Sophia's Chronicles
A/N:
This chapter contains scenes from Goodbye Stranger.
Chapter 60: Breaking The Chains
Clarksburg, West Virginia – 7 January 2012, 11.06am
"Yes, ma'am, I understand your grievances- I really do," Shemsiel nodded his head in passive assent. He stood outside the door to another apartment next to Zara's, dressed impeccably in a formal suit. After much debate, he and Dinah had decided to split up. He would interview the neighbours while Dinah checked out the pub. With all her facial piercings, Dinah would never pass for a government official so naturally, the role had fallen to Shemsiel.
"These young people… they don't even take a break!" An elderly woman wagged a finger at him. "They did it in the morning, they did it in the evening and sometimes even in the middle of the night! Tell me sonny, is it something in the water?"
"I- I don't know," the angel shrugged, somewhat uncomfortably. "Mrs Zimmerman, did you happen to notice anything weird on the night of the first of November at around midnight?"
"Oh I always go to bed by 8, sweetie," the petite lady answered. She squinted at him through her thick-rimmed glasses, trying to get a better look at him. "Unless of course those two in the next apartment are fucking like rabbits in the night!"
Shemsiel flinched, admittedly made nervous by her sharp tone. He cleared his throat. "So you didn't… hear anything that night?"
"Hey," a deep masculine tone called out from his right. Shemsiel turned to find a rather large man approaching him with a frown-riddled expression. "Who are you and what do you want with my Nana?"
"Oh it's nothing, darling," the elderly woman dismissed with the wave of her hand. "This young fella here is with the cops."
"The Feds, actually. Special Agent Drakos," Shemsiel held up a fake badge.
"The Bureau allow you to have fancy hair like that?" the young man probed, still sceptically scanning his badge. Shemsiel became self-conscious about his frosted tips but more importantly, he noticed that the man had an alluringly square jaw with a well-kept stubble which just begged his attention. So much so that he almost didn't respond to the man's question.
"It's all part of the civilian disguise… uh-"
"David," the young man introduced himself and they shook hands. Their gazes met and persisted perhaps for a while longer than necessary.
"I'm here to investigate the disappearance of your missing neighbours who lived in the flat next to your lovely grandmother," he gestured with his head towards the apartment.
"What do the feds want with them? Are they like mafia or something?" David asked, still wearing a concerned expression.
"Or something," Shemsiel said.
"I always knew something was up with that guy," David grumbled.
"Do you- do you happen to know them? Do you live here?"
"No, and no. I visit Nana twice a week. I'm just speaking from what I've seen of the guy. First time I saw him I didn't even notice him standing in the elevator next to me. He was just standing there all quiet like some kind of creep and when he walked he barely made any noise. Guy gave out serious American Psycho vibes," David recalled, face grimacing. His gaze grew distant as he tried to remember as much as he could about Nick. "His eyes always stared straight ahead when he walked, like some kind of robot." He gasped. "Was it- Was it some kind of MK Ultra thing?" he whispered, eyebrows wildly contorting in what appeared to be genuine curiosity.
"What? No," Shemsiel denied. His gaze flickered between grandmother and grandson, wondering where they got their shared interest in conspiracies from. "What about the girl? What can you tell me about her?"
"She moved in with him like a few months ago. And poor Nana hasn't been able to enjoy morning cable ever since," he released a deep sigh, staring affectionately at the old woman.
"I keep telling him to woo the girl and steal her from that man. Maybe then we'd have a solution for the noise problem," Mrs Zimmerman eyed her grandson expectantly. "I mean look at him. David here could get any girl he wants," she proudly boasted.
"Nana, please," he awkwardly chuckled, rubbing the back of his dark curly hair with a hand. "I'm too busy with work to be dating girls." He locked eyes with Shemsiel again and the angel's lips curved up into a little smile. He knew that look. Too busy for girls, eh? Such an odd place to find an… opportunity like this, he thought.
"Yet you always have time for this old girl," the elderly woman grumbled, albeit giving in to a smile herself.
"I saw the girl once in the pub. The one that closed down recently because… you know," David suddenly remembered. "She was a singer. And a really good one too." His expression grew solemn. "It's so sad to think that such a lively place just turned to nothing overnight."
Shemsiel's eyes softened. "And all those people…" He let a silent moment pass as a sign of courtesy. "Anyway, thank you both for your time. If there is anything else at all you can remember, please call me." He took out a business card and used a pen to scribble something on the back.
"What's that?" David asked.
"My personal number," Shemsiel handed him the card and gave him a wink before putting his aviators on. "In case, you know… you're too busy for girls."
Thanking them, he took his leave and dialled his partner. "Just interrogated the neighbours. They don't know anything," he admitted disappointedly. "On the bright side, I think I'm gonna learn more about government conspiracies in my spare time."
"What?" Dinah was evidently confused. "Okay, whatever. Anyway, you should be glad I talked you into letting me investigate the pub. Unlike you, I actually got something."
Within a heartbeat, Shemsiel flew to the pub, joining her as she stood in front of a floral shrine set up on the street outside the building. Messages of condolences were slotted in with the assortment of flowers arranged neatly around the picture of a heavily-bearded man. "Ugh," Dinah scoffed as soon as she saw him, standing in his well-fitting suit. She wasn't used to seeing him in anything other than tank tops and beach shorts. "You look like a douchebag."
"Gee thanks, but it's human protocol or whatever," he rolled his eyes. "I feel like a dressed-up whore." He studied the shrine, taking a moment to observe its array of messages. "So what d'you got?"
"It's a shrine for the owner of the pub, Cecil Langerman. But take a look at the messages. One of these is not like the other," she gestured towards the cards slotted in among the flowers.
Shemsiel knelt down to get a closer look. His keen eyes scanned the writings and eventually rested on one very peculiar card. He picked it up and stood up to read it with Dinah. "This… it's written in code," he read the scribbles of Enochian decorated along the border of a card in black ink while the central message in English read 'Remembered fondly'. To the ordinary eye, it just looked like someone invested effort in making a fancy card. But it was a note for angels, hidden in plain sight. "How is this possible? Only we use Trimarchian code. The five of us. And Sophia, of course."
