Lottie had never before seen an angel – never mind an angel in action. She hung back, awed, but also resentful that she, of all demons, had been included in the command to get out here and stop it.
The angel made his way up the sloping trail, oblivious to the howling wind that tried to push him back and the darkness cast by the storm. For every demon that rushed him, he did this swift one-two move, almost too fast for nearsighted Lottie to follow: He deflected his attackers with one hand, and then he laid the other hand on their foreheads or wrapped it over their mouths.
The next step unfolded with a sort of inevitability. From a distance of four inches, he studied the demons under his hand with faint curiosity, and then they began to scream. The light of burning, as fiery gold as molten glass, blazed from eyes and ears and noses and mouths. Then he released the smoking bodies, unmarked on the outside but charcoal within.
Lottie had heard the stories of the smite-first-ask-questions-later nature of angels; what demon hadn't? However, seeing them in 1080p HD was something else. Not one demon slowed his ascent. They shot him. They stabbed him. They struck him with bats or nightsticks packing enough demonic power to pulverize cement. He shrugged off each blow, methodically incapacitating one demon at a time.
It took her several tense, dazzled moments to realize that the angel wasn't killing everyone. After that slightly curious look, the angel did one of two things: smite or send to sleep. Most demons simply collapsed under his touch, unconscious, and he moved on.
Baffled by this behavior – what was the distinction? – she watched as the angel indifferently flung the bodies aside. To the wet trail. Over the frozen railing. Into some slushy bushes. Everywhere except in his path.
Huh. Lottie narrowed her eyes. Angels apparently were as preternaturally strong as demons. Their collective mistake, then, was trying to take him on as the slight, average-height, clean-cut human he looked to be. Sopping wet, sure, his hair in his eyes and stubble shadowing his jaw – but the bastard wasn't even breathing hard, and he hadn't said a word the entire time.
Case in point: A demon who had gleefully taken over a bodybuilder last week went hurtling off the trail as though deboned, his eye sockets and the inside of his mouth sparking and crackling.
Stronger than a demon, Lottie amended.
And . . . a pattern had emerged. The demons that the angel smote were inhabiting meat that was already dead. Meat like hers. And putting those who had possessed occupied vessels to sleep.
She didn't have a clue why, but it didn't matter. If that thing reached her, she wasn't going on a trip to dreamland. So, she had a choice to make. Smoke out, or stay and fight? Die now, or suffer later when Alastair, Hell's Grand Torturer, got hold of her?
"Take him all at once!" she yelled. "Not one at a time!"
It must have been her grandmotherly voice. Her fellow demons actually listened to her. Five of them jumped the angel together. He disappeared beneath the flailing swarm. Fists and knives and insults rose and fell like pistons.
Still, Lottie held back. Her vessel wasn't suited for a brawl. She tightened her grip on her handgun. Waiting. Watching . . .
. . . Feeling the inevitability close its jaws around her as burning lights and terrified screams pierced the gloom. The angel emerged from the dogpile with a silvery killing light shining deep within his pupils. A swelling cut slanted across the bridge of his nose, another sliced through an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth was bleeding. His knuckles were red and raw. He didn't seem to care.
He looked at her with no expression at all.
Then, a look of sorrow tightened the skin around the sickeningly soulful eyes. He knew it was just her in there. He had decided to kill her.
Lottie's demonic essence flooded her eyes, an instinctive display of aggression. So, this was how the little cottontails infesting the scrub around here felt when they spotted a coyote.
This was how they felt when they knew they were going to die.
..::~*~::..
". . . I hope you're giving them hell."
Dean's voice echoed in Castiel's head. Despite his grim work, his split lip twitched in amusement. Humans. As though winning a fight was something to celebrate.
The last demon raised her gun and pulled the trigger. He walked forward, unafraid. The bullet tore into his shoulder. He felt the impact, but an Earthly weapon such as that held no power to deter a celestial being. Still walking at the same speed, he raised his arm. Knocked the gun from the demon's frail-looking, aged hands like brushing lint off the sleeve of his coat.
Placed his palm to her forehead.
Felt the wisps of her white hair under his fingers.
Watched her rheumy eyes widen behind her dainty glasses and her wrinkled lips fall open.
Took note of the upwelling of black smoke in her throat.
Observed his angelic grace burning the demonic soul out from inside the expired body.
He should have felt nothing beyond the sense that he was doing what was just. This was a better death than the soul had experienced the first time. A final one. A merciful one.
It saddened him.
The body dropped, and Castiel nudged it aside with his shoe. He raised his head. All seemed quiet, a sharp contrast to the activity and noise of seconds ago. He struggled with a vague sense of letdown. His vessel's reactions were getting to him, still unexpectedly strong.
Perhaps this was what he'd once heard Sam refer to as "taking a breather." He inhaled slowly, sifting through the blended scents of burned flesh, petrichor, humidity, and falling temperature. The supernatural blizzard raged in a ring around the park and the abandoned campground, leaving this area clear. From high in the clouds above, the thunder grumbled, muted by the snow. The sky roiled, an ugly gray-green tinged with flashes of carmine. An indication that the ley lines under the park were absorbing the corrupted energy output of human sacrifice. They were beginning to clog and fail for miles around. An angel could not use them to travel. Not now. Not without getting stuck, not without considerable energy expenditure.
Castiel broke into a jog, detouring off the main paved path to take smaller, muddier hiking trails around the park, seeking out demonic energy. If he could intercept the demon and his hostage before they crossed the warding sigils, which glowed ghostly blue-white in a large circle around the natural amphitheater, then Castiel could take Aya somewhere safe.
