Chapter 1 – Game Of Games
It is said, and it's probably mostly true, that everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing on the date when an Earth-shattering event occurred. Pearl Harbour. The first successful space flight. The Twin Towers.
Dawn broke in an unspectacular fashion on the first day of the New World Order. The sun rose slowly in the sky, as it always did. Because even if there was cloud cover, the sun was always up there, somewhere.
So were the birds, who were chirping up a storm. Nocturnal animals started to hunker down for their turn to sleep, while other creatures ventured out into the crisp morning air, sniffing around as if they could sense the change in the world. They probably could, too. Animals were instinctual, and highly intuitive. Most of them would thrive in this new reality.
Frank's eyes opened a crack, then closed again. He didn't bother looking at the clock; he could tell it was early. The curtains at his and Jody's bedroom window were open a sliver, and the sun was peeking through. They always left the window half-open in the autumn. Both of them liked the cool, fresh air. If they felt chilly, that was what the comforter on the bed was for. Or they could just cuddle, for intimacy and warmth. They'd been doing a lot of that since Jody had come back. Their hair colour wasn't the only thing those drops of youth juice had rejuvenated.
Frank grinned. He reached for his wife, but she groaned. "Why the hell do those birds have to be so damn loud?" Jody complained.
Her husband opened his mouth to make some kind of smartass remark and then he realized: they WERE really loud this morning. Was there some kind of weird Alfred Hitchcock deal going on out there in the back yard, or what? Maybe it was time to get out the ladder and the hacksaw, and trim a few tree branches. Let the birds have their noisy meetings elsewhere.
"Can you put some coffee on, Pookie? I need ten more minutes," Jody said.
Frank opened his eyes again. Why was her voice so soft, but the birds were so loud?
Jody was burrowed under the covers, and she had one of the pillows covering her head. Wow. She wasn't fooling around.
Frank sighed. Okie-dokie. If Jody wanted coffee, he would make her coffee. Who was he kidding? If she wanted the Hope diamond, he would be trying on black clothes and ski masks right now. Jody had come back to him. Whatever she said, went.
He threw the covers off on his side of the bed and rooted around on the floor for his sweat pants and slippers. He put them on, grabbing his robe from the hook on the back of the bedroom door. Ever since Jody had returned, there was a little more organization in the house. That included the nightly hanging up of their robes, on side-by-side hooks. Frank didn't mind. He liked looking there and seeing that symbol of togetherness, and intimacy. But Jody couldn't seem to break him of the habit of tossing his sweat pants on the floor, and truthfully, she didn't really care.
Frank descended the stairs and moved through the hallway to the kitchen. He didn't bother turning on the light. There was a lot of natural light in the room, and he still felt too bleary-eyed to want any extra lighting.
He grabbed the glass carafe from the coffeemaker and took it over to the kitchen sink to fill it. He turned on the tap, and it made a loud, sputtering noise. Yikes. Geez, he hated that. He waited a moment. Sometimes there were bubbles in the pipes. One more loud sputter, then... nothing.
Aww, geez. Were they working on a water main in the neighbourhood, or something? But they were supposed to put up notices when they did that. Unless Rob or Suzanne had taken it down from the door and forgotten to tell them. What the hell? What time was it, anyway? He looked at the time display on the stove.
Ohhh. No display. Same with the coffeemaker, and the microwave. But it was funny; usually if there had been a power outage during the night, the time displays blinked incessantly until somebody, usually him, re-set them. But the displays were just... blank.
Frank put the carafe down on the countertop. He turned one of the burners on the stove to High. No light, no heat. Crap. So much for coffee and breakfast.
He looked around the kitchen. Rob's cell phone was sitting on the table. Frank shrugged. Why not? At least maybe he could find out how long they anticipated the grid to be down. If it was going to be more than an hour, maybe he would just load everybody into one of the cars and go to the closest restaurant that still had power.
There was only one problem: when Frank tried to use the phone, it wouldn't turn on. No display; nothing. That shouldn't have anything to do with the power failure. Maybe his kid had just forgotten to charge the phone again.
Frank stood there for a moment, at a loss as to what to do next. It was weird how dependent people were on electricity, wasn't it? And water. And their devices. And...
Wait a minute. This whole thing was starting to freak him out a bit. Frank cinched the belt on his robe tighter. He moved quickly through the hallway to the front door of the house. He flung it open, stepping outside.
It looked like any other day in his neighbourhood. The sun was shining, and the morning air was crisp and fresh. Frank looked up at the sky, which was a clear blue, with just a few puffy clouds.
Hold on. It suddenly occurred to him what was wrong with this picture. It wasn't what Frank was seeing and hearing that was off: it was what he WASN'T seeing or hearing. No traffic noise. No lawn mowers. No annoying country music coming from next door. No airplanes in the sky. Nothing. Just the birds, and the sound of the morning breeze rustling through the trees.
Frank's blood ran cold. Was he just imagining things, or was there something really wrong, here? This was starting to remind him of one of those movies, the ones where some kind of calamity had befallen the planet. No traffic noise. No electricity. No airplanes in the sky.
