Chapter Twenty-Two

What About Us?

January 4, 2010

Bobby sat at his desk staring morosely at the package across from him. He'd given her two extra days, and it was only a few minutes until January 5. He tapped his fingers against the desk before reaching out and grabbing the business card that sat on it. It felt heavy in his hand, and he didn't want to think about why that was. Dean had called on the 31 about angel radio going haywire, and Castiel proclaiming it the end of days. After the initial freakout, something strange had happened.

Angel radio had gone silent.

Castiel had called personally at that point. Apparently, there was always constant chatter from Heaven and the angel just tuned it out. This silence was eerie, and Castiel was questioning if they should go underground for a bit until they knew more. Bobby didn't have the heart to tell the angel what Azrial had said, not until he handed the package off to Crowley. He was hoping the demon would be able to confirm what he already knew, or at least shed some light on the archangel's thought process.

Bobby huffed and grabbed his phone, dialing the number with growing trepidation. It rang four times, and Bobby was about to hang up when the phone picked up.

"How did you get this number?"

The cool question made Bobby shut his eyes, and he snarked half-heartedly. "From your saner half, bastard."

There was a huff, but Crowley calmly responded. "Robert, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Bobby swallowed as his eyes darted to the package. "I need you to come see me, ASAP."

"While that's flattering, Robert, I'm not really in the mood to have fun."

Bobby had to bite his tongue bloody to stop from cursing out the demon and hanging up. How was it these two idiots not only tolerated each other but seemed comfortable together? He'd kill the demon if he spent a fraction of the time with him that Azrial did.

The sobering thought made him sigh, and Crowley quickly asked. "There is actually something wrong?"

"Yes," Bobby responded. "I wouldn't be calling you 5 to midnight otherwise."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Have some manners and don't shoot me."

The phone call ended, and Bobby leaned back into his chair. When had life gotten this damn complicated? He missed the days where demon possessions were unlikely, and angels were just cherubs in the clouds. Now he'd just invited a demon into his home, and he was probably handing over an archangel's will. He was startled from his thoughts by the smell of sulfur, and his instincts kicked in as he leveled his gun at Crowley who'd appeared a few feet in front of him.

"Well, you didn't shoot," the demon said with a smirk. "That's progress."

Bobby frowned but set the gun down as Crowley came toward the desk. He sat down across from him and raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Crowley prompted. "I'm here. What's the new world-ending disaster."

Bobby silently pushed the package toward him, and Crowley frowned. He ran a hand over the top of it, and Bobby wondered if the demon had a way to tell if something was hexed or trapped. Crowley pulled the twine loose and pushed the brown wrapping paper aside. Bobby could admit he was curious at what the archangel had left for the demon, and found himself carefully watching Crowley's reaction. The item was an ornate box with a letter on top of it. Crowley's brows creased and he raised his eyes to him.

"What is this?"

"I don't know," Bobby said honestly. "Azrial asked me to give it to you."

The demon's lips pursed as he looked at the letter that had his name written in royal blue ink and flowing cursive. He set the letter aside for the moment and opened the box. Bobby stared in shock, and Crowley let out a strangled sound akin to a cat having its tail stepped on.

Nestled between elegant red satin sat Azrial's archangel blade, a silver chain with an ornate vial twisted around it. Bobby watched as Crowley reached out a trembling hand to caress the vial, and for the first time, he noticed it was lightly glowing.

"That absolutely stupid woman," Bobby exhaled as the pieces finally began falling together. Crowley's hand was still shaking as he gently, almost caringly, unwrapped the chain from the blade. Crowley held it in front of his face for several moments before gently putting it back in the box before turning back to him.

"How," the question began shakily, but then Crowley turned absolutely furious red eyes on him. "Where is she? Why the bloody hell did she give this to you!"

Bobby shook his head, the shock of what was in the package outweighing any fear Crowley may have sparked.

"I don't know," Bobby said. "She dropped it off, and asked that if she didn't come pick it up by the second that I give it to you."

"That was almost three days ago!"

Crowley's anger began shaking the room, and Bobby snapped. "Calm the hell down! I gave her more time thinking she'd be back. If I'd known what that crazy archangel had handed over, trust me I would have called you sooner."

And damn it, he would have. He'd seen Castiel hurt enough to know that vial contained angel grace, and he knew there was no shortage of nasties who'd want to get their hands on it. That wasn't evening mentioning the freaking archangel blade. His eyes shot to the box, and he noticed that the entire underside of the lid had runes carved into it. Was that the only reason no one detected it? What if he'd dropped the damn thing!

"What the hell were you thinking, Azrial?"