"We can figure out who wrote it later. Decipher it," Dinah urged. Uncanny though it was, it revealed an important clue.
"11-02-11," Shemsiel decoded one line with a blue ballpoint pen. "37.3662, 81.1026," was the next line. "W-V 20, 1020."
"Just a bunch of numbers," he stared at them, deeply intrigued. "Well these are obviously coordinates," he said, pointing at the second line.
"And that's a date," Dinah inferred about the first line. "The day after Zara went missing."
"What about the last one? W-V 20, 1020? What could that mean?" Shemsiel pondered.
"I'm not sure. But whoever left this here wanted us to find it," an eerie feeling of being watched crept up her back and she looked around them, just in case. Nothing out of ordinary, just some humans walking about as she surveyed the street and buildings.
Of course, she didn't check the rooftop where the young archangel watched them patiently. He'd followed Raziel from Illinois, when the Keeper had come to bury his dead friend. He didn't mean Raziel any harm – he was just curious. After all, remaining hidden away from the world tended to get boring after a while and stalking seemed like a good use of his time. And he was right. If he hadn't followed Raziel and found places to stay hidden in his office, he wouldn't have found out that they were looking for Zara. This was exactly the opportunity he needed. He'd berated himself constantly for not checking in enough to see if she was alright. Just the one night he hadn't… and she was gone. He busied himself, obsessively searching every town near Clarksburg until he found out exactly what happened. Problem was, he couldn't do anything about it.
The British Men of Letters kept her in a highly-warded building and any attempt to rescue her would draw too much attention and God knew he wasn't allowed to do that. The crimson-eyed son had no choice but to longingly stare at the building with a horrible feeling floating around in his chest, not knowing what she was going through in there. He felt lost and helpless, unable to deal with the fact that he couldn't help her. Until that day, when he eavesdropped on the Nalkam and found out that they were getting on Zara's case. He rushed home and flipped open one of Sophia's books that he'd read. It talked about encoding messages and listed many different ways of hiding a message. For once, his nostalgic impulse to connect with her through her writings paid off. He got to work immediately, penning down the message in Trimarchian code, which had several asterisks punctuating the line where the heading was written – it must be important, he'd thought.
The sound of a gecko clicking softly caught his attention. "They're friends, Ser Adler," the archangel told the lizard. More lizard noises ensued. "If only. But I have to stay strong. I have to believe that they'll save her. I have to." The reptile clicked again in assent and crawled from the ledge of the rooftop back onto his shoulder, it's long, thin tail dangling down the archangel's back. His heart beginning to rest easy, though not as much as he would have wanted, he vanished.
"This is… this is so convenient," Shemsiel frowned. "It seems too good to be true. It could be a trap."
"I don't think we have any other choice but to go with it," Dinah said. "But if it's in Trimarchian… maybe it's Sophia. Maybe she left it here for us to tell us that her vessel is in danger and she needs our help to save her."
"Then why wouldn't she go help her herself? Why leave a note here where we could have only stumbled upon it by chance?" he wondered.
"Maybe she can't. I don't know," she answered. Shemsiel and Dinah exchanged a grave look, unsure of what to make of this oddly-situated clue.
Lincoln Springs, Missouri – 7 January 2012, 1.03pm
Rahab watched curiously as Castiel helped the demon wrap her bodily wounds. Strange, for an angel to be so gentle with a demon. But it got them distance between Castiel and the hunters.
"So…" Dean began in a hushed tone, beckoning with his eyes towards Castiel.
"From what we can tell, Castiel has been working for Naomi and doing her footwork," Pahaliah spoke in a whisper, sitting next to him on the couch.
"Yeah we- we already knew that," Dean said. "Raziel told us."
"It's some kind of mind-control. Castiel isn't exactly… Castiel. It'll be difficult to undo and unfortunately, no one is as knowledgeable on this as Naomi," she explained. "What else did Raziel tell you?"
"That this Naomi is basically Raphael 2.0."
"Basically," she agreed. "And if Castiel finds that angel tablet, it's hers. And we can't let that happen. You can't imagine the power that tablet holds. Especially now that Naomi has the prophet."
"She what?" Dean jerked his head toward her. "But the angel… he said he was taking Kevin back home!"
"I'm sorry, Dean," Pahaliah apologised. "You trusted this angel because…?"
"Cas said he was cool," he recalled, and then sighed as if he should have seen this coming. He berated himself for not checking in with Kevin. "We gotta find Kevin."
"We will," she promised. "But as long as Naomi has him, she won't hurt him. She needs him to get what she wants from the tablets. I'm sure he'll be fine."
"So what now?"
"We need Castiel's help to find the angel tablet. But you can't let him take it," Pahaliah suggested. "Raziel will know how to keep it safe."
Dean studied the angel's expression. After all that had happened, he wasn't so sure who to trust and who not to anymore. He couldn't trust Cas, he couldn't trust any angel Cas told him to trust and Raziel… well he wanted to trust the guy but if he'd learnt anything from this conversation it was that he needed to be more careful. He nodded passively as if to agree to what Pahaliah was saying.
Sam approached, busily working on something on his laptop. "Alright, here goes," he clicked a few icons and did his magic with a map. "According to this, Lucifer's crypt has to be underneath an abandoned building."
"Great. We'll have to keep an eye on uh- Meg-stiel over there," Dean told his brother.
From the bedroom, where Castiel was with Meg, the doe-eyed angel looked over Meg's shoulder into the living room, watching with keen suspicion as Dean spoke in whispers to Pahaliah. It couldn't be anything good, he thought. He needed some way to get the other two angels out of the picture. At least that's what Naomi told him. As soon as you have eyes on the tablet, banish them and bring it to me. Or better yet, kill them.
A few hours later…
"I think we should split up," Rahab suggested. The six of them stood imposingly in front of the shabby building which taunted them with mysteries in the darkness of the night. "Castiel, Dean and I will search the inside. The three of you keep watch in case Crowley sends more of his mooks."
