Thirty-two
"Hello, boys," Rowena's purred, her voice coming from Dean's phone which was sitting on a table in the bunker, on speakerphone. "I'm very sure I've done nothing that you know of to make you want to call, but how lovely to hear from you."
"Rowena," Sam began, "that's—that's not… We, um…"
Brooke's brows drew together as stared down at the phone. Wherever Rowena was, there was piano music playing.
"You'll have to speak up."
"We need your help," Dean said, loudly.
"Reeeeeeally?" Rowena asked, sounding pleased.
Castiel bent down from where he was standing with Brooke at the head of the table. "We must assemble our most powerful allies to rescue our family and confront the Archangel, Michael."
Brooke glanced at her husband with an amused smile. Straight to business, as usual.
"Now, he's in alternate universe," Castiel continued. "So—
"Oh!" Rowena exclaimed. "The handsome angel is there, isn't he? Hello, Tweetie Pie."
Castiel blinked several times, and though he did not blush, he was feeling sufficiently shy. "Um, hello," he said, quickly, and glanced at Brooke. Suddenly his bashfulness was replaced by nervousness.
Brooke reached down and slipped her hand into his. Rowena's a flirt, just like me. Her calling you handsome isn't about to cause an argument, Cass. Besides, you are handsome.
Castiel smiled, looking at the floor, and squeezed her hand. Since essentially renewing his vows with her the day before, he had been even closer to her than usual, and she hadn't realized that this was possible, though she was not complaining. Still, she didn't want him to worry that some harmless flirting with someone like Rowena was going to cause any harm.
"Brooke is there too, I assume?" Rowena said.
"I'm here," Brooke affirmed.
"Oh, good. Give your husband a kiss for me, would you, darlin'?"
Brooke grinned.
"Now, lads and lass, I'd love to help, after what you—Sam—did for me, but I'm in the damp Pacific Northwest right now, working on my own little project."
"Project," Dean repeated.
"What project?" Sam asked.
"Oh, nothing for you to worry about. Just checking a few items off my little to-do list."
"Sure, that didn't sound ominous," Dean muttered.
Sam squinted down at the phone. "Rowena, are you at a… party, or something?"
"I am! But I'm surprised you recognize the sounds of a party, seeing as you're all work and no play."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, we didn't call to talk. We… The world is in danger, Rowena."
"And I'm currently surrounded by art that makes me think the world should be in danger. Best of luck to you, boys, my three little musketeers. And the angel tamer, of course." She made a kissing noise into the phone and hung up.
Dean sat back in his chair. "Damn it."
Castiel sighed, his mind flitting from one course of action to the next now that Rowena had refused, and then it stilled on a thought. "You know, she's right. You never go to parties."
Brooke stared at him. "Wh—… That's what you got from that conversation?" She sighed in amusement and rested a hand on his cheek. "Oh, Castiel. Never change."
He reached up and captured her hand, kissing her palm. We should go to a party, he thought, suddenly. After we rescue Jack and Mary, of course.
You wanna go to a party? Brooke asked, surprised.
He shrugged. Why not?
She blinked. Are you sure you're not trying to overcompensate for… our conversation last night?
I'm not, he said. I'm just realizing that there are so many things I haven't yet gotten to experience with you, even after all these years.
Hunters aren't much for parties, Cass, she told him.
He frowned.
"Guys, focus!" Dean said, snapping them out of their conversation. "Ideas! We need ideas!"
…
"I'm gonna get some coffee. Anyone want some coffee?" Dean said, a few minutes later. Brooke could see that he was slowly going insane, trying to think of some way to bring Jack and Mary home.
Castiel took a step toward him, to follow him into the kitchen, and immediately stopped.
Brooke sighed. You can still be friends with him, Cass. You can be alone in a room with Dean. I've always trusted you with that.
Come with me, he replied, softly, and held out a hand to her.
Cass, I don't need to chaperone you and Dean. Go be with your friend. I don't want this to be weird.
I want you to come with me, he insisted, staring into her eyes. I… I want to be with my wife.
Brooke prodded gently at his mind, testing for uncomfortable emotions. She did feel a bit of guilt coming from him, guilt that he had taken her for granted for so many years, and sorrow that their lives had not been happier. Now he simply wanted to be near her, to drink her in and bask in her love, and show love for her in return. She actually blushed at the amount of adoration that was coming from him in that moment. Sighing quietly, she took his hand and he led her into the kitchen.