Armageddon.
Vincent and Abbadon were standing on the beach, watching the sun shimmering on the water.
"I knew there was a reason I decided to stay here in the Caribbean," Vincent remarked with a self-satisfied grin. "They'll be freezing, but we'll stay nice and toasty here. The only drawback is no ice in our drinks, but aside from that, this no-technology thing is going to be a snap."
Abbadon raised an eyebrow. "So, we'll be back to ancient times. You know that someone like Castiel will be right at home under those circumstances, right? In fact, he'll probably thrive."
"Maybe I want him to thrive," Vincent said, still grinning. "The more Biblical he gets, the more he's gonna drive my daughter crazy. Plus, Gail likes her little creature comforts. Even if she somehow manages to overlook the fact that he's now the equivalent of Heaven's Terminator on a mission to kill all the Sinners, she's not going to want to take her Angel blade and go out into the woods to kill dinner for their human friends every night, or beat her clothes on a rock to clean them."
"What are you talking about? She's an Angel, isn't she?" Abbadon asked him, confused.
"When Crowley planted that smooch on her, he took her powers," Gail's father informed the Demon. "Well, more like... borrowed them, actually. She can have them back when she's ready to play ball. Too bad we couldn't have gotten Cas's, too. But the whole thing is still going to be hilarious. Picture Sam Winchester without the Internet, or even some decent reading light there in the bunker. Or, better still, picture Dean Winchester, car-less, without cold beer. Now THAT's the damn Apocalypse, right there."
Abbadon allowed herself a smile. She had to admit the notion was pretty funny. But this wasn't the scenario Vincent had described to them at all, and it had thrown her off-balance. "OK, so... where are those Undead armies you were going to unleash?" she asked him.
Vincent shrugged. "Ahhh, I just said all that stuff to mess with them. I can't actually summon any Undead armies. I mean, if I had the Book of the Dead, maybe. But I don't. And that's way too derivative, anyway. Everybody and their dog writes about zombies and the Undead these days, don't they? Ooooh. Scary. More like, yawn. No thanks. But I do admit to having one or two surprises up my sleeve to spring on some of them, when the time is right. This is my world now, and I can do whatever I want, whenever I want."
She was giving him the side-eye. He had spoken with such confidence about releasing Undead armies upon the Earth for the Hunters to fight, and now he was saying that he'd been lying about that, all along? And there was another thing: "Why the hell did you have to partner up with Crowley?" she said, frowning. "Of all people! You know about the history between us."
Vincent was silent for a moment. Abbadon was pushing her luck, now. Who the hell did the bitch think she was? He had never been a fan of being questioned, and he'd given her a lot of latitude up till now.
Still, he was in the bragging mood. His plan had turned out exactly the way he'd intended. Even Crowley had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. "I wouldn't exactly call it that," Vincent said casually, suppressing his anger. "I just used him, to get close enough to Gail to infuse her with the spell. But if he chooses to think we're partners, that's fine by me. You can't screw somebody over unless you get close to them, and let them get close to you. I guarantee you he's thinking the same thing, right now: how he can screw me over."
Abbadon said nothing, but she couldn't fault his logic. Of course that's what Crowley was thinking. That was what the King did. That was what all of them did. Why did Vincent think she was constantly by his side, letting him sleep with her whenever he asked? Did he really think that it was up to HIM to decide? She always made sure she made him ask, too. Abbadon liked it as much as Vincent did, but if he ever dared to presume he could just take it, she would make damn sure that it would be the last time. Vincent thought that he was the sexiest, hottest lover in the universe, but Vincent had an extremely high opinion of himself. Abbadon had been to bed with half a dozen entities who would make "Papa" Legba look like a fumbling teenager. Crowley had been one of them, although Abbadon would never admit to that out loud. Rowena had been another, but unless the red-haired witch changed her allegiance, she was dead to Abbadon now.
"What are you really trying to accomplish, Vincent?" the half-Angel, half-Demon hybrid said curiously. "What's your goal?"
"Goal?" he echoed, smirking. "Goals are for suckers. It's all about the games, my dear. Games, games, and more games. When you're immortal, games are the only things that make life worth living."
Abbadon was silent, thinking about what he had just said. She knew that Vincent didn't like a lot of questions, but she had chosen to join his team, so she was entitled to some answers. She wasn't sure if it was comforting, or extremely disturbing, that Vincent claimed he had no goal. Then again, maybe he did; maybe he just didn't want to tell her what it was. Could she live with that? She guessed she could, at least for the time being. If Vincent really intended to screw Crowley over, there was no way Abbadon was missing out on that. But now, she was also wondering about Vincent's grandiose claim that he was immortal. He had prevaricated about a number of important things in the short time she had known him; was he lying about that, too?
Vincent mistook her silence for pique. "Don't you worry, we're going to have lots of fun," he assured her. "Stick with me, and you'll see. We're going to screw everybody, in every way possible."
