Chapter 4 – Who Do You Trust?
Gabriel had been roaming the Earth for a week now, performing random healings and good works, but he was starting to feel kind of strange about this whole thing. What was he doing, playing the Lone Wolf with no name, or identity? Who was he, David Carridine, or something? Or had that been Keith, in the original Kung Fu television show? Who knew? Who cared? The bottom line was, he was Gabriel, the Archangel of All Powers, and he was currently hiding out in South America like...like he was the biggest, lamest weenie of them all.
What was he so afraid of, anyway? Phanuel, the Archangel of Penance and Judgement? Bitch, please. Gabriel had nothing to do penance FOR. Nothing. Whatever Gabriel was, he was what God the Father had made him. So what if he enjoyed the taste of wine, and the company of females? At least he wasn't some mealy-mouthed, holier-than-thou slave to an unfeeling bastard like -
Suddenly, a bright light flashed in front of Gabriel, and Phanuel appeared.
"Well, isn't that a coincidence?" Gabe said sarcastically. "I was just thinking about you."
"I know," Phanuel fretted. "I could hear you. But I'm a little busy, right now."
"Yeah? Doing what?" Gabriel inquired. "I didn't know you actually DID anything. Well, besides bending over for your Master's lash, that is. That's about all you do around here, isn't it, Phanny?"
"You're the most peculiar Angel I've ever met," Phanuel remarked.
"Archangel," Gabriel corrected him. "In case you've forgotten, I outrank you. In every way possible. Don't you ever forget that."
"I have not forgotten," Phanuel stated, but his eyes were darting from side to side.
"What's the matter with you?" Gabriel asked him, a suspicious look on his face. "You're acting jumpier than usual."
Phanuel WAS edgy. He had been ordered to keep an eye on the fifth designated Angel, who was way across the world right now. Phanuel was supposed to make sure the fifth domino fell, but he couldn't do that if he was here arguing with Gabriel, could he? Could Gabriel be trusted to do as he had been instructed? Phanuel honestly didn't know. But if the fifth Angel didn't do what he was supposed to do, none of the subsequent events would occur. And if none of the subsequent events occurred, this all would have been for naught.
"Remember your instructions," Phanuel said sternly. Then he popped himself away.
Paul couldn't believe it. Here he was, bound and chained to a dumpster in an alley in downtown Algiers, and he had no idea why, or even how, it had happened.
The Angel had been thrilled when Bobby'd told him that he was being deployed to Africa. A chance to help his people? Great. Terrific. Sign him up. Bobby had felt like rolling his eyes and making a smartass remark, something along the lines of "What do you mean, 'your people'? Do you mean Angels?" But in the end, he'd let it go. He knew what Paul was like. Raphael's son had gotten a lot better about it in recent years, but Bobby knew that Paul still struggled with himself over the issue of racism, once in a while. Truth be told, so did Bobby. There was such a thing as being too sensitive about these kinds of subjects sometimes, no matter what the colour of your skin happened to be. Or, the content of your character, as it had turned out.
Paul had found that out the hard way when he'd been set upon by a gang of street thugs whose faces had all been as black as his own. That had been a rude awakening, to say the least. And after all he and his fellow Angels had done for the region, too. Paul had been walking down the road, minding his own business, when a half a dozen locals had grabbed him. Paul had fought them, but in the human way, only. There had been quite enough black-on-black violence in the world before The Event, without his contributing to it now.
The youths had overpowered him and dragged him into the alleyway, and by the time Paul had overcome his reticence to use Angelic force and tried to use it, he'd found that he could not.
A puzzled Paul had watched the gang leave after they had secured him to the dumpster. They'd gone through his pockets, presumably looking for weapons or food, and then they had left. What had been the point? Paul wondered. His Angel blade was in his boot, a place they'd never bothered to check, and he'd had no food on him, of course.
So what was the point of leaving him here, chained up like this? He'd had no beef with those street kids. Paul had never seen any of them before. Did they expect him just to wither away? Die of starvation? He simply didn't get it.
Nor could he understand why he hadn't been able to just bust out of the chains. Well, not at first, anyway. Bobby had given all of them carte blanche, as far as their Angel powers went. He still wanted them to use some discretion, of course, but at the same time, the Angels' boss realized the status of the situation that was happening on Earth right now was Code Red. Helping the human race to survive superceded anything and everything else. Which was good, because Paul and his squads had had to pull some loaves and fishes out of their asses just to keep the people fed. Not that they could perform those kinds of miracles, exactly, but there had been a fair amount of chicanery involved under Paul's leadership which was probably not happening in other parts of the world.
But Paul was unrepentant about that. No one had gone hungry or thirsty under his watch, that was the bottom line. That had made what had happened to him now all the more baffling.
Well, that was until he'd looked more closely at the chains and realized that they were no ordinary restraints. Far from it, in fact. Paul didn't think he'd ever seen sigils and pentagrams used in an interlocking pattern before. Interesting. Whoever had put those kids up to this had really wanted him to stay put.
So he'd waited and waited, and eventually, she'd come. He could hear her high heels clicking on the stones of the alleyway long before he set eyes on her.
"Hi, Paul," Abbadon said, smiling. "Remember me?"
"You'd think I would be surprised," the Angel said dryly. "But somehow, I'm not."
"That's because you're technically an Angel, but you still think like a Demon," Abbadon replied, still smiling slyly. "You know I'm playing for much higher stakes than a beach chair in the tropics, and my pick of cabana boys."
Paul shrugged. "Makes sense, but I don't know what any of that would have to do with me. Unless you want to talk redemption, but I've gotta tell you, it's gonna take a lot more than a few Hail Marys, in your case."
She moved closer to him. "Redemption? Why would I want redemption?" Abbadon said softly. "For what? The very word implies that I've done something wrong. But I'm no worse than you are, Paul." Abbadon leaned in even closer to him. Her lips brushed his ear. "It wasn't too long ago that you and I did more than a few things we probably should have said quite a number of Hail Marys and Our Fathers for. Remember?' She traced his arm lightly with one red fingernail. "Are you still as muscular as I recall, or has Heaven made you soft?"
"I'm married," Paul said stiffly, and Abbadon laughed merrily. "Well, aren't you cute," she said, feeling his torso through his shirt.
"What do you want?" he said impatiently.
"Let me ask you something," she countered, looking into Paul's eyes. "How does it feel to be an Angel who was once a Demon? How's your boss treating you? A white man with a Southern accent, isn't he? Oh, well. That's still got to be an improvement over serving under your father's killer. Does your God make you kneel to him, like the original God used to make your father kneel?"
Paul glared at her. Abbadon was using something he'd told her in confidence when they'd both been in Hell to piss him off now, and he didn't like it one bit. The bile rose in Paul's throat when he remembered Raphael telling his son that he had been required to bow and scrape before the Lord. Yet Raphael had witnessed others who were below his station being allowed to keep their feet when addressing the Almighty. That had been a deep-seated resentment passed down from father to son, and it didn't take a genius to further deduce that it was the seed from which Paul's highly developed sense of racism had grown. Whether it was intentional or not wasn't for Paul to say, but he had shared that little tidbit with Abbadon when they'd been in bed one night, and now here she was, using it to try and poison him. The trouble was, it was a very effective tactic.
