notes: for symmetry's sake, I decided to go for a rule that princes of hell can be trapped by both holy fire and devil's traps, even though in the show at least one of them is shown to not be trapped by devil's traps.
PART 6: FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
It always startled her, Meg thought—looking into Cas' eyes and seeing that yellow, lantern glow. To be reminded, again, that the angel she'd met so long ago was gone. The taste of paradise was no longer in his mouth; she knew, because she'd tried to find it, and all she'd found were old, familiar poisons. But this, she told herself, firmly—this will save us. And tried to believe it.
"He wants me," Meg explained; standing in the empty warehouse, looking up at the other demon. "He knows I'm a good soldier; he knows how faithful I've been to Azazel, who helped free him. And he's promised us." She took Cas' hand between hers, pressing gently, trying to communicate by touch itself just how important this was. "We're gonna go to Heaven, Clarence. You and me."
"Strange," Cas said, with a soft huff. "I remember a different story. 'I'm gonna go to Heaven, and you're gonna rot here in Hell forever,' wasn't it?"
Meg scoffed slightly. "That was a long fucking time ago. Cas—you deserve this." She raised a hand to his cheek. "You, of all people, should be able to go home."
Cas just shook his head, slightly. "You can't believe him," he said. "He lies, Meg; that's what the devil does."
"To those he wants to tempt, sure!" Meg said. "But not us! We're his people. He created us. Please, come with me, just see him and you'll understand."
"Meg, I…" Cas looked down. He turned her hand, lightly; pressing the tips of his fingers against her palm.
"Just give him a chance. Give me a chance," she begged.
Cas was silent, his brow furrowed, and Meg leaned up on her tiptoes; brought her hands back to his hair, pressing through the strands, and kissed him; she put all her fire, all her fury and desperation and longing into the kiss, and when it ended, she leaned away, panting slightly for breath, lips shining and wet.
Cas' eyes searched hers. And she couldn't read them like she'd once been able to; but his face, which had been tugged into worry, went slack with a sigh; his shoulders slumping under the trenchcoat that pulled down on them. "If that's what you want," he said at last, in a low voice. "I don't promise you what I'll choose, but—I'll see him."
"Thank you," Meg said.
/
"Crowley," Dean said with a grimace. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Didn't you hear?" Crowley said. "I'm an official part of the Lovers in League Against Satan."
"One, that's a stupid name for a group," Dean said. "Two—none of us are lovers."
"I don't know," Bela called out, from where she was hovering by a flickering lamp, squinting down into one of Bobby's open books. "We had a thing at one point."
"You told 'im," Bobby said, walking in with another book that he threw on the table with a sigh, "I told him; it's a stupid name."
Sam was sitting at a table, clicking through his computer. "There's so much going on," he said, ignoring the bickering around him, "that it's hard to pinpoint where War might be. I mean, look at this—" he flipped the screen around so Dean could see it. "Omens everywhere."
"Uh, well, it's not that one," Dean said, pointing. "Not that one, either."
"You black-eyed sonabitches been partying?" Bobby said drily.
Dean shrugged. "Hey, a lotta demons suddenly got a lotta leeway."
Tessa appeared in the room, and Bobby swore in surprise. Sam, who had gone back to clicking through the internet, was already absorbed in research again and didn't react.
"I thought I should warn you," Tessa said. "You've got guests."
"Guests, plural?" Bobby said.
Tessa nodded.
Bobby went to the entrance-way, grabbing his shotgun as he did. "If it's a bunch've damned zombies again—" he opened the door and seemed to relax, before suddenly casting a guilty look back toward his living room, which currently housed a demon, a ghost, a reaper, and the true vessel of Satan. (The last of which was the only one the hunters were certain to be nonplussed by.) The second demon in the house was not in the living room at all but standing in the hallway behind him, freezing awkwardly.
"Hey," Dean said, to the hunters standing on Bobby's doorstep. He waved, feeling caught-out.
