Vahe, who had become attached to the name of his former vessel, jumped messily into the nondescript Camry and slammed the door behind him. He ended up leaning on his hip, shaking as he ripped open the panel under the steering column with his bare hands to get at the ignition wires inside. Glass from the broken side window crunched under him when he wriggled lower so he could see what he was doing. His longer-than-usual legs kept getting in the way.

He glanced over at the slut – Aya, Paulie snarled from the tiniest corner of their shared brain – while he stripped two wires with his fingernails and then coaxed a spark between them. She lay boneless against the passenger door, her hair plastered to her shoulder and neck. The Camry started up with a cough. He stuffed the wires back in place so he could press a couple of fingers to the soft dip in her throat.

Effing angel. Ugliest son of a bitch he'd seen in a while, and that included the hounds guarding the gates of Hell. That thing had been all kinds of wrong, squashed into a big blobby human body, the shadows of its wings crackling, for a split second, on the air like the Darksaber. It hadn't wanted to kill Vahe. Not right away. All it had to do was touch him with a hand imbued with angelic grace and he'd burn out like a firecracker, leaving his empty vessel behind. Gone. Forgotten as though he'd never existed, like his original name. A demon was what was left of a human soul, corrupted and reduced, clinging to its twisted afterlife like scum on rocks. Less than dust, less than smoke. Once they used up their energy, they never came back.

Fortunately, the seraph had only wanted Vahe out of the way so it could get at Sam Winchester. Which was just fine by him. Let them kill each other. No skin off his nose.

But he knew it wouldn't go down like that. From his awkward sprawl across the seats, Vahe cast a worried glance out the windows. The aborted exorcism had severely drained him, and he had only managed to shift the girl – Aya! snapped Paulie – a couple of buildings down from hers. Any second now, that scary-ass soldier of God was going to come crashing onto the hood like a freaking condor and rip out his liver before frying him into an oily smear. It had almost killed the sacrifice, for crying out loud! It hadn't even cared that she'd been in the way.

If the girl – if Aya, he sneered at Paulie, who finally shut up like a good little soul – was already dead, all this was moot, anyway. He adjusted his touch on her throat and waited, trying not to breathe.

Ah. Okay. Her pulse fluttered beneath her delicate skin. Still alive. But for how much longer? The whole side of her face and down her shirt were soaked with blood. Her chest barely flexed with her intermittent, shallow breaths. Vahe tucked back her hair, tacky with drying blood. He let his fingers linger, light as kisses, on her jaw, down her neck, over her collarbone.

Sirens began to wail. Approaching from several directions. Fuck. He had to get out of there. Now.

He reached across Aya and buckled her seatbelt for her.

Not caring about getting cut, he brushed glass shards off his seat and then released the lever that let it slide back. He glanced at Aya. Then he checked the pedals. The Camry's gears clashed as Vahe struggled to shift. He swore up one side of Hell and down the other side of Heaven. What masochist still drove stick in this millennium?

At last, he managed to get the car in gear without stalling the engine, but barely. The car lurched out of its parking spot, and he steered it toward the exit to the street.

The fire truck that had been slowing to turn in reared up like a white and chrome wall. Startled, Vahe tried to brake and accelerate at the same time, his foot rapidly tapping both pedals. He hadn't noticed how loud the sirens had become. The Camry broke loose and fishtailed. It surfed closer to the truck instead of away. The truck's front end angled wide to make the sharp turn, blocking the driveway. Inches from the Camry's bumper, the driver laid on the horn. The entire car vibrated with the deep, throaty, heart-stopping sound. Vahe's bones rattled. Aya slumped in her seat until the belt fetched up under her jaw. Her lips shone slickly, coated in red.

Shit shit shit shit! Vahe crashed through the gears and found one that stuck. He hauled the wheel to the left. Revving unhappily, the Camry bounced onto the street, the undercarriage scraping several times against the curb. He shifted again. Tires squealed, the truck horn blared, and then, incredibly, the two vehicles squeaked past each other.

Vahe, fighting the wheel to straighten the car, drove recklessly fast past a line of black and whites that screamed by in the opposite direction, followed by a big white and orange ambulance, the whole parade heading for the apartment complex. The wind howling in the broken window scrawled icy claws around his ears, sneaking underneath his collar.