"It just so happens that there IS something you can help me with," Abbadon continued, and now, she was popping the buttons off his shirt with her fingernail. What she saw didn't disappoint. He was just as built as she remembered.
"I told you, I'm married," Paul said through gritted teeth. He was trying not to remember those nights in Hell with Abbadon. He loved his wife. He loved Linda.
"Don't flatter yourself," Abbadon said with a smirk. "We had fun, but I've moved on. No; it's not that. It's your heritage. Did you know that your family tree goes back to ancient times? You're sort of like me, in that regard. I'm half-Demon, half-Angel, and you're a mirror image of me, Paul. You're half-Angel, half-Demon. Didn't you ever wonder why you never really felt out of place, during your stint in Hell? It's because of your lineage. Your father may have been an Archangel, but if you check things out a little further, you'll find that the maternal branch of your family goes all the way back to Bathshear. The original keeper of the Lake of Fire."
Paul's mouth dropped open in surprise, and Abbadon used the opportunity to kiss him, snaking her tongue into his mouth. "Now, the question is," Abbadon went on, and she was starting to smile again, "are you going to open the pit for me willingly, or am I going to have to use my considerable powers of persuasion?"
"Can't we do both?" Paul retorted, and her smile grew wider.
Like so many other things in Gail's existence, her grand plan had turned out completely differently than she had envisioned.
The first deviation was of her own devising. As they got closer to home, Gail realized that what she had originally planned was crazy. She had thought that Sam and Dean would be the ideal candidates to summon Crowley. Even though the King of Hell professed to hate the Winchesters and the brothers had always made the same claims about him, all three men still existed, didn't they? And they always showed up whenever the other party called. Always. What a weird dynamic that was, Gail thought, when she really thought about it. She seldom did these days, but she was thinking about it now.
As she and John had been traipsing down the road toward the place Gail now thought of as her home, about a million memories had come flooding back to her. A good deal of the state she was in was probably due to John's constant presence. Seeing him everywhere she looked had brought Gail's mind back to her first time in Crowley's den. What a loser she had been back then. A walking, talking movie cliché. The quintessential damsel in distress. An innocent young girl whose reputation had been soiled by the proverbial bad man in black. Had Crowley ever twirled his moustache? And, to complete the picture, she'd had a literal Angel come to her rescue, as well as two other tall, dark, and handsome men. They even drove an Impala, for God's sake, although it wasn't white.
But her idiocy hadn't ended when she'd been rescued from the Belly of the Beast the first time, had it? Oh, no. Gail had voluntarily gone back to Crowley's den for Act II, and then things had gotten even more Shakespearean when she and the Winchesters had all died, following that whole debacle. So had Frank and John, and even Crowley. What kind of epic story begins with nearly all of the principals dead? The same kind of epic story that begins with one brother killing the other for no good reason whatsoever, cursing humanity for all time, she guessed.
Fine. There were supposed to be all kinds of parables and life lessons in the Bible, weren't there? Admittedly, she couldn't really think of any at the moment, though. What did it say about her that her favourite miracle was the one about changing water into wine? Of course, she could be excused if the book that featured her husband's murder as the first of many violent and bloody acts wasn't exactly in her Book-of-the-Month Club.
But then, maybe the most important lessons didn't come from a dusty and ancient book which really had nothing to do with her, anyway. Maybe the parables were supposed to come from Gail's own life. What exactly was God trying to tell her? No; that was the wrong question. God had been telling Gail things for years and years, now. The only problem was, most of the things the Almighty Father had been telling her over the years were things she didn't necessarily think she wanted to hear. Her main takeaway from early childhood had been loneliness and isolation. A feeling of not belonging. That was one quality in Cas that had drawn her to him from the start. The two of them had always had that in common. It had taken Cas centuries to feel as though he was a part of something, and millenniae to feel as if he was welcome anywhere. It was the same with Gail. Emotionally, anyway, if not numerically.
Things hadn't improved when Gail had grown to be a young woman. She and Frank had still led a very insular existence, with the delightful added bonus of living in dread and fear, every damn day of her damn life. There had been so much fear. What if the Demons finally caught up with them? What if one of the monsters Frank chased down got her brother, first? What would they do if they ran out of money, or food? What if? What if?
And then her worst fears had been realized when she and her brother had been kidnapped, and then, just like that, Frank was dead. Gail had thought that her life was over then, and in a way, it had been. Her old life, that was. But, to be extremely cliché about it, Gail's real life had only begun once her human life had ended. Her death would have begun her true emancipation, if her existence was an inspirational series of novels written by an empowered woman. But this was real life, and as the title of an old movie so succinctly stated: Reality Bites.
Therefore, Gail's so-called "emancipation" had consisted of a humiliating trial in Heaven, her Angel boyfriend's execution, and a hellish memory modification that had been so pervasive she'd spent years suffering from abuses that had never actually taken place. So, what the hell kind of lesson had God been trying to send her with all of that crap?
Arguably, Cas had been just as much of a victim as she had been during those years, if not more so. But ever since then, it seemed to Gail that things had by and large gotten easier for Cas, while they'd been getting tougher and tougher for her. No sooner had she and Cas reconciled than Lucifer had gotten out of the cage, and Gail had been attacked by that panther in the Secret Garden. Then she'd been cured by Lucifer, only to be modified by him into forgetting her family, and coerced into Satan's employ. Then, there had been that fun-filled year when Gail had of necessity been turned into a bloodthirsty commando, while her husband had been the object of worship and adoration to thousands of people in Africa.
She could go on and on, and on. It wasn't as if bad things hadn't happened to Cas too over the years, but it just seemed as if...she couldn't really articulate it. It just seemed to Gail as if she had borne the brunt of their misfortunes. Was that unfair? Possibly. But if she were to be completely honest with herself, that was how she really felt.
And now here she was again, being forced to align herself with a sadistic Demon who had victimized her in the past, on their way to summon the King of Hell, who had – surprise, surprise – also victimized Gail, more times than she could count on both hands. Terrific. And why was she in this predicament? Because her husband, who was supposed to love her more than anyone, had suddenly decided that it was way more important to quote from the Bible than to have an actual conversation with his wife. Now, she would be forced to go begging at the King of Hell's feet, because Cas had let go of her hand at the worst possible time. She had never felt so depressed, so angry, and so all alone. Never.
The Book of James in the Bible refers to "patience in the face of suffering".
Paul had done plenty of suffering, but Abbadon was running out of patience. She had taken him to a private place somewhere outside of the city, still bound in those weird-ass chains, and gone to work on him. She had snapped his boots and most of his clothes off, then slid his Angel blade out of its hiding place. "I knew it," the Demon woman said happily. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. Now, what do you say, Paul? Want to get freaky?"