"You know what," Dean said to them as he poured himself some coffee. "Forget Rowena. There's gotta be some other way that we can track down Gabriel and hijack his Grace."
"Even though he could be any place on Earth?" Castiel asked.
"Yes."
"Or, technically, anywhere in the entire Universe," Cass corrected himself.
"Okay, Mr. Grumpy," Brooke said, giving him a look. "Happy thoughts." I'm gonna get whiplash, going back and forth between you wanting to take me to parties and then talking about how impossible it'll be to find Gabriel.
"Sorry," he said.
"Brooke is right," Dean said.
Brooke stared at him. "I am?" she said, flatly, surprised that he was agreeing with her.
"Yeah. We won't get anywhere if we're only thinking bad thoughts. Now, come on. Ideas, come on. Here we go." He rubbed his hands together, bowed his head, and rolled his shoulders.
Brooke half-expected him to call for a group huddle, like before a football match.
He looked up. "Brooke, didn't you Vulcan mind-meld to Gabriel yesterday? Can you… use that?"
She sighed. "No, he wiped it before he left. And even if he hadn't, I don't think it would work. Even with Cass, I can't sense him once he goes beyond a certain distance, and I don't think Gabriel's hiding out anywhere near us."
Dean sighed and bowed his head again, then he took a sip of coffee.
Castiel gave in and closed his own eyes, trying to think.
Brooke, too, tried to think of something useful. They didn't know any other witches who would be willing to help them. Crowley was dead. Bobby was long dead—the thought still pained her.
"I need a real drink," Dean said, and Brooke opened her eyes to see him staring down into his coffee mug. "I'm gonna get a beer. You want a beer?" He looked up at them.
"No," Castiel said.
"Yes," said Brooke.
"I'll get beer," Dean said.
He had just closed the refrigerator door when Castiel said, "The angels."
"No," Brooke said.
"What?" Dean asked, turning around.
Castiel pursed his lips, glancing at Brooke. "Maybe Heaven could help us."
Dean slid a beer to both Castiel and Brooke, despite the fact that Cass had told him he didn't want beer. "Uhh, not for nothing, but don't the angels mostly wanna kill you?"
"Yes," Castiel said, and then laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. This would be something of a Hail Mary."
"Hmm," Dean said, raising his eyebrows and taking a swig of beer.
"It's a sports term," Castiel explained, taking Dean's face as an expression of confusion. "Like slam dunk, or, uh… ball handler."
Brooke snorted, trying not to full-on laugh. "I'm pretty sure Dean knows what a Hail Mary is," she said.
Castiel glanced at her.
Dean was shaking his head. "That's, uh… I don't think it's a good idea."
"Well, Dean, we don't have any good ideas," Castiel snapped.
"Okay, let's just—let's not barrel through with that like, uh, you know, like the Donatello thing."
Oh, that's what this is about, Brooke thought, and stepped back a little to give the two of them room to argue.
"We had our disagreement, but we got results."
"That didn't make it okay," Dean said, shaking his head.
"I hear your concerns. And yes, the angels, they loathe me, and there's going to be dangers, but Heaven doesn't want the world to end any more than we do. This is—this is something that I have to try."
"Uh-huh," Dean said, and looked at Brooke. "And how do you feel about it?"
"Oh, you know me," she replied, with a tight smile. "I support my husband's decisions one-hundred-percent." She was only half-joking.
Castiel turned to her, but just then, Sam walked through the door, dropping a tablet onto the table. "We got a problem," he said.
"Another one?" Dean asked. "Awesome."
Sam explained. "All the stuff Rowena said on the phone—uh, Pacific Northwest, art gallery, party—I think I found her."
Dean studied the news article on the tablet. "A rich lady exploded?" he asked, looking up at Sam.
"What?" Brooke said, picking up the tablet to read it, with Castiel looking over her shoulder.
"Yeah," Sam said. "Local cops are calling it spontaneous combustion, but… pretty much."
"Well, that does sound like Rowena," Castiel muttered.