"I think I should come with," Sam protested. It didn't feel right to send his brother in with two angels, one of whom he was sure they couldn't trust.
"Sam, it's alright," Dean insisted. He eyed Pahaliah, giving her a short nod to acknowledge their plan. "Stay here and ward the place."
He wasn't sure why, but Sam had a sinking feeling in his chest like something was going to go horribly wrong. Without a choice, he waited outside with the ladies as his brother disappeared into the building.
"There's a draft," Castiel noticed as he placed his palms against a wall. "There's something behind there but it's… it's encrypted somehow."
"Sophia's sigil-work," Rahab identified. "Stand back." The other two obliged as the angel traced the borders of the wall where the encryption was woven in. It would take him just a little while to crack it. Rahab's eyes glowed a celestial blue as he went hard at work, interpreting the patterns and manipulating them in the right manner. It was a difficult puzzle, considering that Sophia must have been trying to hide it from even her former apprentices. Thunder roared. Dean and Castiel looked skyward, taking notice of the sky's protest.
"What kind of sigil-work is this?" Castiel asked. It seemed strange to him that it would be so powerful as to command the skies when touched.
"The tricky kind," Rahab simply said. With a great exhale, he let back his arms. "It's too difficult. There's no way we can crack this open properly without some kind of passcode."
"Can't we just blast it down?" Castiel suggested, though it sounded more like an order. "Between the two of us, I think we can manage it."
"Did you not hear the thunder? We blast the door down and who knows what'll happen?" Rahab concerned. "The door's rigged. There's no telling what'll be hit if we force it open."
"If we don't do it, Crowley will," Castiel rebutted, getting impatient.
"Woah, cool it! Both of you," Dean interjected. "We'll figure something out." He turned to Rahab. "What about this passcode?"
"It appears to be the answer to a riddle," Rahab surveyed the invisible etchings on the wall. "It sees without light but knows it well, it shrouds all but is cast away, it is defeated but never dead. What is it?"
"Great, just great," Dean sighed, pulling a hand down his face.
Meanwhile, outside, Pahaliah stood in silence and stared at the starry sky while Sam and Meg got on with the warding. "Wait," Meg faced Sam as he shook a can of spray paint. "I took… how many bullets for you guys? And you didn't even look for me?" Sam said nothing, simply too weary to actually answer her question. They'd been through so much the past year and a demon was their last concern. He didn't even think she needed an explanation. It had to be obvious. "Like, even once?" When the hunter said nothing, Meg simply scoffed. "My hero. Anyway what's up with Mrs Uppity over there and Mexican Joe Rogan?"
Sam snuck a glance at Pahaliah, noticing that the angel was on her phone now, talking to someone. "Look, no disrespect, but you haven't exactly been the most, uh, trustworthy person in our lives, Meg," Sam said emotionlessly.
"You're not gonna tell me? Seriously? How am I not team Sam?" Meg argued. "You don't want to say, fine. But remember, I spent time in that walking corpse of yours. I know your sad, little thoughts and feelings."
Sam paused and managed a little frown at her. "That's creepy."
"Here's what I remember. Deep down, in parts you never let see the light of day, you want to live a long, normal life away from creepy old things like me."
"I do." Sam shook the can again before starting on another line. He'd thought about it a lot – how he could finally rest and think about things that didn't involve killing other things. And to be honest, he was just drained from everything. The apocalypse, the cage, getting kidnapped. "But Crowley's still alive and Lucifer's…" Sam stopped. It dawned on him that he probably shouldn't be revealing much about Lucifer's impending freedom from whatever fate Crowley had abandoned him to, especially to someone who used to be an ardent supporter of the archangel.
"Lucifer's what?" Meg stared blankly at Sam.
"It's nothing. Forget I said anything."
"Sam… tell me," her tone grew serious.
"There's nothing to tell. Crowley handled it. Everyone knows that."
"Well I've been a little 'off the grid', if you didn't know." Meg tilted her head. "What happened?"
Sam was still reluctant to tell her anything. "You know, how about we just wait quietly?"
Pahaliah observed the sky studiously. She could tell something was brewing but she wasn't sure what. "We found the crypt," she told Raziel over the phone.
"Good. How's our friend Castiel doing?"
"Suspicious as ever."
"How can you tell by just looking at him?"
"Call it intuition. But I just know that he isn't right. I mean, he wasn't the last time I saw him either but that's besides the point."
"Is it really?"
"Raz…"
"Alright, I believe you. Naomi just couldn't let go of all her chess pieces, it seems."
"We have a plan. It might involve a bit of a scuffle but I'm sure we'll be able to keep the tablet away from him. And once we do that, we need to step up our search for the prophet. The Winchesters weren't even aware that Naomi has him. They appear… concerned."
"Getting sympathy for the hunters, are we? Well, I don't blame you. They sure know how to get a job done."
"They don't have bureaucratic hurdles like we do which probably makes them more efficient."
"Copy that. So what's your plan?"
Inside, Rahab thought he might have figured out the riddle. "Sophia normally uses passcodes that she would have taught us, in case we needed to access resources that she wasn't around to hand over to us. But if she were to hide something from us… it might be something personal," he reasoned.
"Bottom-line it, Sherlock," Dean implored.
"What is the one part of her that we don't normally see?" Rahab wondered out loud. "It is defeated but never dead…" he repeated under his breath. "The Darkness."
"That has to be it," Castiel agreed. "It is coherent with the riddle."
Dean didn't understand what that really meant or what it had to do with Sophia but he went along with it. He watched as Rahab placed his palms flat against the wall again and did his mojo. And just like that, the door clicked open. The three of them barged in, eager to get their hands on the tablet.
"Dean," Castiel called out, pointing a finger at a lone box with intricate engravings and carvings. "That's it."
"How do you know?" Dean shone a flashlight at the strange box which was clothed in loose spider webs and layers of dust.