He sauntered away, leaving Abbadon to stand there on the beach alone, deep in thought. Was she wasting her time with this guy? She was Abbadon, the Angel of the Abyss. Just because Vincent claimed he was only looking for some fun didn't mean that she didn't have aspirations of her own. If she wanted the Lake of Fire, she should just take it, and throw that Alexander guy in. He was dead weight. Crowley hadn't wanted him in Hell, and he hadn't been wanted in Heaven, either. All Alexander was, was a judgemental, sour-faced, former Upper Echelon Angel, whose time was done.
There was just one problem: she didn't know where the damn Lake of Fire was, not any more. Crowley had relocated it after that whole thing with Ammit, and know one knew where. Well, no one who would tell her, anyway. So for now, she would stick with Vincent. But if he thought she trusted him, or actually believed anything he had to say, the guy was nuts.
Still, he had lots of alcohol, and lots of good-looking, well-endowed followers, both male and female. Vincent had said at the outset that his following would increase once everyone got used to the New World Order, and decided to opt for debauchery over piety. Now on that score, Abbadon was positive that he was right. She'd been a Demon for many, many years before she'd found out that she was actually half-Angel. People enjoyed liquor and gambling, sex and drugs. People liked fun, and those things were a lot more fun than putting on stiff, formal clothes and heading to church. Preached to by some man, who had probably done way worse things than most of the humans were there to confess.
Vincent had talked about setting up the new Babylon, here in the Caribbean. His Valhalla. Sin City, in the tropics. Who the hell needed technology, when they had every vice a person could ever want, right here?
Abbadon shrugged. That was fine with her. It would do, for the time being. She left the beach and headed back to the resort.
One of the final verses in the last book of the Bible, Revelation, says in part: "'There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the old order of things has passed away'."
The latter part of that statement was very true in this new reality, but the rest of it was incredibly false. There would be plenty of those things in the near future, under Vincent's regime.
The deaths had begun in that barn on Father Eli's property. The mourning would come later, when the shock of what had transpired was a little less fresh.
On the evening before the dawn of the New World Order, two hundred and fifty-four souls were the opening ante in Vincent's game.
The fire from Mike and Carolyn's burning bodies had almost gone out when the rafters that Cas had impossibly caused to shake with his rage detached, and crashed to the floor of the barn. The wooden beams were load-bearing, so they were extremely heavy. The beams pinned the members of the congregation to the floor of the barn and then, the fire proceeded to spread. It didn't take long for the unfortunate victims to begin screaming in agony as the flames engulfed them.
Crowley was no longer there, of course. The instant Castiel had turned into the equivalent of a Biblical hit man, the King of Hell had taken a powder. It was always a bit of a risk to be around his brother, but as soon as Crowley had seen what Vincent's spell had done to Castiel, he was out of there. No sense tempting fate. Crowley had accomplished what he'd set out to do. When Vincent had summoned the King and proposed the partnership, Gail's father had asked Crowley for that one tiny little favour. All kinds of promises had been made, none of which Crowley believed, of course. Vincent was a hedonistic, bone-rattling joke. But Crowley had had his own reasons for wanting in, so he'd played along. The blood ritual he had performed on Gail had rendered her temporarily powerless, which the King found amusing. Just wait until the first occasion for her to use them came. He wished he could be a fly on the wall to see the look on her face.
On the flip side, Castiel had powers to burn right now, pun definitely intended. Vincent, that duplicitous bastard, had levelled Castiel up by using the blood of the original Sons, Cain and Abel, for his spell. That condition would only be temporary, as well. The question was, who among them would blink first?
Mark had also popped out of the barn, because his first priority was and had always been self-preservation. He had seen how things were going to go the instant Castiel had touched those humans. There was no way that Mark was sticking around to see who his erstwhile Brother was going to go after next. He'd winked himself out of the barn before the fire had started burning in earnest.
Gail was rooted in shock to the spot where she and Crowley had stood, still trying to process what in the hell had just happened. Disgust was battling with denial, rendering her inactive for the moment. Her stomach was churning as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. What the hell had Crowley been trying to pull with THAT? Geez! Now she would have to get a lip transplant. Gross! She turned on him furiously, but he looked at her expressionlessly, then promptly disappeared.
But it was what Cas had done that really had his wife frozen in her tracks. She was hardly aware of the human members of Eli's congregation screaming loudly as they were trapped by the burning wooden rafters. Then, they all began to burn. The only thing Gail could see in her mind's eye at the moment was Cas, with his hands on top of Carolyn and Mike's heads, smiting them. Why had he done that?! She couldn't let herself believe what she had just seen.
Her paralysis finally broke when she realized that Cas was advancing on Barry with that strange zombie-like walk, and the icy blue stare in his eyes.
"Cas, don't," Barry was saying, backing away. "Please."
Barry backed right into Eli, who was also standing rooted to his spot by the altar. Eli, on the other hand, wasn't so much shocked as he was deeply impressed. In the span of just a few minutes, Vincent had managed to bring about the New World Order with a couple of waves of his hand. He had warned Father Eli that there would have to be a number of sacrifices required to build the new world, and Eli had understood. But he himself was still standing, and he could build a chapel and form a new congregation once again. The avenging Angel was going to smite the man who had defiled Eli's brother. He couldn't wait to see that. It had been unfortunate that Eli's sister had been part of the sacrifice, but she had been resistant, so it was just as well.