"I knew it," Dean said, shaking his head. "I fuckin' knew it." He stared at his brother. "You gave her that page! What'd you think was gonna happen, huh?"
The boys began to argue and Brooke stopped paying attention. The next thing she heard him say was:
"Cass, you wanna try this angel thing, then go for it."
She and Cass looked up from the tablet in surprise.
Dean stared at Castiel, then at Brooke. "Just don't get dead again. Either of you."
Castiel and Brooke glanced at each other.
###
Brooke once again reveled in the feeling of Castiel inside her body, possessing her—although he was giving her control of herself so that they could drive to the sandbox in the playground that contained the portal to Heaven. "I wonder what it would feel like for me to be inside your body," she mused, glancing down at her hands on the steering wheel and trying to picture his hands instead.
Why? he asked, inside her head.
"Dunno," she said. "Somehow I feel like it would be different. Guess I'd finally know what it felt like to have a dick, for one."
He was amused by this. It feels annoying, mostly. I'm just glad I can control the blood flow in my body or I'd be in trouble a lot.
She stared down at her hands again. "You just have really beautiful hands. Long fingers."
Yes, I'm aware of what you think of my hands.
"Great body, too. You're very tall."
He said nothing.
"Pretty eyes… Tall, dark, and handsome."
Inside her mind, he smiled in amusement again.
"What?" she said, teasingly. "I just think it would be super badass to be you for a day."
Well, you're me right now, aren't you?
"Eh, it's different. I don't look as cool as you."
Oh, I see, he said, following along, jokingly.
"Plus, I love your voice."
Mm-hmm, he said. Perhaps you just want to pretend you're Batman.
"Yes, that's it!" she replied, and laughed.
###
The playground was eerily silent and seemed to be devoid of life—angel or otherwise. No one was guarding the portal. This was not a good sign.
"Hello?" Castiel called out, causing Brooke's natural voice to lower several octaves.
"Shhh!" someone admonished, from somewhere above them.
Castiel turned and stared up into the jungle gym to his left, wherein sat an angel clutching a brown-bagged bottle of alcohol. The angel slowly crawled out from inside of it and stood up with a groan.
"Indra?" Castiel asked.
"Castiel," the angel said, in a tone of voice that suggested he was not happy to see him. This did not surprise Castiel. "Nice blade."
Castiel awkwardly twirled the angel blade around in his—Brooke's—hand.
"Uh…" Indra sighed. "Are we gonna fight?" He sounded so tired.
"No," Castiel said. "No, I don't—I don't want to. I…" He took a breath. "I just need to get into Heaven."
Indra shrugged and made his way to the ground. "Okay. Who's stoppin' you?"
Castiel looked around, feeling unsure and uncomfortable. "This isn't exactly the welcome I was expecting."
"Yeah, well, we're all learning how to deal with disappointment lately. Look, I could, uh, get it together to, uh, battle if you want. I mean, none of the angels are exactly thrilled with your, uh, ongoing adventures. But, personally? Meh." Indra took a swig of his alcohol. "What's her name again?" he asked, pointing at Castiel. "Your, uh, wife, I guess?"
Castiel stared at Indra. "Brooke. My wife's name is Brooke."
"Right, yeah," Indra said, and took another swig.
"Are you drunk?" Castiel asked, reprovingly.
"Well, not yet, but if I keep drinking at a pace, it starts to at least take the edge off."
Castiel stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders. "Indra, this is an important responsibility. You're guarding the gates of Heaven."
"Oh, you think it's an important responsibility?" Indra asked, pointing at him. "You?" He laughed.
"Indra…"
"Hey, hey, between us, if you wanna just… say we fought, and angel blade me right now, that'll be okay."
Disturbed, Castiel said, "Is that a joke?"
"Is it?"
Now definitely disturbed, Castiel stared up into his brother's face. "Indra, what's wrong?"
But Indra only shook his head. "See for yourself," he replied, and pointed at the portal, then walked away. As Castiel stepped up into the sandbox, he said, "And, for what it's worth, good luck."
Castiel gave a cursory nod, and then stepped through the portal.
There was no one to greet them when they stepped through into Heaven. The halls were stark-white and lit like a hospital, as usual, but this hospital seemed to have been abandoned.