"It's the only thing in here that's warded," Rahab explained, returning his gaze to the box after a brief look around the room. There were a lot of interesting things here that he wished he could spend time examining. Maybe later.
Dean hefted a small dagger in his palm, slotting it under the lid of the box and prying it open. Whispers from the box condemned the action in a sudden crescendo before disappearing all at once, though this could only be picked up by a keen angelic listener. From inside the box he lifted a dusty rock, one he recognised to bear resemblance to the Leviathan tablet he'd seen before. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner," he proclaimed.
"Good. Hand it to me, and I'll take it to heaven," Castiel ordered, extending a hand.
Dean hesitated. "No, we're going to stow it away somewhere safe where Crowley can't get his grubby paws on it," he proposed, eyes flickering to Rahab for support.
"Right, of course. I know a safe location," Castiel nodded in agreement but his voice was less than comforting. Whatever went on in Castiel's head, Dean found it deeply unsettling how he could find nothing that reminded him of his best friend in those blue eyes. They just appeared like uncaring, distant pupils that weren't really present with him.
Meanwhile Rahab moved quietly, lifting each foot cautiously so as to make minimal noise. He was close to Castiel now, approaching him from behind. "You know, uh, why don't you let Sam and I take care of it?" Dean suggested, voice becoming uncertain as his friend neared him slowly.
"I can't let you take that, Dean," Castiel warned. If Dean was being honest with himself, he was a little nervous about the way this conversation was going. Him against a warrior like Castiel, the odds were stacked against him. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"Can't or won't?" Dean snarled, taking a gamble with his brave tone.
"Both," Castiel responded. He took another step forward and Dean inched backwards. The moment was tense. They both simply stared at each other, wondering what was next. It took only a second. A second for Castiel's legs to tense up and shoot forward, making towards Dean and the tablet. It took the same second for Rahab to leap forward and wrap his arms around Castiel, holding him back.
"Run! Go!" Rahab exclaimed.
Dean froze in his step, taken by surprise as his own friend's willingness to hurt him. As he watched the struggle between the two angels, a voice in his head yelled at him to run. But for a moment longer, his gaze persisted. It was a moment when everything changed. There was a bright flash of light. A loud ringing sound. And then the air grew still. Dean, who'd instinctively shielded his vision from the blinding light, looked around himself to find himself standing alone. Banishing sigil.
20 seconds earlier…
Pahaliah spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She still held the phone to her ear, listening as Raziel went on about the new loft he'd bought. It was a little comforting, hearing him talk about mundane things like moving from one apartment to another. But her relief was short-lived.
"We've got company," Meg announced, drawing the angel's attention. Pahaliah's eyes narrowed, seeking out the source of the fluctuation in electromagnetic energy.
"Raz, something's up," she said into the phone.
"What's going on?"
"It's-" Her voice was cut short by the sound of a hand slapping against the wall, activating the angel-banishing sigil. Celestial force flung her away, leaving the phone to drop onto the ground.
"Pahaliah? Are you there? What's going on?"
"Sorry, darling," Crowley said from where he stood, palm still attached to the sigil. Thunder rumbled in the distance, signalling the incoming storm. "I believe they're playing my song."
Without a moment to spare, Crowley's henchmen attacked Meg and Sam. The two reacted instinctively, brandishing angel blades and engaging in combat. It didn't take long for the pair of them to oust the demons, given the combat skills shared between them.
"Love what you've done with the place. You really think all that was gonna keep me out forever?" Crowley taunted, suave as ever.
"You gonna talk us to death or get down to it already?" Meg shot back.
"There's my whore," Crowley scoffed. "But I'm not here for you. I'm here for the stone with the funny scribbles on it."
"That's not gonna happen," Sam growled, muscles tensing for a face-off.
"Love it when you get all tough. Touches me right where my bathing suit goes," Crowley remarked as he pulled out his own angel blade. Footsteps thudded and the door swung open. Dean emerged from the building, shocked and confused with the chunk of rock in his hands. Dust lightly matted his hair and the top of his shoulders on his jacket. "Ah, Dean, ever the vision of clarity."
"Go," Meg spurred them, positioning herself between Crowley and the two brothers. "Get out of here, both of you!"
It wasn't up for questioning. The boys simply obliged, rushing towards the Impala. "Timon and Pumbaa… did they ever tell you about Lucifer? How your beloved Prince walked free while you were playing 'hot nurse' with ol' Cassie? Did they share that little chestnut with you?" Meg and Crowley circled each other ominously, biding their time while the Winchesters drove off in a frenzy. "So all… this…" he did a single wave with his arms. "Hunting the tablet, trying to kill me – it's all done nothing for you. It means nothing to them. They'll still see you dead once they've gotten what they've wanted."
"You had me at 'kill you', Crowley," Meg smirked. With a single leap, she lunged forward. To her eventual death.
Princeton, West Virginia – 7 January 2012, 2.30pm
"This is where it leads us?" Dinah held up a map in the sweltering sun. The bright rays of sunlight glinting off the glossy surface of the map would have blinded anyone, making it difficult to read, unless you were an angel. "The dull, brick landscape of Princeton, West Virginia? This place puts Hell to shame."
"There's only so much you could do for a small town," Shemsiel reasoned, surveying the street in front of them. He felt free again, having changed out of that suit for his typical ensemble. "Now that we've considered the possibility that the third line refers to street number and then possibly a time of day, one has to wonder, what relevance will the date and time have to our search? Why not just give us the coordinates to where Zara is?"
"2nd November, 1020," Dinah repeated under her breath. "What happened on 2nd November at 1020?"
"You don't suppose any of the people here would remember what happened at this specific date and time?"
"Maybe not people," Dinah got an idea. Her attention seemed to be captured by something above them and she spun around a few times before finally fixing her gaze on something. "There," she pointed. On the outside of a quaint little DVD store, just above the door, there was a single camera fixed to the wall facing the street. "Bingo."