Gail ran forward, pushing past Cas. She wheeled on him, looking up at him furiously. "What the hell?!" she shouted at her husband. "What have you done?"
Cas stared down at her with that stony expression on his face. "Move aside," was all he said.
"NO!" she screamed. "What is the matter with you?"
"I am an Angel of the Lord," he said coldly. "Heretics and blasphemers must be executed."
"Well, I'm an Angel of the Lord, too, and I say you're not going to kill any more of our friends!" she told him.
"Move aside, or I will be forced to put my hands on you," Cas said in a cool monotone.
Gail nearly brayed with hysterical laughter. In a different time and place, one where her husband wasn't trying to kill off half of their extended family members, she probably would have been delighted to hear him use an expression like that. She would tease him about his verbiage, he would smile, and then, they would be kissing.
But this Cas was a man she didn't even know. He waved his hand, and she took a couple of staggered steps to the side. She supposed it could have been worse, Gail thought with dry, dark humour. He could have flung her to the other side of the barn. The fire was spreading, and the smoke was starting to sting Gail's eyes and hurt her throat. She could hear the sound of Barry coughing from behind her, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to see through the haze.
Gail then did something she had never done before: she flung her arms in Cas's direction, trying to knock him aside. She could feel the power emanating from him, and that, coupled with his strange demeanour, was really scaring her now. They could kiss and make up later. If Cas didn't smite the crap out of her in the meantime, that was.
But Cas didn't budge an inch. Gail was panicking now. She lunged for Barry and grabbed him by the sleeve, intending to wink him out of the barn before they burned to a crisp. But... nothing happened.
Gail swore loudly. What the hell was up with THAT, now? Where were her Angelic powers, all of a sudden? She looked around wildly. The burning rafters had blocked the aisle that led to the exit doors. There was no other way out. There was no other way out!
Her heart stopped as Cas moved toward Barry again. But her husband ignored their Canadian friend. Instead, Cas put his hand on Eli's head. "You are a False Prophet," he announced loudly. "You and your ilk are to be blinded, just as you blind the unfortunate souls who choose to believe your lies. Acts, 13."
Eli's eyes burst into flames and he screamed shrilly, just like the people from his congregation were screaming as they roasted alive. The screams had become weaker and fewer now, a fact that concerned Gail even more, because that meant they were running out of time. The flames would be coming for them, in a minute. Barry coughed again, deeper, this time.
As Eli's body turned to ash, Cas gave Gail the push. An instant later, she was standing outside, breathing in the cool night air gratefully.
Barry was with her. She'd still had a hold of his sleeve. Thank God. He bent over at the knees, coughing harshly.
It was fully dark outside, and there was no way of knowing how long they'd been in the barn. The grounds of the commune were bathed in an eerie red glow from the blood moon, hanging large and low in the sky. Cas had sent them far enough away from the burning barn that they could still see it, but not be endangered by the fire.
Barry straightened up from his coughing fit. "What the hell was THAT?" he asked Gail. "What did Cas just do?"
She was distressed. "I don't know, Barry! It must have been that weird-ass spell of Vincent's that's made him this way! I'm so sorry about Carolyn and Mike. You know that Cas would never do anything like that if he was in his right mind." Gail started to cry. She didn't know if she would ever be able to get that horrifying image out of her head. Cas was going to feel devastated, once they cured him of whatever her bastard of a father had done to him. And Crowley was going to have a lot of explaining to do, too. Gail thought she was already starting to figure it out: he had siphoned off her powers with that kiss, somehow. That disgusting, slimy, bloody kiss. Who needed powers? Next time she saw him, she was going to punch him right in the mouth, as hard as she could. See how he liked THAT kiss.
Just to make sure, she tried popping herself a few feet away from where they were standing now. Nothing. Great. Just great.
Barry was frowning. He knew that Gail was right: Cas would never have done anything so reprehensible as to murder Barry's sister-in-law and her boyfriend if he had been himself. Still, they were dead now, and now, Barry had a big problem.
"Peter!" he called out loudly, looking around the grounds. "Peter! It's Barry. Where are you?"
Oh, crap. Gail's heart sank again. She had almost forgotten. Peter had run out of the barn screaming as soon as Cas had... Gail felt like crying again. Peter was an orphan now, courtesy of her husband. How on earth were they ever going to get past that? How was Peter?
She began calling for Carolyn's son now, too. The boy didn't appear. Suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound as the burning barn began to collapse. Cas!
Gail took off, running toward the fire. Her heart was hammering in her vessel's chest. Where was he? She'd just assumed he was going to wink himself out of there, after he'd given her the push. But he was nowhere to be seen. Had he hung back, to see if he could save anyone? She started to panic again. Had he gotten trapped in there?
The moment Gail got to the burning wreckage, she took a deep breath, preparing to run inside what was left of the building. Cas was the love of her life. Her person. She was going to rescue him, somehow. If not, they could burn together.