"Hello?" Castiel called out, as he walked towards the throne room. Brooke's voice echoed off the walls. "Hello?" he called again. He said it again, quieter, when he came to the doors of the throne room, but no one was in here. Frustrated, he glanced around, and then stopped, sensing multiple angels converging on him from behind. Slowly.
He turned to see a small handful of angels appearing from around the corner at the other end of the hallway. One of them was… "Dumah. I need to talk to you."
Dumah and the other two angels—one at each shoulder—simply stood there, staring at him.
Hesitantly, Castiel raised his hands in a surrendering fashion. "I know you wanna murder me, and I know that you have good reason to want to murder me. But there are events unfolding on Earth, and, um… well…" He lowered his hands, and went on to explain their situation, about Gabriel being alive, about the Michael from Apocalypse World, about Jack, and Lucifer. "I realize that this may be a long shot, but…"
Right then, the lights in Heaven flickered, and powered down completely, and then came on, and went off again, and then came back on and stayed on. But the fact that they'd gone off at all was terrifying. Castiel stared around himself and then looked at Dumah. "What is that?"
She stepped toward him. "Castiel, I think… I think that maybe we could help each other." She was about to say more, her mouth opening to speak, when the lights went off and on again. She glanced around, and then said, "Please wait here. I need to… check on something. You may wait in the throne room." She and the other two angels left him there, standing in the hallway.
Castiel blinked, half-wanting to follow them, but he didn't want to squander the chance that Dumah seemed willing to give him by angering her. He sighed quietly and went into the throne room. And stood there. And waited. The lights went off and on again. He waited. Again, the lights flickered. He waited some more. Several minutes passed. He shoved his hands into his pockets.
It's not like you to become bored so easily, Brooke noted, somewhat amused. I remember a time, early on, where you could have stood still as a statue for days if some superior told you to.
"Perhaps I've been around humans too long," he muttered. "I've gained the ability to become bored. Unfortunately."
You know, if we were in separate bodies, I could think of several ways to keep you distracted.
I know you could, he replied, huskily, none of which would be appropriate in Heaven.
Pffft. You Fell, then you fell in love with me and fucked me, and then you married me, then you fell in love with a demon, then you fell in love with another human, and now you're concerned about what is appropriate to be doing in Heaven?
You misunderstand me, he growled. Were I in my own body, and you in yours—and somehow not dead from being here—I'd take you anywhere I liked, all over this room. However, I don't think it would help our case with Dumah and the others.
She paused, and then said, Touché. After another pause, she asked, Are you ever annoyed at me for having the humor of a fourteen-year-old boy?
I'm a little disappointed that you would use a stereotype like that, he teased, but, no. I've found that your constant teasing, especially of a sexual nature, has kept me on my toes over the years. And it… makes me feel younger.
Brooke was about to tell him that he was only, like, forty-something, before remembering with an internal laugh that he was actually millions of years old.
I don't understand how you forgot my true age, Castiel said.
Well, you don't look millions of years old, she retorted. Actually… She paused, musing about something she'd noticed since Castiel had come back to life. You look even older since you came back to life. I know you chose it, partly, to age with me. But… I think being dead… did something to you. Or maybe the Shadow did something to you when it brought you back.
I wouldn't be surprised, he said, and then sighed and went over to the couch and sat down. Then he laid down fully, crossing his—Brooke's—legs at the ankles.
Several more minutes passed. He got up again and wandered about the room.
Oh my God, Cass, Brooke reprimanded. Pick a spot, sit down, chill. You lay in my bed all night with me and don't sleep and you don't resort to tossing and turning or getting up and wandering around the room while I'm sleeping.
I'm sorry, he said. I'm… the constant powering down of the lights is bothering me. He glanced up as the lights did, once again, power down and then come back a moment later. What is going on?
I'm sure we're about to find out.
Unless they keep us waiting in this room forever, he grumbled, and then wandered over to the throne and sat down.
Ooo, you rebel, she teased. Tryin' out the throne? Didn't we decide you sucked as God the last time?
He rolled his eyes. Thank you for that reminder.
She laughed.
Forty minutes later, Dumah and three other angels finally returned to the throne room. Castiel, who had been drumming Brooke's fingers on one arm of the throne stood up with an annoyed expression.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Dumah said.