The two angels entered the store, their entrance signalled by the jingling of a bell. Some old Dokken song played through the speakers, giving the place an 80s feel it didn't ask for, though not much else could be expected of a store that sold movies almost as old as the missing girl they were looking for. An old 2000s monitor hung on a scaffold nailed to the ceiling, playing CCTV footage from all the cameras fixed inside and outside the store. "Welcome to Duncan's DVDs, how may I help you?" a man looking to be in his thirties with a thin stature greeted them at the counter.
"You Duncan?" Dinah asked.
"Raymond…" the man answered awkwardly. "I own the place."
"Well, Raymond, we happened to notice that you have a camera fixed outside your lovely store," Shemsiel said courteously.
"Yeah," Raymond huffed. "We used to have a robbery problem. Those damn kids…" he shook his head. "After I put up the camera, they finally figured they didn't want to get arrested or else they'll face actual consequences. We haven't had a single robbery since."
"That's great," Shemsiel smiled. "But we'd like to ask you if you have any footage from the morning of 2nd November." When Raymond's eyebrows crinkled a little in curiosity, he elaborated, "We're looking for someone – a close friend who's been missing for days – and we think your footage could help us a great deal."
Raymond glanced at the two of them, frowning still slightly, and placed both his palms on the counter apprehensively. He sighed in what seemed to be resignation. "You shouldn't be asking about that," he said somewhat disappointedly. "Sorry, I can't help you."
Dinah and Shemsiel exchanged confused looks. "What do you mean, 'we shouldn't be asking'?" Dinah probed.
"Maybe you could look at another date?" Raymond pleaded. "Any other day. Just not 2nd November."
"What happened on 2nd November?" Shemsiel asked, tone growing serious. "You have to tell us."
Raymond's eyes seemed to beg them not to ask too much. But the man knew that if he didn't give the strangers something convincing, they would only dig deeper and that wouldn't end up well for anyone. They had the vibes. "Some people came that day. And by some, I mean a lot. It was so sudden. I mean, who would expect such fancy-looking folks to come to such a small shithole town like this one?" he droned on, visibly exasperated. "I still don't know if it all actually happened or not. It feels like a strange dream."
"Who are you talking about?" Dinah pressed.
"Don't know who they were, but they were all wearing suits and carrying briefcases," he recalled. "Even had accents. Like yours," he looked at Shemsiel. "Came in here, saying that I had to hand over the tapes to them or else… it would be a federal case."
"Those men, what were they doing here? Did you see any of it?" Shemsiel inquired. When Raymond hesitated, visibly nervous, the angel half wanted to grab him by the collar and slam his head onto the counter. But he refrained from doing that, knowing that the man was probably afraid of the things he might have seen. Instead, he resorted to another strategy, having noticed the American flag displayed proudly above the counter. "Do you love your country, sir?"
Another look of bewilderment overlay Raymond's face. This had to be one of the strangest encounters yet, with the exception of the Second of November, of course. "Uh… yeah…" he answered, unsure if it was a trick question.
"You Yanks fought the Brits to kick them back across the ocean. Are you seriously going to let them tell you what to do now?" Shemsiel ranted, charging his voice up with spirit so as to get the man riled up.
"Uh no- no sir," he stammered.
"This is your country, Raymond, and those people are coming here and telling your government what to do!" Shemsiel spoke animatedly. "Resist them!"
Raymond nodded eagerly, the spirit of his founding fathers imbuing him with more courage than he had ten seconds before. "I remember what I saw," he confided. "There were three vehicles. One of them was a black van. There were so many of those men and they went inside the clinic across the street. I couldn't get a clear look but it looked like… like they were dragging an unconscious girl out." He looked away, straining to recall the image clearly in his mind. "What was weird was that… they sent all those men – those big, scary looking men – for one 5-foot-something girl? I mean, what's going on?"
"This girl," Dinah brandished her phone, furiously scrolling through images. "Was it her?" she showed him an old photo she'd taken when Sophia had invited all of them over to her house. It was the last time they'd all been together in the same room. And it was the first time they'd met Luciel. One last happy memory. In that photo, she posed with baby Luc and stood next to the archangel, who conducted herself like a goddess even in modestly simple clothing.
"Yeah, that's her," Raymond affirmed, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. "Who is she?"
"A victim," Shemsiel responded. "So these men… did they tell you who they worked for?"
"No, now that I think about it. I just assumed that they were some government agency, I mean, the way they carried themselves. Quick and emotionless. Either that, or they were the mafia or something. It looked like bad news either way," Raymond remarked.
"Is there anything else you can tell us about them? Anything at all that you remember?" Dinah asked, eyes begging to fate that they could get a workable answer. They were so close to getting something. They just needed to ask the right questions.
"I don't know if it'll help but… when I was getting them the footage, I overheard one of them talking on the phone," Raymond remembered. "He was talking about someone called… uhm… Dr Tess? Dr Hess? I don't know. It's been a while. For some reason, that name stuck with me. I don't know if that's useful."
Shemsiel exhaled, partly in relief and partly in… something else. "It is. Thank you so very much, Raymond," he shook the man's hand, steadying Raymond's nervous grip with his own firm one.
"Hey, is that Funhouse Paranormal Horror?" Dinah suddenly spoke, enamoured by a single DVD set stood on display behind the counter.
"Oh uh- yeah, it is," Raymond turned to get it and placed it before her.
"How much?" she excitedly dug into her pocket to get out her wallet.
"Dinah, of all the times-" Shemsiel lamented.
"Shush," she cut him off, eagerly checking how much cash she had on her.
"Since it's a classic, I'm putting it up for $30," the store owner managed a small smile.
"Thirty bucks! For an old Eighties flick that overplays the whole teenagers-in-trouble trope and has sock-puppet monsters?" Shemsiel scoffed.
"Hey, it's a horror classic that delves into themes of conformity and social identity with a subtle exploration of the Reagan-era ideas of war and peace!" Dinah defended. "And it's a must-watch in the genre of Post-Modern Cold War Dadaist Horror!"