We feel you have begun to express emotion, Castiel.
A small part of his human brain took the time to weigh the decision to rescue her. He hadn't been aware of making the decision, yet here he was, searching for her, the same as he would if Sam or Dean had been in danger. He had been assigned the duty of guardian many times in the past. Always, he had been recalled for some slip, some deviancy . . . for choosing to care about his charges rather than merely observe them. It was happening again. Here, now, in this time and in this place, these humans were his friends. Sam. Dean. Aya. He did not wish them to suffer.
Emotions are doorways to doubt.
The affection. The sorrow. The regret. The anger. Overwhelming, but his faith served as his anchor: This world was not made purely for suffering.
So, Castiel battled his way around the park, pausing for a breather whenever he could to search for his friend.
There. He surrendered a pair of demon-possessed bodies and let them slide, unconscious, down his legs. He lifted his head, quick as a snap, his focus narrowing toward the south, down the hill. Near the campground. There. A whiff of a human soul on the ozone-laced air.
He ran faster.
..::~*~::..
The heavy, wet snow fought the Camry the whole last leg of the trip to the park, dragging at the windshield wipers and the wheels like a lion tackling a zebra. Then, with startling suddenness, the Camry broke through the curtain of snow. Vahe stomped on the brakes. The car, flinging packed ice from the tire treads, skidded to a messy sideways halt on top of the stop sign it ran down. Beyond, the road contracted into a gravel drive, leading downward through dark, dripping trees.
Vahe sat in the hiccupping, shuddering vehicle, waiting for his heart to slow and his eyes to feel less like they belonged on a crazed fish. The ice-coated wipers juddered back and forth, smacking into the thick crust of packed snow.
He peeled his numb fingers from the steering wheel. He'd made it. In spite of the transmission he could barely operate, in spite of the traffic, in spite of the storm – he'd made it.
A giant, invisible fist punched the Camry so hard it rose onto two wheels. Vahe bit his tongue as it bounced heavily back down, sending whiplash up his neck. He sat stunned, willing the stinging pain to fade so he could think again. Then the windowless driver's door, with a screech of metal, popped open on its own. Icy wind, delighted at the larger hole, howled inside and overwhelmed the whining heater.
Vahe looked out. He felt Paulie's bowels turn to water, but managed, with a mighty clench, to keep things where they belonged.
Walking toward him, coat spreading in the freezing wind, one hand outstretched and fingers curled forward, was the other angel. The first seraph. The one that had taken Aya from him in the first place. Even from two hundred feet away, Vahe could see the power flaming out of its eyes and the palm of its raised hand.
The angel closed the hand into a fist and made a throwing motion to the side. The Camry's door twisted right off its hinges, squealing, and then spun away like a misshapen Frisbee. It crashed somewhere in the trees, shearing branches and bark. The wounded car convulsed and the sputtering engine finally died. The angel's hand came back around, preparing another blast of angelic power no doubt meant to turn Vahe into paste.
"You're gonna kill her!" he bellowed desperately, fighting with the girl's seatbelt. "She's barely breathing, man. Your wingman roughed her up real bad!"
To Vahe's amazement, the angel immediately pointed his hand at the ground – holy shit, it had believed him? Then, to his dismay, it leaned into a sprint. Right at him, coat flapping wildly.
With a yelp, Vahe scrambled out of the disabled car. He levered himself onto the wet roof with one frantic push of Paulie's long legs. In an uncoordinated slide, he dropped off the other side. He yanked open the passenger door. Heaved the girl out of her seat and into his arms. Stood, swung her around, and began to stumble awkwardly toward the line of warded trees, hollering for help.
Several demons appeared out of the gloom, carrying AR-15s and handguns. They streamed around him as he hurried past, taking stances or dropping to their knees to aim. The dark afternoon shattered with the sharp reports of gunfire.
He glanced back once. The onslaught of red-hot metal shredded the angel's shirt and tie, but the silvery glow in its eyes increased in intensity. Above the real thunder, above the gunfire, loud crackles rolled across the sky. Two huge shadows rose unevenly from the angel's back, lifting above the shoulders. Shadows of wings, unfolding in the strobing gloom. First the right, then the left. Huge, and blurry, and impossible. From where was the light coming? On what were the shadows being cast? Were the wings really there, or not?
Ignoring the blood and the bullets, the angel stretched both wing-shadows to the sides as far as they would go. The subsonic waves ripping through the dimensions reached eardrum-flexing throbbing as, one by one, the angel blasted the demons off their feet. Some merely crumpled, while others exploded and splattered against the rocky ground.
But Vahe had crossed the wards. Hugging Aya's limp body to his chest, he put his head down and pelted along the orange-lit drive for all he was worth.
The angel's fury made itself known as a thick, twisted bolt of lightning lanced down. It struck what was left of the Camry with a deafening boom and the rustle of rising flames.
A/N: Here's the deal: I am trying desperately to finish this story before the end of the month, so I'm bulldozing through my writer's block and my second-guessing NaNoWriMo style. I could really use your honest feedback, because I want this story to be the absolute best I can offer. ^_^
Reviewer Thanks! Darwin, Momochan77, Nebyulah, IHeartSPN, Topkicker26 (twice!), happyperson42, MiMiMargot, and Star Hunter. Thanks, guys. You made my days bright and I appreciate you so much!
I feel a bit like a crazed wolverine. Wish me luck. The end creeps ever closer!
Yours,
Anne