But then, miraculously, Cas came walking out of the fire. Gail gaped at her husband. His eyes were glowing bright blue. He didn't have a scratch or a smudge on him, at least, not as far as she could see. Even his clothes were in pristine condition.
She was so relieved to see him that she rushed forward and threw her arms around him. "Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed.
Cas stood there stiffly, not responding to her embrace. But an instant later, they were standing with Barry, away from the fire.
Gail pulled away from her husband, smacking him in the chest. "What the hell, Cas?!" she shouted. Now that she saw he was all right, she was going to kill him. "Why did you do it?"
"Heretics and blasphemers shall be executed," he intoned, and Gail stamped her foot in frustration. "Cas, I love you, but if you say that one more time, I'm going to have to punch you right in the face," she said through gritted teeth.
"Peter!" Barry called again, ignoring the couple for the moment. "Where are you? You can come out, now. It's OK."
But it wasn't OK, was it? Gail thought sadly. For young Peter, it was never going to be OK, not ever again. He was an orphan now, thanks to one of the people he was supposed to have been able to trust the most.
Almost as if echoing her thoughts, Peter emerged slowly from the place he'd been hiding. He wasn't a small child any more, but the trauma of what he'd just been through had rendered him paralyzed with fear. He'd run out of the barn on pure instinct. But then, once outside, he'd had no idea what to do. Peter and his mother had been held prisoners here, and now, his mother and Mike were dead. And Uncle Cas had killed them! The same Uncle Cas who helped build snowmen every year at Christmas, throwing snowballs at Peter's other uncles, making everyone laugh. Uncle Cas, who dropped by their house as often as he could between Heavenly missions, to make sure they were all okay. Uncle Cas, who had popped himself and Aunt Gail over to that TV talk show to stick up for Peter's Uncle Barry, when those awful people, Uncle Tommy's murderer's parents, were being mean to him. His mom had tried to shield Peter and Ilene from that ugly truth, but Peter wasn't a baby. He knew that Tommy had been murdered, and he knew why, too. He was young, not stupid. His mother and Mike were always trying to keep him from finding out about that kind of stuff, but Peter knew, anyway.
Well, he guessed that he was going to have to grow up pretty quick, now. His mother and Mike were dead, and his Uncle Cas was crazy. Peter had hidden in the crawlspace underneath the stairs of one of the buildings near the gate. He'd been too scared to try leaving the grounds. The gate was always locked, and there were armed Deacons guarding it on both sides. Peter had no way of knowing that the cult members were all dead now, including Father Eli. All he knew was that he was really, really scared.
Then he'd heard Barry call out his name, and then, Aunt Gail joined in. They were telling him that it was OK, now. But they were lying. It wasn't OK. How could it be?
Still, he couldn't stay in there forever. So Peter had crawled out from his hiding place and walked towards the sound of their voices. Aunt Gail was yelling at Uncle Cas, asking him why he'd done that. Why he'd killed Peter's parents. Mike had been Peter's Dad; at least, as far as the boy was concerned. He'd never met his real father. The boy knew that his real dad didn't want any kids, so when his Mom had gotten pregnant with him, they had split up. None of that was in any way unusual. Practically everybody in Peter's school had multiple parental figures. He had never felt like he was lacking in male role models, anyway. Peter had had Barry and Tommy, and then, he had had Mike. Plus, all his uncles. Including Uncle Cas.
Barry saw Peter first, and he rushed over to the boy. "Are you all right?" Barry asked Carolyn's son. "You scared me!"
Peter hugged Barry fiercely. The boy was a little too young to appreciate the rich irony. He had scared Barry? Peter had just witnessed his uncle, killing his parents!
Cas lifted his head to the night sky, and the expression on his face was inscrutable. "It has begun," he announced. "We will leave this place and head west. There will be a number of farms at which we can stay along the way."
"Farms? What are you talking about, now?" Gail asked her husband, totally perplexed. She supposed she should be grateful that he wasn't still talking about heretics or blasphemers, or looking murderously at any of them.
"The End of Times, or what your father is calling the 'New World Order'," Cas responded. "The modern landscape has been altered quite dramatically. There is no electricity. Nor is there any indoor plumbing. And there are certainly no cell phones, nor any device of that kind. Not in working order, anyway. We will make our way to the outskirts of the nearest town, while the light of the Blood Moon still affords us some visibility."
"The Blood Moon?" Barry said, startled. Peter was still embracing him, but the boy had edged around to stand behind Barry. He didn't want to look at Cas, right now.
"Yes. Otherwise known as the Harvest Moon," Cas answered his query. "If you stay near me, I will lead you to safety."
Gail was fed up. "Safety?!" she exclaimed angrily. "What do you mean, 'safety'? You just killed Carolyn and Mike, and you were going for Barry, next!"
Barry winced, glancing down at Peter. But, even though what she had said sounded harsh, it was nonetheless true. They were owed an explanation.
Cas looked confused, but only for a millisecond. Then he explained, "I was not going to harm Barry. I was attempting to get past him, to eliminate the False Prophet. Unfortunately, it was already too late to change the events which are unfolding now. I executed the humans because-" He faltered for a moment, and his eyes blinked rapidly, "- because they were breaking one of the Father's Commandments. They were living in Sin."