"Oh my, I see that you are a woman of culture," Raymond chuckled shyly, suddenly finding himself eyeing her with awe. Dinah herself reciprocated the flirtatious gaze, enjoying the attention. "If you'd like, I'll sell you the whole set of Funhouse Paranormal Horror for 80."
"All three movies?" Dinah gaped, holding onto Shemsiel's arm as if the offer would have shocked her enough to knock her off her feet. "I'll take it!"
Dinah watched like a kid in a candy store as Raymond packed the DVDs neatly into a bag and handed it to her. "Good luck on finding your friend," he said sincerely as they both turned to leave.
Outside, the two of them briskly walked across the street and stopped outside the clinic for a moment. "Okay so… Dr Hess," Dinah brought up the ominous name.
"Men of Letters," Shemsiel grimaced like he tasted something bad in his mouth. "This is bad news."
"And here we thought we lived in the one place where we could be free of them," Dinah sighed.
"As long as they have Zara, our secrets are not safe from them," Shemsiel said somewhat hopelessly. It had been two months since they'd gotten a hold of the vessel. Who knows what they could have found out by now? "At least now we know what we're looking for."
"And what we're doing next Friday night," she held up the bag of DVDs.
Within the blink of an eye, both angels vanished, leaving the street as empty as they'd found it. Unbeknownst to them, someone had been watching from the receptionist's counter in the clinic. Someone with black eyes.
Some abandoned apartment, Bellevue, Nebraska – 8 January 2012, 2.21am
Dean still held the chunk of rock close to his chest, emotionlessly taking note of the peeling paint from the walls. Sam, on the other hand, busied himself with spraying sigils on the walls. Only a small work lamp provided some light. This wasn't the best place to shack up when hiding from angels, but it was late at night and it was at least another six-hour drive back home to Sioux Falls. Even then, neither of them were in any particular hurry to get back to Bobby's house. The place felt empty without the old man there and sometimes it still hurt to turn towards the table in the living room and not find him sitting there, reading about God-knows-what. But more importantly, there was a well-warded box in the panic room – the kind that John Winchester used to hide dangerous things like the Rabbit's Foot they'd been after once. The boys figured that was their safest bet for storing the tablet away from the likes of angels. At least until they found Kevin. Kevin. Dean felt his fists clench involuntarily. He felt like such an idiot for just letting the angels take him. Sure, it had all seemed fine and dandy that night, with Castiel catching up with his old garrison buddies – how could either of them have known that they were just handing an evil angel overlord what she wanted on a silver platter?
"Dean," a familiar gravelly voice said out of nowhere. The boys flinched, turning to find Castiel standing between them, his eyes determined yet somehow lifeless.
"Cas," Sam made to approach him.
"No, Sammy, don't!" Dean warned, causing his brother to freeze in his step.
"You don't understand, Dean," the angel took a step forward and again, Dean backed away. "I need to return the tablet home. You cannot have it."
"Cas, we can talk about this," Sam posited, striding towards the angel despite his brother's warning. He placed a hand on Castiel's shoulder but soon lived to regret it. With an effortless push, Castiel flung him back against the wall, knocking him unconscious. Dean winced, any remainder of sleepiness tugging at his eyelids disappearing. It was time to end this.
"Cas, if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this," Dean pleaded. The angel simply marched forward like he couldn't hear anything and struck at Dean, who rushed to protect himself with the rock. That was perhaps not the best move but the gap between them had closed too quickly for Dean's comfort and it was the only thing he had to defend himself with. The solid mass fell ceremoniously to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces and revealing the divine tablet. Thunder chorused in welcome of the Word's arrival. "Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!" Dean yelled, scrambling to grab the tablet just in time to avoid the stab of Castiel's blade.
That seemed to have made an effect on him. Castiel paused where he stood, muscles on his arms and neck growing taut as his eyes wildly searched the air for a sense of stability. "What have you done to me, Naomi?" he muttered under his breath.
A small glimmer of hope lit up within Dean. Something was changing inside his best friend. He just had to push harder and get the angel back. "You want it?" he tauntingly held out the tablet in a gamble. "Take it! But you're gonna have to kill me first." Castiel straightened up, suddenly back to his unreachable self. Before Dean could even blink, he grabbed the Winchester by the collar and threw him onto the ground. "Come on, you coward. Do it!" Admittedly, this approach seemed more and more hopeless as the seconds ticked by. But Dean had to try. Castiel rained punches on him, not sparing an inch on the left side of his face. It was all bruises and blood now. "Cas... This isn't you…" Dean whimpered through the pain exploding on his face. "This isn't you."
Blood was all Dean Winchester could taste, smell or see. From where he knelt on the ground, supported solely by the collar, blood dripped down his forehead in front of his right eye – the eye not swollen shut by the repeated battering he'd just endured. A sudden sense of absurdism came over him and he just wondered, how did we end up here? It suddenly dawned on him that it was a real possibility that he wasn't going to make it through the night and his little brother would wake up to a corpse. But no, he had to survive. He had to save himself, save Sammy, and save Cas. His vision began to blur but he tried really hard to focus on the image of Castiel – those blue eyes staring down at him like he was some stranger and an arm held up with the angel blade. For me? To kill… me? His fatigued thoughts barely took on structure as his brain fought to perceive with clarity. All that pain from the broken bones on his face, some of which he was sure were piercing his left eye, were a tad bit distracting to say the least.
"Cas… Cas…" Dean's voice was barely short of a whisper. "I know you're in there…" he weakly grabbed at the angel's sleeve, finding the crisp cloth but not grasping it proper. "I know you can hear me, Cas… It's me… Come back to us…" he mumbled through the pooling blood in his mouth. Still, the angel did nothing but stare into that lone visible apple-green iris. Dean pushed his luck again, seeking the kind and merciful brother in the servant of Heaven. "We're family… we need you… I need you."