"Bobby," Ellen said, giving Bobby an unimpressed look, "if you try to tell me that girl's a hunter I'm gonna call bullshit."
"No," Bobby said. "Not a hunter." He smiled awkwardly at Dean, who was currently dressed in a very low-cut t-shirt with a light, long-sleeved sweater on top over a miniskirt—his skin, all but the covered brand, all smooth and unmarked. He didn't need anyone asking awkward questions. "Just a… family friend."
Behind Ellen, Jo's eyes had climbed halfway up her forehead. But she walked in, unfazed as Bobby drew his flask from one pocket and discreetly splashed her with holy water.
Great; just great. Dean looked at the still-wet fabric as Jo held out a hand for him to shake, and instead just had to smile at her, like a dumbass, or risk starting to smoke from the contact. He waved again, like an idiot.
"My name's Jo," Jo said.
"Mary," Dean said.
"My mom and I were in the area. We're old friends of Bobby's too," Jo said. She had a calculating look in her eyes, as if trying to figure out how Dean fit into the old hunter's life.
"That's great," Dean said, inanely. "It's always nice to meet friends of Bobby's."
"All right, let's quit standing around in the hall," Ellen said. She glanced over at Bobby. "Unless you can't take company?" She sounded willing to leave, if Bobby had made a big deal about it, which Dean hoped he would; of course, just then, Sam ducked into the hall and his face widened into a grin. "Jo!" he said. "It's good to see you."
"Hey, Sam," Jo said. She cast Dean another covert glance and then looked back at Sam consideringly. Oh, hell no.
"I'm gay," Dean said.
Bobby, Ellen, Sam, and Jo all stared at him.
"Thanks for the newsflash, idjit," Bobby grumbled under his breath.
"That's… nice," Ellen said, and looked protectively at Jo.
"Sorry," Jo said with an apologetic smile at Dean. "I just thought. You know. Sam, and a girl no one's met before," she said teasingly, looking over at Sam.
Sam went white in horror, and croaked out something that sounded like, "I don't go in for blondes."
At that point, of course, something in the living room exploded; and when everyone rushed in, Crowley, Tessa, and Bela were arguing about who's fault it was the laptop had died.
"Electronics," Crowley was saying, with exaggerated slowness. "Ghost," he pointed at Bela. "You probably touched the damn thing."
"I wasn't anywhere near it," Bela responded hotly. "Anyway, I hear demons are pretty bad with electronics too."
Crowley scoffed. "I happen to have a phone," he said, taking it from an inside pocket of his suit and flipping it open. He pressed call. "See? Perfect working order."
Tessa cleared her throat. She motioned, surreptitiously, at the door, and Bela and Crowley spun around to see Ellen and Jo's shocked expressions.
Bobby sighed heavily. "I promise," he said. "It's not as bad as it looks."
/
The motel room was full, mass of bodies pressed upon the bed and moving, limbs; the heat transferred; the air sticky; three women to one side and Dean caught a glimpse of: bare shoulders and stomachs; the taut legs and feet pressed against scratchy covers; there, Cas was, with the flash of his yellow eyes faded, turned down so that only the blue eyes, the body's blue eyes, were there, like a snatch of sunlight which lay over his shoulders, where hands with painted nails were pressing; the constant creaking of the bed and soft gasps, and when Dean, among them, moved; it was hard to tell amid the flesh where the humans were, where he himself was like a mirage; and a woman turning to kiss him; Dean leaning in slow—
After, he lay on stale, rucked-up covers while Cas, standing, dropped the last body to the floor: three women, dead women, limbs askew and carelessly in a heap, Dean breathing felt the air pull in, pull in to the body and the chest and as he then—turned, rolling over, crossing his arms in front as he peered down: his small arms pressing flat against the warm squish of his stolen breasts.
Why did you kill them? Dean didn't ask. He didn't need to. Why not?