He was chained to a bed that was situated in the middle of the room, eyeing her as calmly as he could. Paul had tried sending out the distress signals, but to no avail. The symbols that were carved into the restraints were obviously blocking his ability to access Angel Radio. Great. Just great. She was gonna filet him and then eat him alive, and there would be nothing he could do about it. He'd tried telling her he had no idea where the damn thing was. How the hell should HE know where the hell the Lake of Fire was? Sure, he'd been there once before, but that had been way back, when Ammit had been in charge of the place. Crowley had moved it after that incident, and no one knew where. Even Cas and Gabriel, who had taken Lanister there so that he could ultimately become the world's most arrogant charcoal briquette, had no recollection of where it was. Crowley had instituted extra protections on the place, presumably to prevent another Angel incursion.
Paul had tried telling Abbadon this, but she hadn't believed him. Instead, she had taken his own blade to him, inflicting small but increasingly painful cuts all over his body, in an effort to dislodge the information.
After what felt like about a million of those, Paul's temper broke. "I done TOLD you, woman, I don't know where your damn pit is at! You can stand there and wail on me all night, but that ain't gonna change!"
"Ooooh, I love it when you talk 'street'," Abbadon cooed, turning the knife around in her hand. "Remember the things we used to call each other in bed, when we were really getting into it?"
"Sure I do," Paul said through gritted teeth, sweat trickling down from his forehead into his eyes. She'd left his face alone, for the most part. So far. "In fact, I'm getting ready to use some of the vernacular, right now," the Angel went on, trying to maintain a cool façade.
"OK, now you're doing it on purpose," Abbadon said with a smile playing on her lips. "I love a man who can go from talking filth to sounding educated, all within the same thirty seconds." She got onto the bed, straddling him. Her hands moved to the zipper of his pants. "Maybe we can table our business for an hour or two. We're both eternal beings, right?"
She had his pants open now, and she was rubbing herself against him. "I'll tell you what, Paul," Abbadon said softly. "I'll put the knife down, and we can take a stroll down memory lane." She leaned down to kiss him, taking his bottom lip between her teeth. "Half an hour with me, and you'll be leading me to the pit by your..." She rubbed against him again. "...well, you know."
God help him, but he was starting to feel something. She needed to stop. She hiked up her skirt and, naturally, she wasn't wearing anything underneath. He remembered the first time he'd discovered that Abbadon wasn't a fan of wearing undergarments. She had "accidentally" given him a good look, while reaching for a book on a high shelf in Hell's library. She'd taken her sweet time doing it, too. Her back had been to Paul, but Abbadon knew from her years of experience that he was taking the bait. There wasn't a man – or woman – she'd met yet who had been able to resist.
Sure enough, there had been the sound of furniture scraping behind her, and Abbadon had turned around just in time to feel Paul's strong arms around her, shoving her so hard against the bookcase that an entire section toppled to the ground. She didn't mind. Far from it, in fact. It was kind of nice not to be the one in charge, for a change. Then he'd opened his pants and pushed up her skirt, and the two of them had gone at it like animals.
Aww, man. Why had he gone and thought about THAT, now? In a hot minute, Paul was going to be an adulterer, and assuming that Abbadon didn't eat him afterwards like the poisonous spider she was, Linda would probably chop off the part of him that Abbadon was taking out of his pants right now as her opening statement in divorce court.
"Is that why you fell for Crowley?" Paul blurted out in desperation.
His tactic worked. Paul wasn't the only one who had blabbed a thing or two when he'd been between the sheets with Abbadon. So had she.
Abbadon stopped what she'd been doing. "What?!" she snapped. "What the hell did you just say?"
"You heard me," Paul said evenly. "You said you love a man who can talk dirty and sound educated, at the same time. That's our former boss, to a tee."
"That describes a lot of people," she said, but Paul could tell he had unnerved her.
"Maybe, but I know you were talking about him," Paul said smugly. "You even called me by his name once, when I experimented with growing that goatee. Remember?"
That did it. Abbadon scrambled off the bed, holding the Angel blade tightly in her fist. It was taking all the will power she had not to drive it into him, as hard as she could. Unfortunately, she still needed him, and they both knew it.
"There's no way you're going to tell me where that pit is, is there?" Abbadon said in a quiet tone.
"Can't tell you what I don't know," Paul said with a shrug.
"Fine," Abbadon said in a clipped tone. "Fine. We'll just see about that."
She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her as Paul's guts churned.
The days were getting shorter now, and the air outside was crisper. But it was a pleasant enough day weather-wise, so they had set up the welcome stations on the front lawns of Frank's and his neighbours' houses.
As refugees began to drift in from nearby towns, the Angels, the neighbours and Jody and the kids served the new arrivals food and distilled water. There were also First Aid stations set up on the street where people could receive medical assistance; celestial, or otherwise. It was an open secret that many of the Angels had been healing people, but Bobby was still trying to keep the lid on that particular can of worms. It probably wouldn't be sustainable in the long run, but the reigning God was extremely leery of just stepping up and proclaiming who he and his helpers truly were. For every human who would believe unequivocally, there were just as many who wouldn't. Probably more of the latter, these days. Once folks prayed for a deliverance that was never gonna come, their hearts would harden, Bobby knew. He'd seen it time and time again over the years. And the worst part of it was that he couldn't honestly say those people were wrong.
Frank and Sam and Dean had slipped into the back yard of Frank and Jody's house, under the guise of taking measurements and discussing building plans. Frank had had the idea of knocking down the fencing between his and his neighbours' yards and building a barn that would be big enough to house some farm animals. Frank didn't know anything about that kind of stuff, but there were others who did. His and Jody's grandkids should have the opportunity to drink some fresh milk, shouldn't they? How about cheese, and eggs? Frank didn't know anything about how cheese was made, or how many eggs a chicken could pop out, but he knew that he had better learn, if he wanted to provide for his family. It was ironic; all those years his ex-colleagues had spent accumulating wealth and stuff, and now, it was all worthless. Family and community were the most important things nowadays, and kindness was the only currency that made any sense.
The men had actually briefly discussed farm buildings, but as Frank shared out the contents of the flask he'd stashed in his winter jacket with the brothers, the conversation morphed into what they'd really been wanting to talk about this whole time.
"What do you think he meant by that?" Frank asked his friends, for the thousandth time.
Sam and Dean exchanged uncomfortable glances, also for about the thousandth time. They'd been over this, again and again.
"You guys knew Cas years ago, back when - " Frank went on, but Dean interrupted him.
" - back when he had a yardstick up his butt, a Bible in one hand, and an Angel blade in the other?" Dean said sarcastically. "Yeah. We never understood what the hell he was talking about then, either."
"Just because he's gotten a lot better at communicating, that doesn't mean he's not still...Cas," Sam chipped in. "But, according to Barry, he's gone through some kind of – programming, for lack of a better term. That spell Vincent cast on him, using his and Crowley's blood-"
Now it was Frank's turn to interrupt. "I know, I know," he said irritably. "But, what does it mean? What was all that b.s. about Angels, unleashing plagues on the Earth? Who's the fifth Angel?"