Cold. The wind was as cold as it had been that night outside The Church.

The dashboard clock read four minutes after noon. Alarmed, he checked his mirrors, noting the cloudless blue sky behind him, in the east. But ahead . . .

Vahe shifted gears, more smoothly this time. He was getting the hang of the Camry's recalcitrant clutch. He pressed harder on the gas pedal, soaring through an intersection right after the light turned red. More horns honked, but he didn't care. Kittney must have decided to move her agenda up a day, what with the Winchesters and the angels sniffing around. The ritual to summon Kammapa had already begun, because disrupting the ley lines underground would exert an equal and opposite reaction in the atmosphere.

As though to prove him right, miles ahead, brilliant white thunderheads boiled above the foothills. The clouds swelled higher by the second, lifting their fluffy tops to show their dark underbellies. They frothed across the sun. The sky in front of him dulled to a greenish-gray. The temperature continued to drop.

Once more, Vahe glanced at his unconscious captive. So pretty. So helpless. She was finally his.

And he still couldn't have her.

Glowering out the windshield, he drove straight at the coming storm.

..::~*~::..

Castiel tilted his head back, facing into the wind. His coat streamed out behind him, the belt flapping, then whipped forward, slapping his legs. His tie streamed sideways, a blue banner.

He stood at the base of the second ridge of foothills, which climbed in ever-higher ranks to the west. Red Rocks loomed in front of him, the layered red sandstone thrusting above the surrounding trees like the twin bows of sinking ships. According to Sam's device, the park had first been named Garden of Angels after the original tribal occupiers had surrendered the land to a larger governing body. A bit of human history that had interested him. This wasn't the only Garden overseen by an angel. And it was about to become a battlefield.

The wind raced high overhead, changing directions so swiftly that it began a long, slow swirl that would drag the thunderheads into a ring with the monolithic rocks at its center. Light flashed and danced within the gunmetal-gray clouds. Vegetation bowed under the punishing wind. Thunder cracked and boomed, its echoes rolling across the rugged landscape.

Without warning, a thick scud of rain hit Castiel right in the face. It flattened the trees, pounding their new leaves into tatters. He lowered his head. Icy water sluiced from his hair, poured from his chin, and soaked his clothes in seconds.

He didn't move. The storm wasn't the problem. The angel warding wasn't the problem. The four seraphim, their wings raised in battle position, were the problem.

They'd forced him out of the telluric current early. Their true forms billowed and glowed through the dimensions like solar wind igniting. Their voices chimed, waves of rainbow light, a celestial choir inside his vessel's head. This was what Dean had coined Angel Radio, a term so surprisingly accurate that the angels had begun using it, too. Castiel listened a moment to the intricacies of Enochian, the native angelic language, each "channel" as unique and beautiful as the feathers of each angel. Then, though his brothers and sister greeted him, he frowned.

All four seraphim held long bands of shining quicksilver, sharpened to wicked points.

"What are you doing here, Micah?" Castiel asked, shouting to be heard over the wind. "You are not in my garrison. You are not my commander. Why did you stop me?"

His brethren surrounded him, pressing against but not quite touching the Earthly dimension, where he stood in the gale.

Micah bowed his glorious head. "We angels have been commanded to withdraw."

"By force, if necessary," said the wavelength to Micah's left.

"Zuriel," Castiel acknowledged him, blinking in the rain. "Would you use force against me?"

"If we must," Zuriel said, but his wings twitched, the eyes fluttering, broadcasting his uncertainty to all.

"We are not immune to the Void," Paschar said, her eyes closed. She only opened them to watch her visions. "If Kammapa is freed, it will devour angels as it devours demons and humans. We must fortify Heaven."

"Are you so sure that the Winchesters will fail?" Castiel demanded. Thunder rolled.

"They have failed before. They will fail again."

Fine. "That I will fail?"

"Alone you might, brother," said Jeremiel in his sad, compassionate voice. "Uriel has been banished by the Winchester child, but the others of your garrison have already returned Home."

"I ordered them to go," Castiel said, distracted. The wind gusted, the freezing rain misting up as it hit the warm ground. Uriel. He must have gone after Sam, against Castiel's orders. Their superiors must have passed separate orders to him. Castiel clenched his fists. Why did this situation unsettle him so? He didn't like it at all. "However, I cannot follow them. Please let me pass."