"It's fine," Castiel replied, automatically, and then took a breath. "Actually, it's—it's not fine because all of creation is at stake, but here we are." He shrugged.
"Yes, well… there's a lot going on."
"Yeah, I noticed," he said, as the lights went off and on yet again. "Dumah, what did you mean that we could help each other?"
"Find Gabriel and bring him back to us, back home, and we can help you with everything else—battling Michael, defending Earth."
"I can't find him," Castiel replied. "That's why I need your help."
"Right," Dumah said, sounding disappointed. "Well, then, that's a problem."
"I don't understand. Can't you find a few angels to—
"That's enough, Castiel," said a voice.
A voice that cut through Castiel like a knife. Every hair on Brooke's body stood on end, her pupils dilating, nostrils flailing, fists clenching. Castiel took a shaky, terrified breath and slowly turned to look at the source of the voice: Naomi—
—"Hold still"—the drill—pain—screaming—strapped to that chair—pain—blood dripping from his eye. And there was Naomi, with that drill sticking out of the back of her head, at the base of her neck.—screaming—pain—so much pain—loss of memory—lost time—manipulation—lies—How many times had she fucked with his brain, his memories?—
"It's not that we won't help you," Naomi said. "It's that we can't."—
Pain—screaming—drills—Samandriel. She'd made him kill Samandriel. He'd almost killed Dean—feeling that drill twisting its way through his eye, up into his brain—
Castiel was all fear and trauma. But Brooke became his anger. Her teeth clenched as she stared at this bitch, someone who had caused her husband so much pain, and suddenly the Grace inside her, all of it, surged to the surface. Her eyes glowed, her tattoos glowed, and she screamed like a banshee and launched herself at Naomi. She did not even remember taking the angel blade from her coat pocket. Suddenly it was just there, in her hand, clutched so tightly that the cold metal of the handle bit into her skin.
"NO!" Castiel yelled, fighting her for control. "No, Brooke! This—won't—help!"
Dumah and the three angels she'd come in now stood, ready to do battle, their own blades in their hands, but they hesitated, looking to Naomi for orders.
Naomi smiled at Castiel—at Brooke—and put up her hand for her angels to stand down.
Castiel, meanwhile, was still fighting his wife for control.
THIS BITCH TORTURED YOU! Brooke screamed, fighting her husband, straining, nearly tearing her muscles in a bid for control of her body. SHE STOLE YOUR MEMORIES—MANIPULATED THEM. MANIPULATED YOU.
Yes, Castiel agreed, still rooted to the spot, his—her—arm up over her head, to plunge the angel blade into Naomi's face—her eye. Brooke, stop. We need… their help. We're not—doing this—for us! This is… for Jack! Our son… Brooke… Think of our son. Please!
Jack, Brooke repeated, thinking of him trapped in Apocalypse World, being held captive or tortured or… or possibly dead. All the fight left her, then, and she gave up control of her body.
Castiel fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily, and slowly, the glow left Brooke's eyes, her tattoos. He took more deep breaths, slowing down, and put the angel blade back inside her coat pocket. Then he pushed himself to his feet, his hands out in surrender. "I… apologize for that," he said, glancing up into Naomi's face—blood—torture. His eye twitched and he looked away. Brooke twisted inside of her body, causing a slight tremor in her limbs, but then settled again, pushing down her rage—for now.
Naomi still had that half-smile on her face. She turned to look over her shoulder. "Leave us," she told the other angels.
"Naomi," Dumah said, sounding like she wanted to argue.
"I said leave us," Naomi repeated, a hard edge to the words this time.
Dumah took one last glance at Castiel, then turned and stormed from the room. The three angels she'd come in with left with her.
Naomi said nothing, seemingly to give Castiel time to pull himself together again.
He took several more deep breaths, his eyes closed, and then he asked, "How are you alive?"
"A drill in the head wasn't gonna kill me," Naomi replied. "You should know that."
"You know, I have to admit, I was… I was relieved to hear you were dead."
Naomi's head cocked to the side. "We never did see eye to eye."
"Fuck you!" Brooke yelled, at that awful, purposeful choice of words.
Naomi blinked.
Castiel cleared his throat. "That—that was my wife."
"I assumed."