But they had already reached a consensus on that last one: it could only be Paul. He was the only other Angel in their circle who was currently unaccounted for. Cas had said that the fifth Angel was going to "falter". Did that mean that Paul was going to revert back to the days when he had been a Demon? They hoped not. Linda had been bustling around here ever since she'd gotten back from Jerusalem, helping people non-stop and being a shining example for Kevin and the other Angels. But it had to be driving her crazy that nobody knew where Paul was, or what he was doing. Bobby and Linda had popped over to Algiers when Paul's squads had reported him missing, but they'd been unable to find him, or even to sense his presence.
There was an even bigger elephant to worry about, though. "What did Cas mean when he said he was going to do 'whatever he had to', once he found Gail?" Frank asked the guys again, and again, the glances were exchanged. They had no freaking idea. If Paul was the fifth designated Angel, then that left only two more, and it didn't take a Mensa member to know who they were. Had Cas been alluding to the possibility that he might have to stop Gail from visiting her own plague on the Earth, if she got her powers back?
The night before their confrontation with Crowley, Gail and John had been sitting on a log, warming themselves by a fire. To pass the time, they had been playing a game. It was a strange and morbid game, but it was oddly comforting. It had thrown Gail for a bit of a loop when she had discovered that she and John had more things in common than she could have ever imagined.
The only trouble was, he was winning the game, and it was driving Gail nuts. No matter what she would come up with, he could top it, with chocolate syrup, walnuts, whipped cream, and a big red cherry.
"Nobody would have anything to do with me, in my school," she'd told John. "Liz was my only friend."
"I had a friend, too," John told her. "Well, until I found out that he was the one who stole my manuscript, and submitted it as 'the Gospel according to Mark'."
"Mark was your friend?" Gail said, surprised.
John gave her a half-shrug, tossing another log onto the fire. "Like I said, I thought he was," he replied. "When I confronted him, he said I wasn't being a team player. That made me mad enough to go to Matthew, who was the de facto leader of our little group of rebels. That was when Matthew suggested that I could go to Hell, and be Lucifer's inside man there. It seemed like a good idea, at the time. I was so sick of the rest of them, looking down on me. I had equal status, but I could see that there were others who were looked on more favourably. Not to be insulting, but...guys like your husband would be invited to play chess with Matthew, or Anthony, or both, and I would be on the outside, looking in. Like usual."
"Anthony?" Gail said, startled.
"Yeah. What?" John was looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Do you know Anthony?"
"No," she said quickly, averting her eyes. "Forget it. I must have been thinking of somebody else."
John looked at her for another moment, and then he continued on with his tale of woe. But Gail wasn't really listening any more. Why did it make her feel so weird to hear that not everyone In Heaven had treated Cas like an outcast? It sounded to Gail as if John was saying that, in fact, some people had sought out Cas's company. But how did she feel about the knowledge that these people apparently included Matthew, one of Lucifer's acolytes, and Anthony, the Angel who'd taken possession of Rasputin's soul, stolen the immortality potion from the woman he had professed to love, and appeared to Gail when she had been a child, warning her not to marry Cas? Not great, that was how. Not great.
The game went on for a short while after that, but eventually, Gail gave up. No matter what ills had befallen her in her existence, John's tribulations were always ten times worse. If she had been embarrassed about something, he had been utterly humiliated. If she had been insulted, John's good name had been besmirched all throughout Heaven. If Gail had been tortured and abused by the likes of Jason, and Xavier, and Lucifer, and Crowley, and yes, even by her own husband (or at least, she had thought so at the time), then John had been...
"Wait a minute," she said, holding up her hand. "I've finally got you. You're a man, and you're a Demon. A big, scary Demon. There's no way you can sit there and tell me you've been victimized like I have. No way."
"Oh, no?" John shot back. "I worked for Crowley, spending years and years at his right hand. Having to nod and smile in all the right places. Being required to laugh at his jokes. Bending over to kiss both cheeks of his uppity British ass. If that's not being victimized, I don't know what is."
The two of them looked at each other, and then they burst out laughing. But the moment was short-lived. There was a loud rustle in the bushes, and John sprang to his feet, grabbing the butcher knife he'd pried out of a dead human's chest. They had encountered quite a few of those kinds of things on the road. Too many.
"I'll go and kill...whatever that is," the Demon told Gail. "Throw another log on the fire."
He disappeared into the darkness as Gail shook her head, smiling. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a laugh. She grabbed a smaller log and pushed it into the fire, being careful not to get too near the open flames. The warmth was nice, but all this talk about Crowley was giving her flashbacks of Camelot, and she'd been suffering from enough PTSD, as it was.
Suddenly, Gail felt a weight descend on her from behind. She leapt to her feet and wheeled around, her blade in her hand.
John was standing there, holding the blanket he'd been about to drape around her shoulders. "Geez, you need to relax," he said lightly. "That does it; no more caffeine before bedtime."
Gail lowered the knife, stashing it in her pocket. "Sorry. Old habits," she said with a smile.
"Hey, I get it," John said, returning her smile with one of his own. "Your husband might be a pious pain in the ass, but he sure trained you right." He handed her the blanket. "Here. Put that on. I knew you'd be too much of a wuss to put a big log on that fire."
Gail fixed him with a baleful stare, but she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and sat back down. "Thanks," she said after a moment, looking into the fire.
John grinned. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he remarked, retaking his spot on the log. He looked sideways at her. "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I drank the boss's bottle of single-malt scotch and replaced it with some mystery fluid from the torture wing? And the best part was, he didn't even notice the difference!"
"Well, you did say it was scotch, didn't you?" Gail quipped. But then, she sighed. What was she doing, here? Swapping stories with a former Lucifer groupie who'd traded his halo in for a pitchfork, so he could go slumming it with a bunch of Demons until his so-called Master took over the world? So John's expectations hadn't even come close to his reality; so what? Whose had? Did he think that a ratty old blanket and their common hatred of Crowley made them buddies, or something? They were not Hope and Crosby, and this was not the Road to Rio.
"I'm just using you as a bargaining chip, to get my powers back," she told John bluntly. "You know that, right?"
"Of course I know that," he replied quickly. "Like I said, Castiel has taught you well."
OK, that had been kind of a low blow. But, really, what did she expect?
"That's all right," John said, shrugging. "I'm just using you, to gain access to Crowley. It'll be interesting to see which one of us he sides with, don't you think?"
Gail nodded. Yes, she supposed it would. "Did I ever tell you about the time I killed all those Demons in Hell?" she said conversationally. "Oh, wait. I guess I'll have to narrow that down a bit, seeing as that happened more than once."
John grinned again. She had balls; he had to give her that. He could just pick her up and throw her into that fire right now, and there wouldn't be a damn thing she could do about it. Angel blade or no Angel blade, if John decided to offer her up to Crowley tomorrow as the price of admission back into the Kingdom of Hell, Gail would be screwed. She had married the wrong brother. Castiel had abandoned his little wife in favour of righteousness, and she was about to learn some hard lessons.
"Tell me all about it," John replied, picking up another log for the fire. "I love a good, gory story."
Linda was looking up and down the street, making sure that everyone had been fed. Oh, wait. There was a little old lady sitting on a lawn chair with her hands in her lap, sitting on top of a small bamboo purse. Probably her most prized possession. Linda peered closer. The woman was Korean!