"We cannot let you pass," said Micah. He opened his wings and swept Castiel, vessel and all, up to a higher plane.

In the sudden lack of natural noise, floating weightless in the non-matter, Castiel shook the rain out of his hair. It spiraled in tiny glittering spheres around him like planets around a sun. When they collided, they combined, reflecting the glow of the massive angels who floated along with him.

Far below, the ley lines, the currents of electromagnetic power that crisscrossed the Earth, glittered like the streetlights of a human city at night. A patch of them, a convergence of the lines directly underneath him, seemed darker than they should be.

Micah and the others crowded close, vibrating with joy at being reunited with him on this plane. Jeremiel and Zuriel brushed their wings with his, making the feathers hum like the strummed strings of a harp. A sound that sang the praises of God, and pleased Him.

Could He hear it now? Castiel had never doubted it before.

He sighed. He folded his wings back, out of reach. "I must go," he repeated. "Please let me pass."

Micah's many eyes blazed. "We angels have been ordered to withdraw."

Paschar and Jeremiel raised their bands of quicksilver. After a slight hesitation, Zuriel raised his as well. These, they aimed at Castiel.

"My orders were to save the human named Aya Nakano," he said, quiet but implacable.

Wings rustled all around him, humming as the feathers fanned in and out, sparkling as the eyes blinked open and shut.

"You have fulfilled those orders," Micah said.

"Those orders were never retracted," Castiel returned. "She is in danger now. I must go."

He felt their shock, their doubt, heard it in the clash and clutter of voices that sent static charging through Angel Radio. He worked hard to guard his thoughts, for he knew he was pushing the limits of truth here. But it was a truth he needed if he wanted to stop the breaking of the seal.

"I was not aware of this," Micah said.

"His course is just," Zuriel said.

"We are wrong to oppose him," Jeremiel said.

Paschar only smiled, her eyes closed in utmost serenity. Castiel side-eyed her, wondering how much she had seen of this moment, and when.

"Those orders are for you alone, brother," Micah said, worry sending threads of navy blue through the glistening pyrite wave of his words. "We cannot help you."

"I understand." Because he did. "You must follow your orders, and I must follow mine."

"Then take this. You will need it," Zuriel said abruptly. He proffered the band of quicksilver. It flared and flowed and steadied.

Castiel considered it. He did not have his own, for he and Uriel had been ordered to watch, not fight. "It is yours. Are you sure you wish to give it to me?"

Zuriel's laugh pealed like wind-struck crystal bells. "Take it and then return Home to us, my brother."

Castiel reached out. He closed his hand around its mercurial shine.

Gravity had hold of him. The rain returned with a rush and a roar, battering his head and shoulders. It shot past his eyes, flecked with clumpy white snowflakes. The thunder continued to grumble.

Micah and the others were gone, but Castiel hefted Zuriel's gift appreciatively, reacquainting himself with its weight and substance here on the Earthly plane. The haft felt smooth and familiar in his palm. Longer than a dagger, shorter than a sword, and imbued with Heavenly power, an angel's blade was an effective weapon against many supernatural beings.

"Thank you, Zuriel," he said, knowing that his brother would hear. With this, he might be able to find a way past the warding. And if not, he could pave the way for his friends. For Sam and Dean.

He would do this alone because he must.

The time for watching was long over.

..::~*~::..

"Holy –!" Dean gasped. He rolled up the Impala's window, shutting himself in the chilly, clammy safety of the cab, staring open-mouthed at the absolute river pouring down the windshield, complete with lumps of slush. The wood-sided coffee shop disappeared beyond the curtain of rain, smearing like brown paint washing off a canvas.

The passenger door creaked open. Sam dove in headfirst, a great shaggy sheepdog flinging water everywhere.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry – ow – sorry!"

After a lot of shoving and Sam's head knocking into Dean's teeth, Sam levered himself upright, got the door closed, and they settled down. The rattle of rain on the car roof drowned out even the rumble of the engine when Dean started it up. He pulled the car into traffic, peering through the half-second gaps left by the madly swinging wipers.

"You okay?" he asked his little brother roughly. "You got out okay?"

"It was a little dicey, but yeah. I'm fine." Catching his breath, Sam ran a hand through his wet hair. His voice came out tight, nervous. "We should go, though. That lady got a pretty good look at me before she called the cops."

