Eleven

Sam called Cass and Brooke one morning, and asked them to meet him in the middle between Lebanon, Kansas and the portal to Heaven. He hadn't said what was the matter, but something clearly was, and they knew that, if he had even mentioned the portal to Heaven, then whatever he had in mind had something to do with it. Cass and Brooke would have met him no matter what, but they were eager to do so, now, from the worry in Sam's tone during the phone call. They drove to the meet-up spot and waited anxiously for his arrival.

Castiel looked up at the approaching vehicle, immediately noting Dean's absence, and worry spiked through him.

"Thanks for coming, guys," Sam said, as he got out the car and approached them.

Castiel nodded. "Of course. Where's Dean?"

Sam took a breath. "This is about Dean."

"Is he…?"

"He's gettin' worse," Sam admitted.

Cass closed his eyes, sighing, and turned away. Brooke did not move from her spot, leaning against the car, her arms folded over her chest. She had nothing to add to this conversation because she knew where it would go, in the end.

"Cass, we've gone through every other option possible," Sam said. "We gotta talk about—

"Don't say it," Castiel growled.

"Do you think I want this?" Sam snapped. "I'm not a fan of it, either! But if we want to get rid of the Mark… Look, I'm just saying Charlie's gone radio silent. Everything else we've tried has been a dead end. So…"

Castiel half-spun, staring out at nothing, and then turned back to Sam. "So, I'll drive," he finished, and got into the car.

###

It took the rest of the day to get to the portal, and Brooke was happy to get out of the car just to stretch her legs. As they made their way to the sandbox, Brooke could see an angel on guard duty, though it was not one she recognized—vessel or Grace.

He stepped up at their approach and said, "That's far enough, Castiel."

Castiel tilted his head, confused and a little offended. "Excuse me?"

"I have orders," the angel explained. "You aren't allowed upstairs."

"Says who?" Sam demanded from behind Cass. Brooke glanced at him, then turned back to the angel on duty.

The angel stared at Sam with a flat expression, and said, "Hold, please."

Then, the portal beside them began to glow as someone came through, formless, boundless, an angel in motion, bright and vast. The angel possessing the man left, and whoever had come down through the portal entered him, now. It was Hannah. It had taken a moment for Brooke figure out why the Grace seemed familiar, but now, as she saw her through this new vessel, she could tell that it was Hannah.

And so could Castiel. He smiled.

She smiled back, through the vessel. "Hello, Castiel. Hello, Brooke."

"Hannah," Castiel said, and Brooke inclined her head, silently.

"I swore I'd never occupy another vessel, but… we need to have this conversation face-to-face."

"What conversation?" Castiel asked, still smiling.

"What do you want in Heaven?"

"Metatron."

"Why?" Hannah hesitated. "Is this about your Grace? Are you fading?"

Brooke flinched at being reminded that her husband was slowly dying.

Castiel laid a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly, and said to Hannah, "I'm fine for now."

"This is about my brother," Sam said, stepping closer.

Hannah stared at him. "Because you think Metatron might have information about the Mark of Cain?"

"No," said Castiel. "We know he does."

"So he says. But Metatron lies."

"Hannah, we just want to talk with him," Sam pleaded.

"No," she replied. "You want his help. But we both know the only way Metatron helps you is if he's free. And I can't let the Scribe out of his cell. Not again. He's too dangerous."

Castiel sighed, shaking his head. "We won't—

"Yes, you will," Hannah interrupted. "Because you're desperate."

"After all I've done for Heaven…" Castiel muttered, bitterly.

Other angels began to approach them all, surrounding them, ushering them to leave.

Castiel glanced around at them and then brought his piercing blue eyes back to Hannah. "After all I've done for you," he spat.

Hannah shook her head, her eyes sad. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," he snarled, anger boiling inside him. This was the only way to help Dean, and now Hannah, of all angels, was standing in his way. Hannah, who had been Castiel's friend. Who had loved him.

Beside him, Brooke felt her anger also rise, in response to her husband's, but she knew that fighting four angels at once would be suicide.

"Guys, let's go," Sam muttered, pulling on both their shoulders.

Castiel stared incredulously at Sam, but allowed himself to be pulled away. "What, we're leaving?" he asked, under his breath.