He had to be kidding with that. "So did we, before we got married in Rome!" she pointed out.
"We were entirely celibate," Cas said primly, and the inappropriate laughter was bubbling up in Gail's throat again. Yeah, right. Sure they had been. Even though that Demon nonsense had been just a shared delusion, that didn't mean that the two of them hadn't been busy being far from celibate in every room of that damn house. What would he do if she reminded him of that, now? Would he smite her, too?
Gail tried to keep her temper in check. There were other, bigger things to worry about right now. Hopefully, Cas would snap out of it soon. She'd already seen the hesitation when he had mentioned "executing" Mike and Carolyn. But in the meantime, she had to assume that everything Cas was saying was true. This must be the "apocalyptic event" that they'd been fearing. But really, it could have been a lot worse, in some aspects. She wasn't unmindful of all those poor, unfortunate people who had died in the barn, especially Carolyn and Mike, but... Wait. Wait a minute.
"Can't you just pop us somewhere?" Gail asked her husband. "The bunker, or Frank's place?"
"No," he said coolly. "I must conserve my power for the battle ahead, and so should you."
"Cas, I don't HAVE any powers," she said irritably. "I'm pretty sure Crowley took them, when he-" She almost mentioned the "k" word, then thought better of it. Cas had always been jealously protective when it came to her and Crowley. Which was understandable, in a way. When she and Cas had first met in this timeline, Crowley had been trying to... what, exactly? Woo her? Screw her? Possess her? All of the above? Mercifully, he had come to realize the futility of his endeavours and backed off, but Cas had that avenging-Angel, stick-up-the-butt look on his face now, and why borrow more trouble? "... uh, was there," she finished, rather lamely.
Luckily, Cas wasn't paying attention to that part, because he was concentrating on what she had said at first. It occurred to him that he should have sensed right away that she had been drained of her powers. He peered closer at her. Gail still retained her status as an Angel, but currently, it seemed that she had no special abilities. Everything had happened so quickly, back there in the barn. So, it was Crowley who had stolen her powers? Fine. As soon as Castiel sorted out what to do with these humans who were his responsibility, the King of Hell was due for a reckoning.
But, for the moment: the longest journey begins with a single step, Cas thought. He needed to lead Barry, Peter and Gail to shelter for the night. Then, he would consult the stars as the humans slept. Should he shepherd Barry and the boy back to their home in Vancouver? No; Castiel assumed that they would want to be reunited with Ilene, the little girl they had left behind at Frank and Jody's house, in Lebanon, Kansas. Castiel supposed that was the least he could do. He could feel the bewilderment and hostility coming from the three of them in waves, but there was nothing he could do about that. The humans couldn't possibly understand that he had merely been doing his duty, enforcing Heaven's laws. Castiel had been telling the truth when he'd stated that he had not intended to harm Barry. Why would he do that? Barry was not a Sinner; he was a widower. He and Tommy had been lawfully married, and their union had been blessed. God the Father approved of marriage. And Carolyn's son Peter had been conceived as the result of a marital union, even though that had been subsequently tainted by divorce. But the child was innocent. Castiel was an Angel of the Lord. It was his duty to protect innocent humans.
And, he had his own marriage to protect. Cas knew that Gail was extremely angry with him right now. He was sure that she would understand their mission once she got her Grace back. Until then, he needed to protect her at all costs. She was his One True Mate, and she would be instrumental in the fight against the Unholy Trinity.
"Follow me," Cas said to the others, moving toward the gates at the edge of the facility.
Gail looked at Barry with a half-shrug. She didn't really feel like they had a choice. She had no powers, and Barry and Peter were humans. Who knew what kind of wildlife was out there in the woods? Cas seemed sincere about wanting to keep them safe, and he was the only one who seemed to have a clue about what he was doing.
The three of them followed Cas out of the compound.
Phanuel had been unaffected by the events, of course. He had an Archangel's powers, and he was a being who was almost as ancient as Castiel. Entities like Phanuel had little use for things like electricity, or technology in general. But he was aware that there had been a significant event on Earth now, one that could potentially alter everything, going forward.
He summoned Gabriel to the fourth quadrant of the Andromeda galaxy. Previously they had met on Earth, more for convenience than for any other reason. But as far as Phanuel could discern, the planet Earth was going to be a very unstable environment soon.
Gabriel had a strange feeling of hope as he faced Phanuel. Did this so-called cataclysmic event on Earth mean that Gabe was going to be released? He asked his fellow Archangel that question now.
Phanuel hesitated. Truthfully, he had no idea. Things on Earth may have changed in a big way, but the Archangel who had been acting as the go-between had not. Phanuel was still not in any position to make that sort of decision.
Gabriel was unimpressed. "Then what the hell is your purpose?" he said angrily.
"I am the Archangel of Penance, and Judgement," Phanuel said stiffly.