She approached the elderly lady. "Can I bring you something to eat, 'halmeoni'?" Linda asked her, using a Korean slang expression for the word grandmother. "How about a cup of tea?"
"No, thank you, my dear," the old lady replied.
"Hey, Mom!" Kevin called out. "Where'd you put the extra blankets?"
"They're in that box, on Frank's porch," Linda replied, raising her voice. "Bring a couple over here. This lady needs one."
"Is that your son?" the older woman said, somewhat unnecessarily. "What a handsome young man."
Linda smiled. "He's smart, too."
"Is he married?" the elderly lady asked, and Linda could swear that her eyes were twinkling.
"Let me guess," Kevin's mother said, "you have a granddaughter you'd like him to meet."
"No, they're all dead," the woman said sadly, and Linda's heart clenched. "I'm the only one left. I guess my age turned out to be an advantage. I was the only one who knew that you don't need technology to survive."
"I'm sorry..." Linda began, but then she stopped. "What's your name?"
"I like 'halmeoni'," the woman said with a faint smile. "Let's just stick with that." She made a motion with one hand. The other was still clutching the purse. "Come here, my dear. I want to give you a blessing."
Linda crouched down beside the woman's chair. Sometimes, the older folks just needed a bit of your time. She had plenty of that.
The woman put her hand on top of Linda's head, stroking her hair. Well, at least the old lady wasn't pinching her cheeks, like Linda's own halmeoni used to do.
"My blessings to you, and your family," the woman said softly. "You and your husband are very fortunate."
"My husband?" Linda echoed.
"Yes. Kevin's father," the old woman said, nodding. Linda smiled. Of course. A Korean lady of advanced years wouldn't be able to fathom Linda being divorced, let alone being remarried to a considerably younger man of a different race.
A moment or two later, the woman shivered, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders. "I guess I could use that blanket, after all."
Linda stood again, looking around, but Kevin was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. "I'll get you one, halmeoni," she said. "I'll be right back."
But by the time Linda returned with the blanket, the old lady's lawn chair was empty.
"I must be turning into a real softy, in my old age," Abbadon said with a smirk. "I didn't have the heart to tell her I nearly blessed her husband's brains out, in Algiers." She reached into the bamboo purse and pulled out the old woman's still-bloody heart. "Thanks, halmeoni."
Abbadon tossed the heart onto the old woman's dead body. "Some Demon I am," she went on, good-naturedly. Not that the old bag could hear her, of course. Halmeoni had taken one look at Abbadon, crossed herself, and then keeled over, dead. She may have been ancient, but she hadn't been stupid. "I can't even lie to an Angel, any more," Abbadon said to the old lady's terrified family, who were suspended by their heels from the ceiling. "I'll say one thing for Vincent, though," the Demon continued in a casual tone. "He does have a few neat tricks. I was going to possess the old lady, but when she wimped out on me and dropped dead, I had to improvise. Vincent showed me a little something; if you yank out the organ while the body's still warm and take a bite out of it, you can become that person, for a short time." She licked her lips. "I know, I know. Gross, right? But, that's OK. I know you won't tell on me. Now, what was I talking about? Oh, yes: not being able to lie to Angels. I told Linda you were all dead, so..."
Abbadon snapped her fingers, and the half-dozen humans exploded, raining blood and body parts down on the plastic tarpaulin she'd spread on the floor.
"There. Now, my conscience is clear," Abbadon said happily. "Wait right here. I'll be sending a clean-up crew, shortly." It was the least she could do, the Demon thought magnanimously. Vincent would appreciate the parting gifts. Not that he would know that was what they were, of course. Abbadon had told him that she was getting restless, just sitting around a stagnant resort swimming pool and telling Damien to keep his grubby little child-hands off her bathing suit parts. She knew that the new Babylon would be a really fun place once the sinners started to arrive, but right now, she was bored. She was going to pop herself around the planet for a few days, see a few sights. Stretch her legs a little. Then, she'd be back.
Vincent had eyed her speculatively. He wouldn't expect a woman like Abbadon to be satisfied with things the way they were right now. He wouldn't have been, either. But he was glad to see that she had faith in his vision for the New World Order, and the patience to play the long game with him. So he had run his hand slowly, almost reverently, up her leg and said that she should absolutely stretch those magnificent legs of hers. Of course she should have the freedom to get out there, and raise a little hell of her own.
She'd waited for the inevitable misogynistic remark, or uninvited intimacy. But there had been none. Vincent had simply walked away. Hmmm. He was certainly full of surprises. A part of Abbadon would really miss him, when she abandoned him to take over the Lake of Fire.
But first, in one last, quasi-sentimental gesture, Abbadon popped herself down to the Caribbean. She seized two of Vincent's more avid followers, one male and one female. Abbadon was a big believer in equal rights. When she took over...everything, there would never again be any discrimination against women. Her chosen gender would no longer be belittled, marginalized, or objectified. Well, not unless they chose to be, that was. There were all kinds of colours, up and down the spectrum. But that didn't mean that the women under Abbadon's rule were going to be given preferential treatment, either. She was a great believer in the equal rights of men and women to obey her orders, equally.
Abbadon left Vincent's minions to their grisly task. Gail's father would appreciate receiving the blood and organs and flesh of the Korean family members, to be used in his little rituals. But in the meantime, Abbadon had a very important date with an Angel.
Gail and John had finally reached the Kansas state border, and she took her backpack off her shoulders as soon as the Demon announced that fact.
John looked at her questioningly. "Need a rest, already? I know you're an Angel, but I didn't think you were a pussy, too."
She made a face. "Oh, har, har. I knew you were a Demon, but I didn't think you were an idiot. Wait: that's redundant." She walked up to him and stood there, looking up at his face. Cas, Frank and the Winchesters would have recognized that posture instantly. It was Gail's "you think you're screwing with me, but you have no idea who you're dealing with" look.
But John was merely amused. She looked like one of those tiny Yorkshire terriers. All that was missing was the little polka-dot bow on top of her head. Maybe a little collar around her neck, too. For an instant, John let all those filthy thoughts in. The ones that had been knocking on his head, trying to get in, ever since she'd tried to fight him that first time, in that hotel room. He'd had zero respect for her back when she'd been brought to Crowley's den years ago. A wide-eyed, mealy-mouthed waif of a thing. Even once she'd had all that Demon blood introduced into her system, Gail had always seemed to John to be playacting. Pretending to be a bad, bad girl. But now, John could see the change in her. He wondered if she could see it in herself. He could see the look of pure calculation in her eyes, and it reminded him of the look he'd seen in Rowena's eyes when the two of them had been getting after it, in bed. Like she'd been wondering just how far she could push him before he snapped. Damn, that had been hot. He gave some serious thought to grabbing Gail and throwing her down on the grass, just to see what she would do. Pull her blade, probably, and then the real fun could begin. Demons were Demons for a reason, and the idea of taking an Angel who would refuse to be a victim was almost too appealing.