"I agree with her sentiment, though," he went on. "Because you… stole my memories, and you threatened to tear me apart, and you made me repeatedly act out Dean Winchester's murder…" Castiel was angry now, his teeth bared as he stepped toward Naomi. "And you killed many, many people. Samandriel, for one." Because, of course, Castiel had only killed Samandriel through Naomi's brainwashing.
Naomi had been nodding throughout this small speech. "Those were simpler times," she said.
Castiel stared into her face. "I'm sorry goes a long way," he growled.
"Mm-hmm," she said, nodding again, and then she walked away. "After Metatron attacked, I had a few reliable angels spread the word that I was dead."
Castiel had not expected an apology, but it took a lot in him not to stab her while her back was turned to him. "So, you've been hiding," he said.
"Recovering," she corrected.
"All this time?"
She rolled her eyes and leaned her hands down on the desk in front of her, staring at him over it. "Well, forgive me for taking a few years to put my thoughts back in my skull."
Brooke stirred again, her rage building at Naomi's constant choice to use poor wording on purpose.
"There are still a few holes—pardon the phrasing—but I'm mostly here," Naomi went on. "I have to be."
The lights powered down again, and came back on.
Naomi gestured around. "Do you know what powers Heaven, Castiel?"
"Yeah, us," he said. "Angels."
"That's right," she replied. "We're all… Every angel is like a walking, talking battery—
The lights went off again, and came on—
"—and that is what happens when we run out of power."
Castiel's eyes flicked around the room. "H-How many angels are—
"There are a grand total of nine angels in Heaven, present company included. And one or two on Earth, and… that's all. We are the last men and women and divine waves of light still standing, as it were."
The knowledge hit Castiel like a truck. He had known about this for a while now—Dumah had told him that the angels were going extinct—but… but nine? He couldn't even comprehend it. "No, that's not… that's not, um…" He looked at Naomi, as if hoping she would tell him that this was some kind of sick joke, but she only stared at him. "I knew our numbers were small…" he said, slowly—
"You wanna know why we can't help you?" she snapped. "Because none of us can leave. We're the only things keeping the lights on"—the lights powered down again, and came back on—"barely. We need everyone, especially an Archangel. Now, the others thought any Archangel would do—long story. But your news about Gabriel is…" She smiled. "For lack of a better word, blessed. With his power, we can keep Heaven running."
"And without him?" Castiel asked, quietly, afraid to know the answer, but compelled all the same.
"Without him, in time, we'll burn out. Heaven will crumble, and all the souls that have been entrusted to our care will fall back to Earth."
Castiel stared down at the desktop, breathing quickly.
"Picture it, Castiel—billions upon billions of ghosts unleashed upon the world. All that chaos, all that death."
Castiel took a deep breath and looked away, his mind spinning.
###
"If you find Gabriel, tell him what's happening in Heaven," Naomi said later, as they stood outside beside the sandbox.
"And if I can't find him?" Castiel asked.
Naomi glanced down at the sandbox. "We'll do our duty, keep things running."
He pursed his/Brooke's lips. "For how long?"
She smiled, though there was no joy in it. "Ah. That's the scary part."
"We will find a way to fix this."
Naomi looked at him.
"We will," he insisted.
"This may be one of those things that can't be fixed, Castiel."
He stared at her. "This is Heaven we're talking about."
She gave another tight-lipped smile. "Everything ends, Castiel."
He looked away. After a moment he murmured, "Everything ends."
"But until then, the gates of Heaven are closed."
He glanced at her, nodding.
She nodded back and stepped into the sandbox, vanishing in a swirl of light and sand. When the sand settled, the Enochian sigils that had been there before were gone.
He stared down at the sand for a moment, and then crouched beside the box and picked up a handful of sand, running it through his fingers. Then he threw it back into the box, and remained crouched there beside the previous portal to Heaven, his eyes watering as he fought back tears. His brothers and sisters were going extinct, Heaven was dying, and now there loomed the threat of all the human souls in Heaven falling to Earth as ghosts…
Brooke, also, was saddened by this news. She recalled earlier days, many years before, when Castiel had been as bright as the sun and full of power and vigor. Now, she thought that perhaps his extra aging had nothing to do with him having died; it had to do with Heaven losing power. Perhaps he was no longer immortal. Perhaps he was now human enough to one day… die.