. "I didn't think they'd give your wings back. Or your Grace."

Marian shrugged and flexed her wings. Iridescent black feathers glistened in the dim bunker lighting. "I believe I have Ash to thank for that." Her eyes narrowed. "I ought to smite you while I have the chance…"

Crowley didn't appear concerned by the threat. "Well alright, but not in front of the kid. She's so impressionable."

Marian's eyes glowed with Grace. "Why shouldn't I kill you, after what you did—"

The demon laughed. "What I did? Did you lose your memory in the Empty?"

"Hold on," Ash cut in. "I thought you liked him."

Her eyes dimmed as she focused on her daughter. "What? I—He—You don't know what he did! He had an entire town possessed—all of my family, my friends—"

Crowley made a face. "Are you still hung up on that? What about literally everything else that happened?"

Ash looked hopefully from one to the other. She'd waited her entire life to learn about her mother. "What happened?"

Marian glared at Crowley for a moment, then turned her attention back to Ash. She stepped toward her, stopping just in front of her, and held her hand out toward her forehead. "I'll show you."

"Hold on!" Crowley snapped, grabbing Marian's wrist to stop her. The intensity of the resulting glare frightened Ash, but Crowley stood his ground. "You're a bit biased, don't you think? I should show her."

Marian removed her wrist from his grip. "…Fine. You tell your story, I'll tell mine. Just try not to fry her brain, will you?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

They both touched her forehead, and Ash's world went dark.