But John made himself stand down, at least for the moment. He saw no reason he couldn't have his cake and eat it, too. When Gail's people summoned Crowley, John was going to kill them, and then offer to return to the King's service. But this time, he was going to negotiate a deal that was going to benefit them both. Him and Crowley, that was. John didn't give a damn what happened to Gail herself, any more than she gave a damn about what happened to him. John knew Crowley better than anyone. The King would respect his former lackey for having the stones to face him like an equal, and for negotiating with him, man to man. But if Crowley was going to be prickly about it, John was prepared to make a peace offering, to open up the negotiations. The King was an English fop, wasn't he? Those kinds of guys loved poncey little purse dogs. Like...Yorkshire terriers.
"How close are we to your people?" John asked Gail.
She shook her head. "I've changed my mind about that. I've got everything we need for the summoning spell, right here in my backpack. I say we do it, right here, and right now." Her lips twitched. "And get that Demon-y look off your face. I know lust when I see it. I hang around with Gabriel."
John barked out a laugh. Which was ironic, considering the thoughts he'd been having about Gail. Maybe he would go to a jewellery store and see if he could outfit her with a solid gold choker. She would look cute in one of those.
Gail opened her backpack.
Abbadon stood over Paul. "I have something to show you," she told him. She laid her hand on his head and suddenly, Paul could see everything: Abbadon busting down the door of that poor Korean family's house. The old lady keeling over, and Abbadon reaching into her chest and plucking out her heart, tossing it into the granny's purse like a handful of spare change. Stringing up the parents and kids with an errant wave of her hand, telling them she'd be back soon. Then had come the shock of seeing Linda through Abbadon's eyes, and Kevin, and some of the others. But mostly, there was Linda, looking at the old lady with compassion and affection. Calling her "halmeoni". Paul knew what that was. Linda called Nanette by that nickname sometimes, and they'd all had a laugh about it.
Then, to top it all off, Abbadon showed Paul the horrifying and bloody climax of the movie, and when she took her hand off his head, he understood.
"How did you find out where she was?" he asked the Demon woman in a dull tome.
"A simple location spell," she responded with a thin smile. "A few drops of your blood, a little bit of your sweat, and a drop of your..." She looked down at his crotch. Aww, geez. Could Angels puke? Paul wondered.
"It was easy to find her, with all of those powerful ingredients," Abbadon told Paul. "She really loves you."
"I'll take you to the pit," Paul sighed.
"Shapeshifter? Djinn?" Jody was questioning Linda.
"I don't know," Paul's wife said in a frustrated voice. "All I know is that, now that I look back, I should have realized there was something fishy about her. She was peering at me a little too closely, for somebody who's not related to me. Plus, she kept on touching my head. It was weird."
"Touching your head?" Sam said, his forehead wrinkling. "You mean like an Angel would do, if they were trying to read your mind?"
"She wasn't an Angel, Sam," Linda insisted. "I would have known."
"Did she mention anything about...anything?" Dean questioned Kevin's mother. Kevin was there too, of course, but so far, he'd had nothing of value to add to the conversation. He agreed that the incident had been strange, though, and he could tell that his mom had been freaked out by it.
Linda looked at Dean. "That might just be the stupidest question I've ever heard," she said dryly. "But, for the record, I know what you mean," she added. "She made some kind of left-field reference about my husband and me, being very lucky. I didn't think that much of it at the time, because that's what older Korean ladies are like. My own grandmother was like that, about Kelvin. Kevin's father. Sorry, Kev - "
"It's okay, Mom," Kevin said in a subdued tone. "Say what you've got to say."
Linda let out a breath. "I know we shouldn't generalize when it comes to ethnicities, but...my halmeoni was the same way. She kept going on and on and on about Kelvin, like he was the most perfect man in the universe. Saying how lucky I was to have a husband. But it was like I said earlier: I came to expect that kind of stuff from my relatives, but coming from a stranger, it just seemed so..."
"...random," Kevin said, and his mother nodded vigorously. "Exactly," she agreed.
Sam and Dean were looking at each other. They were in agreement. It was time for a spell of their own.
"Hello, sweetheart," Crowley said the moment he appeared in the middle of the road.
Gail rolled her eyes. "You know what? Just once, I'd like to hear a different opening line. What do you say?"
"Fair enough," the King said, tilting his head in acknowledgement. He struck a dramatic pose. "'Now is the winter of our discontent'," he quoted. Then he smirked. "I rather like that one. It's very apropos to the current situation, wouldn't you say?"
"Hey there, Your Majesty," John said, emerging from the forest. "Surprised to see me here?"
Crowley looked at Gail with a raised eyebrow. "'Lucy, you've got some 'splaining to do'," he deadpanned.
"Well, technically, that's more of a tagline than it is an opening line, but I appreciate the effort," she quipped.
John was looking quizzically at the both of them. He was the only one of the trio who had been completely thrown off his game. Crowley didn't seem the least bit surprised to see his long-dead assistant, and the King of Hell and Castiel's Angel bride were bickering like an old married couple.
"What's the matter, John?" Crowley said calmly. "Did you expect me to be startled? Shocked? Maybe even...frightened? Perhaps if you had been a bit more of a formidable character, instead of-"
"-a bootlicking lackey?" John interrupted the King, earning his first point, as Crowley finally appeared to be temporarily disconcerted. Nobody interrupted His Majesty.
But Crowley made a rapid recovery. "Well, that's what you were," he retorted.
"Wait," Gail interjected, holding up a hand. The men looked at her. "What's the difference between a lackey, and a toady?" she asked them.
"I believe I might be able to provide some clarification on that point," Rowena said, appearing beside Gail.
Abbadon and Paul stood on a bare plain just south of the Mediterranean Sea.
"The pit is somewhere in the Iberian Peninsula?" the Demon woman asked Bathshear's descendant.
"No, but you're close," Paul replied. "It's right here, underneath our feet. In the year 1157, the southeast region of the Iberian Peninsula was labelled 'ALMOHADES' on most maps of the day. We're standing in the part called 'HADES'. Isn't the King of Hell a riot?"
Abbadon rolled her eyes. "Right. Sure," she said dryly. "Now, how do we open the pit?"
"'We' don't," Paul said firmly. "I said I would take you to the location, and I kept my word. But, this is as far as I go."
"Really? Are you that anxious to see me wearing your wife's fingers for a necklace?" she said, giving him the side-eye.
"If I open the pit for you, you'll just toss me in the Lake," Paul pointed out.
"If you don't open the pit for me, I'll find another way to do it, and then I'll toss Linda and Kevin in the Lake," she shot back.
Paul realized he was screwed. Abbadon wasn't touching him at the moment, but she had a hold of him by his golden nuggets, just the same.
"The chains'll have to come off," he sighed.
"What do you take me for? The moment that happens, you'll just wink yourself out of here," she stated.
"No, I won't," Paul said in a somber tone. "Not since I've seen how easily you found my family. I'm trusting that, once I give you what you want, you'll leave us alone."
"Now I KNOW you're not a Demon any more, not if you can utter a sentence like that with a straight face," Abbadon said, smirking.