"Yeah, we can't fight off four angels," Sam replied.

"Sam's right," Brooke said.

Castiel turned to her, then back to Sam. "So—So what? You just want to give up on Metatron?"

"No, we need him. Time for Plan B. We break him out."

Brooke stared at him. "How?" she asked, and then stopped because Castiel had stopped. She turned to look at her husband, two or three steps behind her, and saw the look on his face as he contemplated betraying the other angels, Heaven, Hannah. You've rebelled before, she reminded him. Many times.

He sighed. That doesn't make it any easier. I feel awful for it every time.

Yes, and if you hadn't rebelled the first time, the world would have literally ended. When has any angel, besides you, ever truly cared about doing the right thing?

He closed his eyes, and then nodded, and they hurried after Sam.

###

"So, back in the Fifties, Oliver Pryce was a kid psychic," Sam explained to Castiel and Brooke as they walked down the street. "He performed everywhere. Carnivals, Atlantic City—you name it. He was the real deal. Now, the Men of Letters were teaching him how to control his powers when they got—you know."

"Brutally slaughtered?" Castiel suggested.

"Oh my God, Cass," Brooke said, trying not to laugh. "Tact."

He glanced at her, frowned, and said, "Passed on. When they passed on. Is that better?"

"Guys, focus," Sam interrupted. "The point is, he's one of the good guys. He might be happy to see us."

Castiel slowed his step, looking ahead of them down the road. "Or not," he muttered.

Brooke followed his gaze and counted at least four No Trespassing signs and two Keep Out signs on either of the wrought iron gates barring entrance to his walkway.

Sam made a face, but determinedly walked across the street, anyways. They had to hop the gates to get to the front door. Castiel boosted first Brooke, and then Sam, up on his shoulders to get over, which left him standing on the other side of the gate with no one to help him. Brooke watched him to see what he'd do, then, and he did not disappoint. He held the two bars from the gate between his fists and climbed up, himself. At the top, he swung himself neatly over, using great amounts of core and lower-body strength to clear the spikes at the top of the gate, and then dropped, cat-like, to the ground. He turned, rubbing his hands a little, and caught Brooke staring at him, open-mouthed. "W-What?"

Brooke smiled and looked away. "Nothin'," she said. "Just, uh… enjoying watching my husband casually show off…" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her gaze traveling down to his abdomen, imagining a nice set of abs where his shirt was. She brought her eyes back up to his face to find that he had one of those smiles on his faces where only the very corners of his mouth were lifted, and his eyes twinkled.

"Guys," Sam complained, "can we please just…" And he moved off to the front porch.

Brooke snorted and moved to follow him, but Castiel gripped her arm and spun her into him, capturing her mouth with his own for just a second or two, kissing her hard. Then he released her and followed after Sam, as if nothing had happened.

Brooke blinked a few times, a little dazed, and smiled dreamily as she walked up the porch steps. Sam had already called for Mr. Pryce once, and now he banged on the door as she came to stand beside Castiel. "Oliver Pryce!" he yelled. There was no response.

Impatient, and a little testosterone-driven from his earlier feat of strength and the subsequent kiss, Castiel said, "I'll break it down."

Sam flung out a hand in front of his chest. "Dude, dude, dude," he admonished. "Chill."

"What…" Castiel stared at Sam, offended. "I'm helping."

Brooke rolled her eyes upwards, only half-succeeding in not laughing.

"Just follow my lead," Sam muttered, knocking on the door again.

The porch light suddenly flicked on.

"Mr. Pryce?" Sam yelled again. "This is Sam—

The door opened. "Winchester," Oliver Pryce finished. "You're Sam Winchester, Man of Letters." He was bald, with a grey beard and glasses.

Sam glanced at Cass and Brooke and then shuffled awkwardly and looked back at Oliver. "Yeah, h-how did you, uh—

"Mind reader, remember," Oliver replied. He turned to Castiel. "And you're…"

Castiel waited.

Oliver stared at him as if he were a bug he'd found under his shoe. "What are you?"

Castiel hesitated, glancing around, and then replied, "I'm an angel."

Oliver shook his head, his mouth moving, though no words came out. Finally, he said, "That… No, you can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm an atheist."