"Well then, go say ten Hail Marys, and get me your boss," Gabe retorted. He was the most lucid he'd been in a long time. The latest modification to his mind was wearing thin, and now he had the added worry about his family members on Earth. Gabe knew that Castiel was currently in Ontario, Canada. The False Prophet was dead, which was good, but Vincent was not. It was odd, though; Gabriel couldn't pick Gail up, at all. If she was there with Cas, why couldn't he see her?
Phanuel sighed, but he supposed that he had better consult with his Master. This situation had been sudden and unforseen, and he needed guidance. He sent out the call, then stood silently at attention, waiting for the reply.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. Sheesh. Castiel was a laugh riot, compared to this guy. But Gabe remained, because he was looking forward to having a little chat with -
The entity appeared in front of the two of them. Phanuel took a step back, but, for a welcome change, his Master wasn't angry. How could he be? A very large part of him had been skeptical that someone like Vincent would have been so successful in implementing the plan so perfectly. But the logistics were no one else's business. As long as the Archangels played their parts, he would take care of the rest.
"I have no idea what's going on here, but you and I are going to have a little chat," Gabriel said to the newcomer. "I'm not gonna be your stooge any more. There was no need for Daniel to die. None. Sure, I admit that I did it, but I still have no clue as to why. He didn't know anything."
"Oh?" the entity said coldly. "And how do you know what he knew? For that matter, what do YOU know about it?"
"Nothing," Gabriel said through clenched teeth. "That's the whole point. I don't know anything about anything. All I do know is that I'm done being your Biblical hit man. I'm not a killer. If you need somebody to take the bad guys out, you should be talking to Castiel."
Phanuel's eyes widened, and his Master nearly laughed out loud. If only Gabriel knew how amusing that remark had been. For an instant, he was sorely tempted to tell Gabriel why; although he wouldn't, of course. Things were going extremely well. If events unfolded the way he expected them to from here on out, there might not be the need to use Gabriel any more. But one should never put all of one's eggs in a single basket.
So he reached out and touched Gabriel's forehead. Gabriel was so surprised that he had no time to react. He'd honestly thought that somebody of this guy's Exalted stature would be much more honourable.
One bright flash of aquamarine later, Gabriel's mind had been modified, yet again. He popped back to Heaven, having no recollection whatsoever of their meeting.
Sam had been the first Winchester brother to awaken but, unlike Frank, Sam knew that there was something wrong right away. As his eyes opened and he looked around the room, Sam could see that the emergency light by the door to his bedroom was on. Those lights only came on when there had been a disruption of power. Because the bunker was as fortified as it was, he could count the number of times that had ever happened on one hand.
The younger Winchester threw on sweats and a t-shirt and opened the top drawer of his nightstand. Now that they didn't have any kids here to worry about, he'd gone back to keeping a loaded gun there, with the safety on.
Sam crept down the hallway to Dean's room. There were emergency lights all the way down the corridor, so the passageway was dimly lit. Not that he needed the illumination. Sam was certain he could navigate the entire bunker from one end to the other blindfolded, if need be.
He got to his brother's room. "Dean!" Sam shouted, knocking on the closed door. "Dean! Wake up! We might have a-" What? What might they have? "- a situation," he concluded.
Dean came out of his room a moment later. He was dressed the same way Sam was, and he was also carrying a gun. "What's going on?"
"I don't know, Dean. I just woke up," Sam replied. He moved down the corridor in the direction of the library, and Dean was right beside him. Sam checked the doors on the left, Dean on the right. Nothing. No one.
The brothers reached the library area, looking around curiously. They couldn't see anything wrong, except for the fact that there was no electricity. "I'm gonna check the garage," Dean announced, and he headed back down the hall. Sam shook his head slowly. Of course. Dean was going to check on his Baby.
Sam continued to poke around the library area, but no intruder was found. A minute or two later, Dean was back.
"Everything looks OK," the elder Winchester told his brother. "But when I went to start Baby, she wouldn't start."
"I tried to check my phone," Sam said, gesturing with it. "I don't think it's just a power outage we're dealing with. The phone won't even turn on."
"Maybe your battery's dead," Dean remarked.
Sam looked at his brother. "No, Dean. No, it's not. When have you ever known me to let my battery die? I mean, ever?"
Dean had to give him that. Sammy was a geek. His little brother would be much more likely to leave the bunker with no pants on than to leave home with a dead cell phone.
Suddenly, Bobby popped into the library.
"Geez! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Dean exclaimed, clutching his chest with his free hand. He was still holding his gun with the other.
"What's going on, Bobby?" Sam asked their friend curiously.
"What's going on?!" Bobby echoed. "A shitstorm, that's what's going on. Have a seat, boys."
As many people were waking up or going about their days in different parts of the world, wondering what was wrong with the power, the television, the computers, and their automobiles, others were less affected. In third world countries, or in remote, rural locations, there hadn't been much of an adjustment to make.