Dean saw the blade move and for a moment he thought it would pierce him. But that was just the blaring pain causing him to catastrophize every movement he noticed. The blade dropped and rang loudly as it hit the floor. Castiel's arm was free. He slowly brought it down, seeking the dropped tablet. The writings glowed fiercely upon Castiel's touch, enveloping the whole room in its cosmic light. His pupils contracted and suddenly, he felt like he'd been awakened – like he'd been in an inescapable fog and now the wind had cleared it to show him his true path. He looked down at the tablet and then at the wounded Winchester. What have I done…
"Cas?" Dean's voice sounded frail, almost ready to give up and leave him to collapse on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. Castiel felt a sudden rush of emotions, like Naomi's programming had cut them all off with a large dam that was decimated when he touched the tablet. But mostly it was sympathy and regret. He reached out his fingers towards Dean's wounded head. "No, Cas," Dean protested, expecting nothing but the worst at this point. As he awaited death's embrace, he was surprised beyond measure to find the exact opposite. The first thing he felt most clearly was Castiel's two fingers on his forehead.
"I'm so sorry, Dean," Castiel apologised. For the first time in a long time, he sounded like himself.
"What the hell just happened?" Dean asked.
Before his question could be answered, there was a rush of wings fluttering in front of them. "Castiel!" Naomi exclaimed, eyes widened in horror. She was shocked that after all that practice – making Castiel kill literally thousands of Dean clones – Castiel still deferred and even missed the opportunity to kill the most annoying hunter of all time. But the question of her treatment's effectiveness would have to wait. Now her eyes were fixed on the prize. "You have the tablet," she said, more calmly this time. She extended her hand. "Give it to me."
"Not so fast," another fluttering of wings sounded behind Castiel. "You don't have to do this," Raziel pleaded. In his pocket, he had Pahaliah's phone – he'd found it on the ground near Lucifer's crypt after the call was abruptly cut. Though he was still in the midst of unpacking, he couldn't just ignore a warning sign like that. And to his dismay, he found her phone without its owner anywhere to be found. To be honest, however, he was just relieved he didn't find her dead body at the scene. For that much, he was grateful.
"I…" Castiel looked between him and Naomi.
"Come on, Castiel, that tablet belongs with me and you know it," Naomi stated, as if it should have been so obvious to him.
"I am the Keeper of Knowledge, the guardian of Heaven's secrets," Raziel said in turn. "It is my job to protect the Word of God."
"No…" Castiel muttered under his breath. He frowned deeply, eyes darting between arbitrary points on the ground as he tried to figure it all out. Maybe it was a shot in the dark, but things seemed to be falling into place now. Why he was resurrected, why he had to forget himself and experience a normal human life as Emmanuel until Dean found him… it was all there. He needed to know what was at stake. God wanted him to know what was at stake – humanity, angels, demons, all of it. All of life hung in the balance. And it was all on him to defend it.
"Castiel," Naomi called out again.
"I have to protect it," Castiel said.
"And we will," Naomi reassured him.
"No, I have to protect it from you." Castiel caught her glare but ignored it, looking to Raziel instead. The Keeper had kinder eyes anyway. And he seemed to understand. "All of you."
With that, Castiel stretched his wings and took off promptly. Naomi flinched, ready to charge after him but Raziel simply stood in her way, holding a blade aimed at her chest as if to guard Castiel's exit.
"What are you doing?" she inquired, bewildered. "He's getting away with the tablet."
"He's doing exactly what he's supposed to do," Raziel answered. He wasn't too happy about it, but he'd envisioned worse endings. "He's protecting the tablet."
"It'll only be a matter of time," Naomi threatened, before taking her own leave. The shabby apartment was silent again.
"Are you alright?" Raziel asked, only then noticing the sullen expression on the hunter's face. Dean looked like someone kicked his dog, his facial muscles tensing and relaxing.
"Yeah, I'll… I'll be okay," Dean answered.
"Your brother," Raziel noticed just as Dean was about to say something. The angel stormed towards the younger Winchester, checking for any injuries and waking him up with a finger to the forehead.
"What was that, Raz?" Dean asked. Right now, he just needed some clarity. Some peace of mind before the day could end and the night could receive its payment in sleep.
"He went against his programming," Raziel inferred, backing away as Sam slowly began to rouse. "He defied a direct order from Naomi. That means the treatment is being undone."
"But what broke the connection?" Dean probed. It all seemed too good to be true. He needed to be sure.
"I don't know," Raziel shrugged. "But it doesn't really matter, I suppose. You should be relieved, Winchester. You have your friend back."
"Yeah…" Dean still maintained a rigid frown, though his gaze softened as Sam's eyes fluttered open and then squinted at the sudden rush of light filling his irises.
"Dean?" Sam called out. Dean went to his brother's side, kneeling and checking to make sure he was okay. "Who're you talking to?"
Dean looked back at the room and found himself alone with his brother in the dingy apartment again.
The Vault
Rise, my angel, rise. Out from the deep dark abyss a hand reached skyward. His fingers were rigid and claw-like, still struggling to stay above the pit of life-sucking creatures. Though muffled by the things that drowned him at first, his furious yelling finally materialised into the dense seawater as his head emerged above the pitch-black hole in the seabed. His red eyes glowed so bright with effort that they could have burnt holes in the ceiling of the vault, were it not for the fortifications Khaos had put in place. Vince Vincente's face was a rotting mass of flesh by now, the decaying process accelerated both by the power of the archangel he contained and the energy-siphoning mass of tentacled creatures in the vault. Skin peeled away from the bones, leaving jagged edges where withering old skin used to be. Somehow in the struggle with the creatures he'd lost an eye. It would have been easy for an archangel to recover from a mortal injury but evidently, Lucifer was too busy trying to escape eternal torment and being dragged downwards to a point of no return. Now there was only a crusty reddish-brown layer separating the inside of his eye socket and keeping the seawater from entering his head. A single red orb of light shone where his eyeball would have been as a reminder that the archangel was still in that body.