"Working on it." Traffic had slowed to a crawl, and all Dean could see was the gray and white of water and melting slush swishing across the windshield, and the blurs of yellow headlights and red taillights. The low-slung Impala rocked gently, like a boat on a swell. Then it rocked again.

"What is this?" The street was indistinguishable from anything else, a stretch of undulating gray. Dean tried to drive around the long line of cars in front of him before the long line coming up the next lane could reach them.

"Flood," Sam said quietly.

"What?" Dean was trying to concentrate but he couldn't see. He flipped on the heater, hoping it would clear the fog from the windshield. Then he stomped on the brake as the taillights in front of him swerved in his way.

"Flash flood."

Sam's voice was so grim that Dean gave up and turned the wheel back the other way, half in and half out of his lane. "It was seventy degrees five minutes ago. There was no sign of this kind of weather. Like, one second it was clear and the next, this. This can't be natural."

"No. It's a demonic omen."

An omen? From over sixteen miles away? "But that means . . ." Dean threw the car in park before the rising water could push them sideways. Horns blared all around, a panicked and angry chorus; nobody was going anywhere. "That means they've started already. The sacrifices. The ritual. They started it today. They didn't wait for Friday. While we've been chasing our tails, people have been dying."

A muscle spasmed in Sam's jaw. He shared a look full of dismay with Dean. "Cass went after them –"

"Cass can't get in. Every time he got close, he stopped like he'd walked into a screen door. The warding sort of . . . pushed him backward." Dean's mouth had gone dry. "Why do I feel like we've forgotten how to do our damn jobs on this case, Sammy? I was supposed to watch her. Not you. Cass told me to watch her, and now –"

Now she's gonna die. And it's all my fault. All my fault. All my –

They both jumped as hail clattered down, harder and louder than the rain. Golf ball-sized chunks of ice spun and bounced off the hood and window and roof so fiercely, cracking like gunshots, that Dean, too torn up over failing Aya to process it properly, started yelling, "No no no no no! Don't hurt my baby!"

"Dean," Sam said over the roar of wind, rain, hail, and thunder.

"Stop it, damn you!"

"Dean!"

"What?" Dean's eyes felt hot. Were those dents? He could see dents in the long, smooth, shining hood of his precious car. Someone was going to pay for that.

Sam swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "If this weather keeps up, we're not going to make it in time."

Dean furiously scrubbed a sleeve across his eyes. He couldn't fool Sam, who had looked up to him his entire life, who had been a stabilizing presence since before he'd gotten taller than him.

What a frickin' nightmare. Too bad he wasn't going to wake up from this one.

"Cass, wherever you are, I hope you're giving them hell," he muttered under his breath.

Right on top of them, thunder crashed.

A/N: Here you go, my lovelies, an extremely hot off the press update! Please forgive its roughness. I wrote it all today after like, five false starts. I'm just trying so hard to actually finish the story and keep it all from falling apart, heh.

One of the things I wanted to accomplish while writing this story is showing what might have led to certain events in the series. Like why Cass did not have an angel blade at first. Like why he got demoted. Like why it took him so dang long to understand and accept that he was no longer loved by the family that he so obviously still loved. It's all just me and my fluffy head, but that was the idea.

Have any of you guessed who the Vahe-demon really is? The answer is in the new chapter added to "Among Us: Deleted Scenes," but I'd love to hear your theories! Review review review! ^_^ Speaking of which:

Reviewer Thanks! IHeartSPN, happyperson42, Darwin, Momochan77, St4r Hunter (twice!), MiMiMargot, and Nebyulah. Love you all to bits! Thank you!

~ Anne

P.S. One more thing! Guys, there's a new site for writers to post their work. I mean new-new. There aren't many people there yet, but it's for original works AND fanfiction, and it's really pretty with media capability and everything and I would LOVE to see you there. It's Wacky Writers. Dot com, of course. I've been posting "Among Us" under "frankannestein" (that's my AO3 and Wattpad account, too) and . . . well, I'd ask that if you go check it out, please rate and review the book. It would really help me get more exposure. And OF COURSE I'll do the same for you if you choose to post a book! Friend me! The admin, CJ, is super nice! It's fun! YAY!