Abbadon was sitting poolside on a lounge chair, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. Soon they would have to quit swimming in the pool, though. Without any power, the water would turn stagnant. That was OK; the beach was mere steps away. Besides, Vincent had promised there would be more games to play, in the near future. They were simply biding their time right now, waiting for the New World Order to sink in. Once society began to break down, things were about to get a lot more interesting. Vincent had said it, and Abbadon had to admit she was convinced he was right. She had dealt with lesser Demons for years and years, and one thing they all had in common was instant gratification syndrome. In a world without all the modern comforts and conveniences, many humans would revert to the cavemen they had once been. It wouldn't be long until Vincent's hedonistic way of life drew multitudes of people to him. They might not be the Undead army he had prevaricated about, but they would be damn close.
The Demon/Angel hybrid jumped from her chair as she felt a tickle on her bare back. This was Paradise in many ways, but there were a few too many large insects and lizards for her liking. She hoped that hadn't been what she'd felt.
Damien laughed. "So, there IS something that scares you!" he crowed. "Vincent says you're the most badass woman he's ever met. He says you don't have to worry about keeping your drinks cold, 'cause you've already got ice water in your veins."
Abbadon smiled. Actually, that was a pretty good one. Vincent was an ass, but he did have entertainment value, sometimes.
Damien perched himself on the edge of her lounge chair. He had a glass of what looked like fruit juice in one hand, but she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Not that she cared. The kid could pour cocaine on his corn flakes, for all she cared.
But when he put his other hand on her leg, Abbadon raised an eyebrow. "What do you think you're doing?" she said coolly.
"Vincent said you're the best," he said with a grin. "Why would I want to settle for less? Come on; I'm The Son."
Abbadon moved her leg away. "You're nine years old," she pointed out, making a face.
"I didn't think you had any standards," Damien retorted.
"Did Vincent tell you that, too?" she said evenly.
"He didn't have to," the boy said, smirking. "I'm pretty sure I'm the only one you haven't screwed, since we got here. I'm still waiting to become a man."
She was glaring at him now. "If I ever had any doubts you were his son, I don't, now. The only difference is, he's got the power, and the experience. You're just a boy. I'll pass, thanks." She swung her legs off the lounger, and Damien's hand clamped around her wrist.
"You're a whore," he said harshly.
"Take your hand off me, or you won't live to see ten," Abbadon said angrily.
"You wouldn't dare touch one little hair on my head," Damien came back with. "Vincent would wipe the Earth with that pretty face of yours."
Abbadon considered that, for a moment. She reached down with her free hand and cupped him gently. Damien inhaled sharply.
"I could teach you things you wouldn't believe," she said softly. He let go of her wrist. She took the hand that had released her and put it on her chest, between her breasts.
Damien started to smile. Now, she was talking. He'd known she would treat him with more respect as soon as he mentioned Vincent's name. The boy had come to learn that all he had to do to get people to jump to do his bidding was to invoke the Unholy name of Papa Legba. They all knew that Damien was the heir apparent, the crown prince of the New Order. Nobody dared say "no" to him.
Well, except for this one little thing, of course. Damien had hit on every female in their ever-increasing group, and they'd all said no. What was up with that? He knew he was only nine years old, mathematically, but he had the mind and the desires of a fully-grown adult. Or maybe it was because his father had told them to stay away. He was too small in stature to take what he wanted by force. But not for much longer. Vincent had promised his son that once he turned ten at the end of November, his body would grow into that of a man's, and then he would be unstoppable.
Abbadon's fingernails suddenly dug into Damien's testicles, and he was so surprised he let out a noise that sounded like a squeak. Abbadon smirked. The next time she wanted to have sex with Stuart Little, she would let this boy know. And, based on what she was feeling under her hand now, the terminology was apt.
"I don't give a damn if you call me a whore," she hissed. "I've been called much worse, by much better people than you. I get that you're strutting around here acting like a man so you don't have to feel like a lost little boy. But if you ever operate under the mistaken impression that I'm the teensiest bit afraid of you, or of your father, I'll destroy you. Do you get that, 'Prince'?"
"Yes," Damien said quickly. Her nails were nearly puncturing right through him, now. Any more pressure, and he would never have to worry about becoming a man again. "Yeah. I get it. Now, let go."
Abbadon was sincerely tempted to apply that extra pressure, and squeeze the little bastard's grapes into a glass. That would be the sweetest sip of wine she had ever drunk. But she wasn't exactly coming from a position of strength, here. Not yet. What she needed was a plan of her own, a way to increase the odds of her survival. She could worry about victory later.
So she let go of Damien, got up from the lounge chair, and stalked away.
Damien let out a breath. For a minute there, he'd really thought she was going to do it. Damien had just been bluffing about his dad, anyway. Vincent would probably just tell his son that if he messed with somebody like Abbadon, he'd get what he deserved. He couldn't wait until his birthday. Most kids made wishes when they blew out the candles on their birthday cake, or made lists of birthday presents they wanted. Damien had a list, all right, but it was nothing as benign as that. He had a list of people he was going to play with, torture, and then take apart, piece by piece. And Abbadon had just moved to the top of that list.
He knocked back his drink and went in search of more alcohol.
So the first day of the New Order began with the modern-day equivalent of the Apocalypse, deaths by fire, an avenging Angel, and the whore of the new Babylon. The Beginning of the End had begun.