"Not anymore," Sam broke in, smiling, and stepping past Oliver into the house.

Brooke snorted, pressing her face into Castiel's shoulder, but she couldn't hold in her laughter.

"And what are you?" he suddenly demanded of her.

She looked up at the old man. "What, you can't read my thoughts, either?"

He squinted at her. "I can, but they're all… fuzzy. Like there's interference."

"That's my fault, I'm sure," Castiel said, and stepped past Oliver before he could say anything. Brooke followed him. He came to stop in front of an old poster of Oliver as a child, the name Pryce spelled out beneath the portrait of a young boy. "That's you?" he asked, as Oliver came to stand beside him.

The old man scoffed. "Was me. I don't do the psychic stuff no more. Bein' around people, it's kind of… hell."

Cass turned to look at him.

"All those brains yapping all the time drives a guy bananas," Oliver said.

"Because you can hear everyone's thoughts," Castiel offered.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Brooke said, grinning.

"Well, not yours," Oliver told the angel. "All I'm gettin' from you is… colors. But the hippie over here?" He turned to Sam. "I'm seein' some creep-ass Hobbit-lookin' fella… a prison cell?"

Brooke had to actively try not to laugh again. Creep-ass Hobbit-lookin' fella, she repeated, silently. I like this guy.

"The prison cell is Heaven's jail," Castiel explained.

Oliver stared at him. "Heaven's got a freakin' jail?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "Yeah it does. And we're lookin' to break someone out of it."

Oliver stared at Sam now, and then blinked. "O-kay," he said, slowly.

"We have an inside man, but we need your help to talk to him," Castiel explained.

The old man turned to him. "And if I say no?"

But it was Sam who answered that. "You're the mind-reader," he said, and stared down at him.

Whatever he was thinking of doing to Oliver if he did not help seemed to do the trick. "I'll get my crap," the psychic muttered, and shuffled quickly away.

###

Brooke settled on Castiel's left, Sam on his right, around the table set up for the séance. The light in the room came from a set of five candles in the center of the table, and a dimmed chandelier overhead. There was a red tablecloth over the table, and it had a golden ring of Zodiac symbols in the center, surrounding the candles. Despite herself, Brooke could not help the chill that ran down her spine at the thought of doing an actual séance. The problem one most often ran into was that spirts could lie about who they were, so it was sometimes difficult to tell who you were actually speaking to, if anyone from the other side deigned to show up.

"You got anything that belonged to the deceased?" Oliver asked.

"Yes," Sam said, pulling up the big leather bag he'd been carrying. "Right here." He pulled out one of Bobby's old baseball hats and placed it reverentially on the table, as if it might crumble into dust if he wasn't careful.

Even seeing the hat brought tears to Brooke's eyes, but she blinked them away.

Castiel brushed her mind, sympathetically, and she offered him a small smile.

"Good," said Oliver, glancing at the hat. "Now, shut up and hold hands."

Everyone held hands, and he began to speak the incantation. Almost immediately, the chandelier began to flicker, and as Oliver continued the incantation, the table began to shake. He ceased speaking, and the candles in the center of the table flared up, big and bright. "Speak," said Oliver, gazing at the three of them.

Sam cleared his throat. "Bobby? Bobby, can you hear me?" Nothing. "Bobby, we need your help."

Suddenly, from nowhere, came Bobby's voice. "Sam?"

Brooke closed her eyes, feeling tears on her eyelashes, and smiled. "Hey, Bobby," she said, her voice thick.

"Brooke, is that you, girl?" Bobby's voice came through again.

"Yeah," she said. "Cass is here, too."

Castiel squeezed her hand as she struggled with her emotions.

"Is Dean there?" Bobby asked.

The three of them glanced at each other, and then Sam began the process of explaining what was going on with Dean and the Mark of Cain. After a few minutes of explaining everything as succinctly as possible, Sam stopped speaking. There was only silence for a moment. "Bobby, you still there?" Sam asked, fear in his eyes.

"Yeah, Sam," Bobby said. He sounded tired. "It's just… real good to hear your voice."

Sam smiled, glancing up at Brooke, and nodded. "Yeah, you too," he said.

Bobby sighed. "Okay, if, uh, I'm understanding right, you've gotta figure out a way to get the Mark of Cain off Dean before it turns him back into a demon?"