"You know what? You're right. You're an evil, scheming bitch. There. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now snap those chains off me, so I can get on with it," Paul said sharply.
Abbadon grinned. "Damn, Paul. It's like pulling teeth, just to get a little compliment out of you," she joked flirtatiously, and he had to work his jaw to keep from laughing. For such a scary, sadistic whore, she could be mighty funny, sometimes.
She pulled his Angel blade out from wherever she'd been hiding it, and Paul's guts churned. Considering that her outfit had no pockets and he knew that she wasn't wearing any underwear, that was a mental image he could have done without.
What was she doing now? She bent low in front of him, and Paul held his breath when he felt something brush against the front of his pants. What had that been? Her fingernails? Her mouth? His blade?
The chains fell off at the same time that Paul could feel her slip the blade back into his boot. He was free, and she was giving him back his weapon. But she was still down on her knees in front of him, and his fly was suddenly, mysteriously open.
"So, how do you want to do this, Big Boy?" Abbadon cooed, just as Linda, Kevin, Sam and Dean suddenly appeared.
"It's good to see you again," John said to Rowena, once he'd gotten over the initial shock of...well, seeing her.
The witch's mouth formed into the shape of a bow. Gail noticed with some curiosity that Rowena looked a little less made up than usual. Was she conserving cosmetics, due to the current world crisis? Or was she just trying out a new, more understated look?
"John," Rowena said succinctly.
"You know, I was mad at you for offing me, at first," John went on, since he seemed to be the only one talking, at the moment. "But now that I'm back, we have a second chance. We could team up again, in every way imaginable. Remember how good we were, Rowena?"
"Aye," she said, smiling. Crowley and Gail exchanged a glance. Ewww. Gail made a face, and Crowley rolled his eyes.
"Can I help it if I'm mulling it over?" Rowena said, tapping her chin with a well-manicured fingernail. "I'm very tempted. John was really, really good. And I don't mean that in the boring, Angelic way," she added sweetly, looking at Gail. "Sorry, dearie."
"Step away from her, you Demon filth," Castiel said to John, appearing suddenly in front of Gail.
"Aww, shee-it," Paul cursed, as Linda strode toward him and Abbadon. "It's not-we weren't-" He backed away from the Demon woman, who threw her head back and laughed. She had been astonished by the quartet's sudden appearance, but she knew better than to show it.
Instead, Abbadon rose to her feet and held her hands up. "I wouldn't come any closer, if I were you. Paul is about to open up the pit that leads down to the Lake of Fire. You wouldn't want to accidentally fall in, would you? Just think of all the ways you can make your hubby pay for what you just saw. You're going to own his ass, Linda. After all, that's what all of us women want, right, boys?" She looked at Kevin and the Winchester brothers. "That's why your son is so ambiguous about his sexuality, or lack of it. That's why the notorious Winchesters are afraid to lock anything down with a woman."
"Stand back, everybody," Paul said loudly, raising his hands and spreading his arms wide. "I'm gonna open the pit, all right. Then, the world will be minus one Demon bitch."
"Uhhh...Dude," Dean called out, his hand motioning to the front of his jeans. Paul looked down at himself. Dammit! He hastily zipped up his fly, avoiding his wife's glare. They would have plenty of time to make up later. Assuming that any of them survived, of course.
Paul intoned the phrase that had been buried deep in his subconscious, taught to him by his mother, he supposed. Funny how Paul couldn't remember anything about her, not even her name. But he repeated the Afro-Asiatic phrase now, louder this time. The ground began to rumble at his feet, and he backed away.
Abbadon cried out triumphantly as the pit began to open.
This just kept getting better and better all the time, John marvelled. It was like paying a reduced price for a cheap matinee and being shown a blockbuster, new-release superhero movie instead, one of the ones with all the heavy hitters in it. He glanced around, half-expecting Ryan Reynolds to show up and inject some levity into the proceedings.
And they could sure use some VanCity Reynolds-type humour now. The Castiel of old was back, and he was as obnoxiously pious as John remembered him to be.
Rowena had noticed the change in Cas, too, and she had also noticed the subtle change in Gail's posture and expression upon her husband's arrival. Of course, Rowena hadn't been in that barn to witness Vincent's spell. But if she had been, there was no doubt that a considerable part of her would have been impressed. Despite how much Rowena loathed Vincent, she had to admit that he had pulled off some Grand Coven-level magic with that one.
"What are ye looking at me like that for?" Rowena said to Cas, the brogue creeping into her voice. "I mean, there was no offense intended, but we all of us here know that there are certain thing that Demons like to do that...well, I'm sure your kind doesn't," she added sweetly.
Now, Gail did say it out loud: "Ewww!" she exclaimed, holding her hands up in the air. "We are NOT talking about this. Why don't you act like a mother, for once?"
Rowena's smile widened. "Oh, but I am, dear. Where do you suppose you and Fergus came from, in the first place?" She looked at Cas. "And don't make that sanctimonious, lemon-sucking face at me. 'Twas your God that invented the activity in the first place, did he not?" The witch pointed a finger at her Angel son-in-law as John stood there looking at them all, open-mouthed with amazement. Here they were: Castiel, a fierce and Holy General in Heaven's Army, Gail, his currently powerless but intriguingly devious Angel wife, Rowena, a centuries-old witch who knew every trick in the book, both in bed and out, and who just happened to be the King of Hell's mother, and the King of Hell himself, a low-life, scum-sucking sleazeball who masqueraded as a civilized and cultured businessman. Then there was John, a Gospel writer of the Bible who had been resurrected from the dead as the Demon he had elected to become when he'd pledged his allegiance to Lucifer. What a group they were.
But John was beginning to think there was a lot more going on here than he was privy to. This didn't resemble a battle between Good and Evil so much as it was reminding him of Thanksgiving dinner with the world's most dysfunctional family.
Cas had taken the bait. "Intercourse is meant for the procreation of the human race," he said with a glare of disapproval.
"Well then, isn't it lucky that none of us have to worry about procreating?" Gabriel crowed happily. He appraoched the group, a huge grin on his face. "Geez, if I'd known this was gonna turn out to be a Sex Ed class, I would have shown up on time."
John nearly cheered. On second thought, who needed that Canadian guy, when they had Heaven's funniest Archangel coming down from On High to entertain them? The best things about those kinds of movies, besides the action, were the surprise cameos, and the script which showed that the characters didn't take themselves or the situations they found themselves in too seriously. Oh, sure; this was probably going to end up being a bloodbath. But until that happened, John was going to keep his eyes peeled for a popcorn vendor.
Paul felt sick to his stomach. What had he done? Did he really think that Abbadon was just going to let them leave here, unharmed?
"Thanks, Lover," Abbadon said, emphasizing that last word. The pit was a smoking fissure now, but at least the thundering noise had stopped.
Paul gave her a baleful look. "If you're gonna kill me, just do it, already," he said to the Demon. "There's no need to subject my wife to that kind of talk."
Abbadon gave him a Crowleyesque nod of the head. "Fair enough. You gave me what I wanted – no entendre this time – so I'll make it quick. I'm going to take and eat all the souls I want, and you're going to be my first, Paul."