His teeth clenched in effort as he attempted to remain afloat in the pool of death. You could see the gums of his lower jaw tightening as his bony teeth clammed together because he only had half a chin left. There was no escaping these snake-like things that had the teeth of piranhas – when they bit, they bit hard. It didn't matter where you were human, demon or angel. It all hurt the same. Also missing from his face was an ear, some parts of his forehead and chunks of his cheek. It might have been easier to recount what facial structures remained. And if this was what his face looked like, one might take a gander in imagining what happened to the rest of him. In any case, Vince Vincente was long dead.
Lucifer arched his back, pulling away from whatever encircled his waist and shoulders, buying him some much-needed space. For the past several months, it had been nothing but a constant thrashing about and struggle against these relentless creatures. In the beginning, he'd only tried to escape their clutches, pulling and pushing in vain as they dragged him further and further down with them. But then he heard a loud shrieking sound. As he jerked his head, wondering where this sudden, unusual sound came from, he saw it. It's teeth – small but sharp like needles – glistened from the light he emitted but that also meant he could see its mouth wide open. It was shrieking and if Lucifer wasn't so alarmed, he might have thought those things looked at him like he was dinner – in impatient delight. His eyes barely widened in surprise before one of them leapt forward and sunk its teeth into his right eye and gouged it out. He yelled despite himself, suddenly in unimaginable agony. Then a chorus of shrieking noises sounded around him and the others did the same and soon, he just couldn't shout loud enough to convey all the pain he was feeling. It was overwhelming, total and absolute. There was no space for any other thought than a sense of impending death and a longing for it all to end.
Yet a single image permeated him with a strength like no other. Sophia. She survived this. She made it through this custom Hell. If he ever saw her again, he swore he would shake her shoulders until she told him why she never talked about this. But most importantly, if she emerged out of this pit, he could too. Though she did have help – her vessel was the only one capable of pulling her out of this. And he didn't have the vessel. He didn't have Zara. It would just have to be him. He extended his wings as far back as he could at the expense of the creatures finding new spots to feast on him. A questionable decision, sure, but he was at the end of the line. He had to try everything. Luckily, it did enough. It gave him enough momentum to push upwards and swim to the surface, despite the overwhelming resistance. He felt relief like no other when his left arm finally punched through the surface, drenching in cold water.
All he had to do was reach for the ceiling. Just… a little… more… He pushed with all he could muster and for an archangel, that was a lot of energy. A strained groan burst from his throat. He was so close. He felt himself floating above, though he was only back in the saltwater from mid-torso upwards. But the creatures didn't give up. They began slithering up his torso, around his neck, and plunged themselves into the gaping mouth of his vessel, eating it out from the inside. Then more followed up his body. No, no, no. I will not let them get me again! With a final push, he managed to smoke out of his vessel, forming a luminescent cloud above the pit just in time to see Vince Vincente's lost, dead eyes – or eye, rather – as the human meatsuit was gobbled up by the carnivorous pit. Lucifer's back hugged the ceiling as he simply stared down into the pit of doom, panting heavily.
Move! Once he snapped out of his daze, he descended onto the floor of the vault gently, still unaccustomed to feeling solid ground beneath his celestial feet. His body and mind felt numb. If nothingness was a feeling, that was what he felt then. Bite marks peppered his body in a trypophobic fashion and he still felt sore all over. It was going to take time to recover from this. If only there was something he could consume to accelerate the healing process. I could eat a hundred thousand souls right now… Oh that would be so good. Or maybe an angel. He played with the idea in his mind. Cannibalising one of his own kind, ripping them apart and licking his fingers coated with angel grace. Can't say I've never done that before. Sure, it horrified Sophia, but it didn't matter to him what anyone thought. Having been gripped by depravity, there was no low he hadn't sunk to. Yet somehow the love of his life stuck by him as if it hadn't terrified her to the core. Is this… guilt? That's new.
His head slowly craned and he studied the sigil that brought him here. It reminded him of Crowley. That… that little backbiting pretentious imp of a demon. Lucifer yelled with all of himself, arms and chest tensing as he released all that tension building up inside of him. The sigil broke apart, shattering with a weak flash of light. He wanted nothing more than to storm into Hell, grab that thorny little munchkin by the collar and toss him bloody around the room until nothing was left. The universe knew no rage like the one he had right now. He felt unstoppable. If he wanted, he could manifest a dozen hurricanes as large as the state of Texas and wipe out every human in every corner of the world while expending all of himself – sounded like something his beloved would not condone. Maybe he should. But none of that would mean anything if the blathering idiot Crowley was alive. Lucifer couldn't rest easy without first crushing the life out of the usurper. The one who laid claim to what was his – his kingdom, his right, his creation. Onward to Hell he flew.
As soon as he arrived, the torches flared to life, shooting flames high into the ceiling. Such was his energy – strong and a force to be reckoned with. But as he found, no one stood in his way. The hallways were empty. No demons in sight. This was absurd. The doors to the throne room slammed open. To his surprise, it was dark inside and again, no one was present. No one but one man. A man he recognised. Blond hair, blue eyes, rough stubble – how could he forget? Nick seemed to know that he was there. Lucifer barely had time to process what he was seeing. He felt nothing but relief in that moment.
"Will you-"
"Yes," Nick said, a disturbing lack of emotion on his face. A bright light enveloped the room as Lucifer took his vessel. Though he realised this could be temporary, just like the other vessels he'd burnt through since being free from the Cage, he couldn't help but feel a sense of being welcomed as he entered Nick. It was like being reunited with an old friend. Especially after hearing that sweet word that gave him power to do as he wished. But his relief would be short-lived.
A/N:
As you should be able to tell by now, I've been teasing the return of a certain prodigal son. I'm not even mentioning his name explicitly in the story for reasons that will be clear eventually but I just wanted to let you guys know that yes, Luciel is on Earth right now and if you didn't already get that, uhm, get a clue (lol). Poor boy's trying his best to make things right but sometimes it just isn't enough.
After seeing season 13, I'm kinda hopeful for Jack's character and I find him to be a little similar to the character of Luciel I have in mind (though there are important differences, I must say). Maybe in the future there is a possibility of a universe cross-over where the two sons of Lucifer would meet, if you guys are interested ;)