"Pretty much, yeah," said Sam.

"So, just another day at the office for you boys, huh?"

Sam laughed.

"Okay, so… What's the play?"

Castiel spoke up, then. "Each soul in Heaven is locked in its own private paradise—that's where you are now. You need to escape. You need to find the Gate to Earth and open it. Then, you and I will find Metatron, the Scribe of God."

"Hey, Sam," Bobby said, "you remember when this job was just choppin' up some fang and tossin' back a cold one?"

Sam chuckled, smiling a little sadly. "I miss that."

"Ditto," Bobby said. He sighed. "So, while I'm playing Steve McQueen, anyone gonna be lookin' for me?"

Castiel shook his head slowly. "Everyone," he admitted. "The angels will not like a soul wandering free."

"We got a way to slow 'em down?"

Castiel lowered his head.

"Not exactly," Sam said. "But you'll—you'll figure somethin' out, Bobby. You always do."

Bobby scoffed. "Listen, I appreciate the warm fuzzy, but I ain't exactly playin' on the big leagues these days. I'm mostly drinkin' and readin' the classics. Truth is… I'm rusty. And maybe there's somebody better out there."

Brooke spoke up, then. "Now, you listen to me, Bobby," she said. "You're not just the best we've got. You're the best there is. And if you can't see that, if you don't already know it… I dunno what to tell you." She looked at Castiel as she said it; she'd had a lot of practice instilling confidence into people who were better than they gave themselves credit for, and Castiel was chief among them.

"Still a little spit-fire, I see," he responded, and his voice was a little fiercer. A little more like Bobby. "Well, hell, I'm already dead. What's the worst that could happen."

Brooke grinned. "There's the Bobby I know."

He sighed. "So, where do we start?"

"You need to find your Heaven's escape hatch," Castiel explained. "Look for something that shouldn't be there. And that's your way out."

"And if I find a way out, then what?"

"The Gate is behind door number forty-two. Open it."

"Right," said Bobby. "Well… I best get to it, then."

###

"You sure Bobby can handle this?" Castiel asked Sam later, back in the car near the playground.

Sam scoffed. "He's Bobby. He can handle anything."

"That's right," Brooke spoke up.

A few minutes of sitting in the dark later, a light could be seen emanating from the portal.

"Go, go!" Sam yelled. Brooke watched in anticipation, from the backseat, as Castiel and the Winchester launched out of the car. She catapulted herself over the front seat and scrambled out of the car through one of the open doors, hiding herself in the bushes to watch again as Sam took down the angel on guard. But really, she was watching her husband. He ran flat out, his trench coat fanned out behind him like a cape, and launched himself through the portal, disappearing into the light.

Brooke stayed there, crouched in the bushes, but prepared to leap out at any time if it looked like Sam was going to need some help. Minutes passed and Brooke shifted a little in the bushes, readjusting herself to get more comfortable. A few minutes after this, the sandbox lit up again. Brooke finally stood up and stepped out of the bushes as Castiel appeared, holding a handcuffed Metatron by the arm.

The Scribe noticed Sam first, and smiled. "Sam-tastic," he said, and then turned to Brooke. "Whore. Good to see you, too."

"If you call my wife a whore again, I will beat you to a pulp," Castiel growled, yanking on his arm. He maneuvered them both out of the sandbox.

Metatron took a deep breath, seemingly unaffected by the threat Cass had just given him. "Smell that? That smells like freedom." He smiled around at them all. "Well, let's go. I call shotgun." He started to walk off, towards the car.

"You don't get to make demands, Metatron," Castiel said, holding him back. He slammed him up against one of the pieces of jungle gym equipment, getting in his face. "You're not in charge here."

Metatron looked terrified, but smiled his little rat-like smile. "Oh, I'm afraid I am," he said, in a sing-song voice. "I know about the Mark, I have your Grace, I make the rules." He chuckled. "It's called leverage, boys and girl. Learn it, live it, love it."

But Castiel was smiling. And so were Brooke and Sam. He turned to them, and Sam nodded. Castiel faced Metatron again, sliding his angel blade from his coat sleeve. He yanked the Scribe's head back and made a small cut in his neck. Metatron's Grace gleamed silver-blue in the darkness, and Brooke stared at it, fascinated. Castiel popped open an empty vial and held it to the Scribe's throat, and she felt him coax the Grace into the vial. He closed it, put it in his pocket, and healed the wound on the now human Metatron's throat.