Cas turned, looked at him as though noticing the gaze Dean was casting; on Cas' legs, unscarred, on the feet which were standing on a blood-soaked carpet; he put Alastair's razor down, gently, on the small table and it made a dull ringing clink; the eyes were back, yellow and flat, and his face was unconcerned.
"We'll need to book a different room," Dean said.
Cas looked down at the dead and made an assenting noise in the back of his throat.
"I know what you've been doing," he said.
"Yeah?" Dean said sharply. "What've I been doing?"
"Trying to stop the Apocalypse, with your brother," Cas said. "It's an admirable goal; if futile."
"Yeah, I don't need your approval, thanks," Dean said.
"No, you never have," Cas agreed, and somehow the words, deceptively mild, made Dean flinch. He sat up—looked around for his clothes, just to give himself something to do.
"If they're ever in danger," Cas said. "They can always summon me."
"Why, because you're such an altruist?" Dean quipped, clipping his bra on at the front and then turning it right-way-round.
"Because you wouldn't want them to get hurt," Cas said.
"I didn't want these women to get hurt either," Dean said. "We were having a perfectly good orgy."
"And that's precisely the difference," Cas said. "You didn't care about them. They could've been anyone. Do you even recall their names?"
"Ashley, and—" Dean thought for a moment. "Madison? No, Marilyn?"
"You don't have to take me up on it," Cas said. "I just thought I'd offer."
/
So Dean told them. "It's up to you guys, but—I wouldn't trust him. I mean, maybe he'd save your life. Maybe Sam—" he shrugged. "I don't know. It's probably a bad idea. Like I said, I'm pretty sure he doesn't even want to stop the Apocalypse."
"So you want us to trust a guy you don't trust," Bobby summed up succinctly.
"No, fuck no," Dean said. "Don't trust him. Just, maybe, if you were caught between certain death—look, never mind. Forget it."
Anna was staring at him. Her hair, where she stood against the window, ringed in gold; her face was still, expressionless, but she nodded her head in the direction of the other room.
Anna, who'd been an angel too, once. It had all come out eventually; amid the long, tangled explanation to a dubious Ellen and Jo. He followed her into the kitchen and she stood, hands braced against the counter; her face hidden from him. For a long time, she said nothing.
Then: "They—we. Thought he'd died," she said. "It was on angel radio for weeks. You didn't tell me."
"It didn't seem like a good idea to bring it up," Dean offered, awkwardly.
Anna looked at him, then, her mouth twisted into a bitter half-smile. "Yeah," she said. "I thought… your story had holes in it. That there was something missing. But I never guessed." She sighed, and one hand came up to cradle the grace that hung in its vial, a chain around her neck. Her hand covered it. The light making her fingers glow, reddish. "Dean. Tell me everything."
So he did. The bare bones, anyway: yes, he'd escaped with Alastair. But they'd been followed by a seraph. That's why they'd had to make so many jumps. That's why they'd moved deeper and deeper into Hell; "another demon—a friend of Alastair's," Dean said. "Came and helped while we were in an abandoned town. Helped capture the angel. I thought they were gonna kill him." He shook his head. "I could've left. Any time. I could've freed him. Or ran to join him, before… but I was afraid."
"Of the angel?" Anna's tone was detached. Clinical. She didn't look at him.
"Of what they were gonna do to me. Of having Michael possess me. I thought. This angel, he's just pretending. Lying to me, to us, that he didn't know." Dean paused. "I don't think he did. I think he put it together later."
"That information wasn't announced publicly until after the Cage was opened," Anna agreed distantly. "I was shocked. I knew Sam would be in danger the moment I heard of it. I'd been in a higher position than Castiel, and even I didn't know."
Castiel. Had that been his name?
"So," Dean said. "After that. You can probably guess."
"I could," Anna said. "But I want you to tell me."
Dean shifted uncomfortably. For a moment, he didn't speak; Anna, however, seemed ready to wait as long as he needed.