"You'll have to go through me, first!" Linda yelled, rushing forward.
"Is that so?" Abbadon smirked.
"Do you want to try me?" Linda said angrily. "Bring it on, you Demon bitch. I've got the power of Heaven on my side. What have YOU got? A few magic tricks, and a body with more mileage on it than my father's old DeSoto. Even Crowley won't have anything to do with you, and everybody knows he's got no standards at all! Did you know that Lucifer snapped my neck like a twig, once? But here I stand, and where is HE? Oh, yeah. Dead. So come at me, you skank."
"I'm going to enjoy this so damn much," Abbadon said, tight-lipped. She raised her hand high, and Linda assumed a defensive posture. But then, Abbadon turned her head to look at Kevin. "How do you say 'you killed me, Mom!' in Korean?" Abbadon said. She twisted her wrist slowly, and Kevin fell to his knees. He screamed in pain, but there was no blood, and no injuries that Sam or Dean could see.
"I've heard there's a shortage of food, so I'm cooking him, from the inside out," the Demon said, twisting her wrist a little more. "Too bad he's not bigger. Still, some of the kids'll get fed tonight. Just tell them it's pork. It really does taste like pork, you know."
"You can't kill what you can't see," Bobby announced. He waved his hand, turning daylight into night. "And you can't rule what you can't find." God waved again, and the pit was gone. "Now, I'm gonna give these folks the push back to the States, and then you and I are gonna have a little powwow," Bobby said to Abbadon, walking toward her as if they were about to face off at the OK Corral. "And if Crowley's told you anything about my background, and I suspect he has, you know that I'd normally be averse to hitting a woman. But in your case, I'd be only too glad to make an exception."
Abbadon lifted up her head, screaming loudly in anger and frustration. But she didn't dare go up against God. He would obliterate her. She disappeared, without another word.
Linda rushed over to where her husband stood, asking him if he was all right.
Paul let out a relieved breath. "Man, that was a close one," he said shakily. "You were so impressive, Boo Bear. Really badass."
The Winchesters looked at each other. "'Boo Bear'?" they said in unison, helping Kevin up off the ground. The young Angel was breathing a little heavily, but otherwise, he seemed fine.
Linda pointed a finger at the men. "You heard nothing," she told them, including Bobby in her glare.
God's beard twitched. "Of course not. It was way too loud to hear anything, with all that fighting and smiting going on. Right, boys?" He winked.
"Right," all the men agreed, nodding their heads enthusiastically.
"OK; time to go home," Bobby said. Then he caught Paul by the crook of the young Angel's arm. "And, Son?"
Paul was startled. Bobby had never called him that, before. "Yeah?" he said uncertainly.
Bobby glanced at Linda, whose expression was still stern, and then he looked at Paul again. "You'll be in my prayers," God said to the young man. And on that note, Bobby waved his hand, teleporting the group back to Frank's neighbourhood.
The debate between the otherworldly beings was still going on, and John was still highly entertained.
"Gabriel is right," Rowena said to Castiel, favouring Gabe with a smile. "Sex wouldn't feel so good if it was meant solely for procreation. Because, as I'm sure you're aware, there are certain positions that-"
"I told you to stop," Gail said hastily, still making the face. "I know what you're doing. I told you not to use the front entrance, so now, you're trying to sneak in the back door!"
Gabriel grinned. "I believe that's exactly what she's talking about, Kitten," he piped up. He should send his Sister a big bouquet of flowers for the best straight line he'd been fed in years.
Gail threw her hands up in frustration. Of all the times for Gabriel to show up, out of the blue. He was leering at Rowena now, and John's expression was growing dark.
"You know," Gabe said to Rowena, gesturing to John, "if the big guy here isn't ticking off all of the boxes, you could always give me a call. You know, bigger isn't always better."
"You're not exactly making your sale, with that statement," Rowena retorted, but she was eyeing both of the men flirtatiously now.
Castiel was fed up. He looked at Crowley, who had been unusually quiet during the proceedings. The King was probably just trying to keep the bile down.
"I don't know what kind of dark magic you and your mother have been using, and I don't particularly care," Cas said to Crowley. "But you will not bring this abomination - " he pointed at John " - to Earth, to terrorize my wife. Him, or any other. Am I being clear?"
Crowley gazed evenly at his brother's face. "Very much so, but there's only one problem," he replied. "I didn't bring John to this meeting. Gail did."
Gabriel laughed. "Good one. Nice try. I'm glad you brought your mother, though. I've been meaning to give her my number."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, believe me, everybody's got YOUR number. Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn't you be out there somewhere, shirking your duties? Having mysterious assignations?"
As Gabriel's mouth snapped shut in shock at Crowley's remark, Gail shook her head. "Look, I don't know why ANY of them are here," she said bluntly, staring at the King. "The bottom line is, I came here to get my powers back from you. Now, what's it going to take to make that happen?"
"She actually thought she was gonna use me as a bargaining chip," John said with a smirk.
"Now, why on Earth would she think that?" Crowley asked his former right-hand Demon.
"Exactly," John said smugly.
Rowena was looking curiously at her son. "What's this about Gail's powers?"
"He stole them from me," Gail said, pointing at the King. "He double-crossed us by making a back-room deal with Vincent."
Rowena's eyes widened. "Is that true?"
"I don't see how that's any of your concern," Crowley said disdainfully.
"That man has never been anything but a misery to us, Fergus," Rowena seethed. "You know that."
"No, I don't, Mother," Crowley retorted. "In fact, my only regret is that he didn't take me instead of that one." He jerked his thumb in Gail's direction.
John's mouth dropped open. Wait; what?
Gabriel moved forward, seeing the look on the Demon's face. "Let me shortcut this for you, John," the Archangel said sardonically. "You've signed on to be a bit player in this little Tennessee Williams play. However you ended up back here doesn't even matter. Crowley says Gail brought you here, but from what I can see, you also brought her, safe and sound. Castiel and I owe you a debt of gratitude for that, even if your intentions were entirely dishonourable." John opened his mouth to speak, but Gabriel held up one finger. "Don't even bother, big guy. It takes one to know one."
Gabe walked over to Cas. "My Brother's priorities are more than a little messed up, right now. I wasn't there, but I can feel what that spell did to him." He looked at Crowley. "Your buddy Vincent isn't the puppetmaster here, he's just another puppet. Do you really think some reject from Tales of the Crypt has the kind of brains or mojo to pull off a Biblical spell like that? Or to cause this whole mess, here on Earth?"
There was quiet for a moment, and in that moment, it almost came crashing down. This was the modification's weakest state yet. As Gabriel looked at Cas and Gail's anguished faces, and Crowley and John's defiant expressions, it almost bubbled its way to the surface. The name of the man who was behind it all...
Crowley's eyes darted to the right and left as he thought about what Gabriel was saying. But Castiel broke the moment by striding forward decisively, slapping his hand on John's head, and lighting the Demon on fire. By the time John's smoking ashes crumbled to the ground, Gabriel had completely forgotten what he'd been about to say.`