Sam shot Metatron in the leg with zero warning, the shot very loud in the darkness, though there was no one around to hear it. He'd murdered the guard on duty.

The Scribe fell over, crying out in pain, and then sat up enough to look at his wound, fingers hovering over the blood pouring out of his pant-leg.

Castiel was still smiling as he leaned down over him. "We have your Grace, Metatron," he said. "You're mortal now. So, you will answer our questions, or Sam will, um… What's the phrase?" He squinted, pretending to think, and then leaned down over Metatron. "Blow your fuckin' brains out."

Brooke stared at Castiel.

"It's called leverage, Metatron," he said.

Sam smiled down at the Scribe. "Learn it, live it, love it."

"Did you just say fuck?" Brooke asked. Outside of the bedroom, I mean? "I think I've been a bad influence on you."

Castiel watched her as she approached him.

"Say it again," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He stared down at her, eyes flaring, hovering over her mouth. "Fuck."

She kissed him.

Sam, who seemed to have accepted the burden of having to deal with two horny people for the night, was unaffected. "How do we get rid of the Mark?" he asked Metatron.

The Scribe, by this time, was a blubbering mess of pain and tears. "I—I don't know," he sobbed.

Sam aimed the gun at him.

"I don't know!" Metatron screamed, putting his hands fearfully in front of him. "No, i-it's old magic—God-level magic. Or Lucifer level, but you can't ask him, exactly, can you?" He grabbed at his leg again.

"What about the tablets?" Castiel asked.

"No, th-there's… there's nothing in them about the Mark."

Sam stared down at Metatron. "So, when you said the river ends at the source, that was—

"I was just making up crap," Metatron wailed. "Trying to buy time 'til I could screw you over."

Sam shook his head, smiling in disbelief. "No."

"What? It worked before!"

Castiel sighed heavily, staring at the Scribe. Then, he turned to Sam. "He's telling the truth."

"What?" Sam snapped.

"Shoot him."

Sam turned, cocking the gun.

"No, no!" Metatron screamed. "No. Your Grace!" He was looking at Castiel. "I wasn't lying about that. There's still some left."

A surge of hope made Brooke's skin flush.

"I'll take you to it," the Scribe said.

Castiel stared down at him.

Sam glanced at Cass, still aiming the gun at Metatron. "It's your call, Cass," he muttered.

"No," said Brooke, stepping forward. "It's mine. Metatron will take us to Cass' Grace." She stared down at the rat, hovering over his wound on the ground, and then spun to face her husband. "Don't fight me on this," she growled.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then nodded and moved past her to yank Metatron to his feet and drag him to the car. Ignoring the Scribe's cries and groans of pain, he shoved him bodily into the back seat, slamming the door shut.

Sam, was moving off towards his own car, but Castiel called to him, and he stopped and turned.

He pulled something from his coat pocket, a folded piece of paper, and handed it to the Winchester. "Bobby asked me to give you this."

Sam took it, reverentially, and nodded to Castiel. He said nothing as he walked away.

Castiel took a breath, and turned to Brooke. "He had one for you, too," the angel murmured, and pulled a second sheet of folded paper from his coat.

She took it in shaking fingers and nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

Castiel pulled her into a hug for a moment, but there was no time for real comfort then, because Metatron was in the back seat of the car, and Castiel's Grace was waiting somewhere out there.

They got into the car, and after she put on her seatbelt, Brooke ignored Metatron's wails and opened the paper. Inside was a note:

Brooke,

I didn't know you as long as I knew the boys, but you became just as important to me as they are. You told me once you considered me to be the closest thing you had to a father, and I want you to know that you're like a daughter to me. I guess that means Cass is my son-in-law. Ain't that weird? You two keep each other safe.

Bobby.

Brooke closed her eyes, tears slowly trailing down her face, and handed the note to Castiel. He took it and read it, and turned to her, touching her face as he handed it back.

She folded the note and placed it into her coat pocket.

Castiel started the car, and they drove as Metatron continued to wail in the backseat.