"He was tortured until he broke," Dean said, finally.
"By whom?" Anna said.
Dean swallowed; his throat was dry. His mouth scratchy. "The other demon, mostly. And me."
"I see," Anna said. Her eyes closed, and there, for a brief moment—a flicker of pain across her impassive face.
/
She had to see him. And yet, there was always the chance—much as Anna hated to think it; she was first and foremost a soldier—there was always a chance Cas couldn't be trusted. So she was careful. She left Sam a note where he would find it if she didn't return, and she drove until she'd found an empty stretch of road, nothing on either side for miles; just the flat, grey sky, clouds covering the heavens, and for a long way off, the fields. There she drew a devil's trap on the pavement and spoke the summoning: quietly, but in a strong voice. And she waited.
Castiel appeared inside the circle, wearing the vessel of a man; a baggy trenchcoat on like he, too, was expecting the chill of rain.
"Anna," Cas said. His eyes—flicked down to look at the devil's trap holding him in, and he frowned.
"Just a precaution," Anna said.
"Of course," Cas said. He sighed. "I assume this is because I offered Dean my help?"
"No," Anna said. "No. I just wanted to talk to you."
Cas smiled slightly, without humor. "Everyone wants to talk these days. Well," he gestured. "I'm a captive audience."
/
"I had a mission," Cas said. "No one else was with me; even though we knew saving the Righteous Man was the reason we'd entered Hell. I was the only one to go after him." His flat yellow eyes gazed out over the bowed fields. "I followed him for years, certain that if I could just manage to grip him—" he breathed; his breath, in the air, a slight fog of warmth; he didn't finish. Started, again. "I could see that he was worthy. It grew clearer to me each day. But Alastair was with him, and Dean wouldn't turn back. I had to follow." The sky was growing deep with the gathering shadows of twilight as the sun, cloud-covered, slipped lower. "I found him—there were others. They kept me in an angelic circle; the kind that hasn't been used for six thousand years. I was guarded by a minor god. A daeva. I did not manage to escape. That happened until the Cage opened."
"And then?" Anna was growing cold, even in her jacket; she stood, though; eyes fixed on the demon in front of her. The profile of his face, slowly being swallowed by the encroaching gloom.
"We moved again. I could have escaped, but I knew Dean wouldn't go with me. I knew also that I wouldn't succeed. They'd blocked my powers with a warded collar, and any other demon might—" Cas twisted his hands, one on top of the other, a habit Anna recognized. When he was very distraught, even in Heaven, he had always done that. Like he couldn't help himself.
Cas looked down. Seemed to notice what he was doing, and stuck his hands in his pockets.
That—the noticing; the hiding—was new.
He continued. "We moved to the catacombs. It was dark. I tortured a soul. I became a demon. That's it." He turned toward her, then, and added with pointed sarcasm, "is that an adequate report, commander?"
Anna bit back a sharp word. She saw—more, perhaps, than Cas meant for her to see. He had changed; she refused to believe he had changed so much that he could deceive her. She took a shaking breath. Eyes meeting his, purposefully; she stepped into the circle.
Castiel stepped back, unconsciously; crowding up against the edge. He looked at her untrustingly.
Anna stepped forward again, slowly. Touched the back of his hand. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, brother, for what you have suffered." She let go. Her hands hanging uselessly at her sides.
Cas eyed the grace swinging around her neck, and for a split second she wondered if he would grab it from her—
The demon saw it; that moment of fear. He laughed bitterly. "You've satisfied your curiosity, Anna. You should go."
"Not curiosity," Anna said, thickly. "Guilt. I should have been there. If not to ease your suffering, then to share it. I should've told you my doubts, when I had them, instead of falling. Instead of running away."
"It wouldn't have changed anything," Cas said. He looked away from her, and spoke with bleak certainty. "I still would have given up everything for Dean. I don't think there's a world where I didn't Fall."
.
.
.