Crowley's whispered question brought home the gravity of the situation. The demon picked up the letter, and Bobby prayed to God himself that there were some answers in it. He watched as the demon ripped open the envelope, and began reading the letter. As Crowley read, his face went through so many emotions Bobby could barely keep up. Shock seemed prevalent at first, but then there had been something surprising. It was like someone had ripped the demon's heart clean out of his chest. His hand shook, and Bobby watched Crowley swallow hard as the devastation quickly turned to anger.

"That stupid selfish bitch."

The words were snarled, and Bobby stiffened as Crowley stood up fast enough to send the chair falling back. He slammed the box shut, and picked it up. The demon was gone a moment later, and Bobby stood to pick up the chair. He blinked noticing the second page of the letter had fallen, though he doubted Crowley had noticed. Curiosity got the best of him, and Bobby picked it up. Most of it was just warnings, and a few jokes he didn't fully understand. He got to the bottom and Bobby stared in shock at the last part; In the end, we just didn't have enough time. I stand by what I said though, you have my heart. Be safe, my future King. With love, Azrial.

Bobby fell into the chair and stared at the end of the letter. He stared at the way the cursive seemed to come alive on the page and realized he could more than sympathize with Crowley's reaction.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Bobby whispered the question to the empty room and tried to reason why her silence on the matter bugged him so much.

Suspecting and knowing were two very different things in this case. Had she come to him and said this was her plan, he'd have told her she was an absolute idjit. He'd also have ratted her moronic plan out to Crowley, so the demon could talk sense into her. Remind the damn archangel that there were people who needed her alive. Maybe Azrial had known that.

It didn't explain why it bothered him beyond wondering what the hell they were all going to do now.

The realization hit him suddenly; I was getting used to her. Now she's just another casualty of a war we have no hope of winning.

Bobby shut his eyes for a moment as he gripped the letter. He stood up with a sigh, folding the letter and placing it between the pages of The Gospel of Eve alongside the single black feather that he'd kept. Eventually, Crowley would notice he dropped the letter, and he'd give it back to the grieving demon. For now, a drink sounded good.

A drink to what could have been, and an uncertain future. Come morning, he'd have to call the boys. He wasn't looking forward to telling Castiel what happened.

Line Break

January 5, 2010

Castiel sat on the hood of the Impala staring blankly out at the busy road in front of him. He rolled the cellphone in his hand, mulling over the news Bobby had given him. Sam and Dean were still in the bar, but Castiel had no desire to go back in. He didn't want to be around people at the moment.

"Why?"

His question echoed in the cold air, and he picked at the jacket Sam and Dean had gifted him. Sometimes he missed the trench coat Jimmy had worn. Other times, especially around Sam and Dean, the jeans and t-shirts felt better. They distanced him from his siblings and made him seem approachable. His sister had been right about his ability to fight in them. It made life easier.

Castiel frowned, and tightly gripped his cell phone. What had she been thinking? What had Gabriel been thinking? Why didn't either of them come to him?

"Hey, Cas, everything okay?"

Castiel turned to see Dean coming up to the car, his warm breath making small clouds in the cold night air. Castiel turned away from his friend and shut his eyes as he felt Dean sit next to him on the hood. He took some solace in the warmth Dean radiated, the tangible feeling of his presence. They sat in silence for a few moments before Castiel sighed.

"That was Bobby."

Dean hummed, "I figured that. New case? Why didn't he want to talk to me and Sam?"

Castiel shut his eyes and swallowed. He dropped his head and ran a hand through his hair in thought.

"He called with a possible explanation for the silence I've been experiencing."

He could feel Dean sit up straighter at his declaration. Castiel tried to get his thoughts in order before further explaining himself. How did he put into words the sheer chaos he was feeling?

"Well?" Dean prompted, though not harshly.

"Bobby informed me that a few days before the 31 Azrial came to him and dropped off two packages," Castiel paused, and shook his head clear. "One was for him as payment for handing off the other if she didn't come get it by the second."

"Who was the other package for, and what was in it?"

Castiel gripped his phone tighter and could feel the device cracking under the force. A gentle hand came to loosen his grip, and Dean joked lightly. "Careful there, Cas. What did the phone do to you?"

Castiel looked at his friend but released the delicate device. Dean took it and set it on the hood between them before turning his expectant gaze back to him. "That bad, huh?"

"The package," Castiel huffed. "Contained a letter, her archangel blade, and a vial of grace."

"What the hell?" Dean's disbelief dripped off his question, and it aptly summed up how Castiel was feeling. "Who leaves their weapon? Unless-"

Dean cut himself off, and Castiel met his shocked green eyes with a slight nod. He knew where Dean was going, and it explained the silence.

"Unless they thought a weapon would be useless, and didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands," Castiel finished Dean's thought.

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean paused and sent him a worried look. "You know what this means, don't you?"

Castiel turned away from him and went back to watching the cars zip by on the busy road in front of the bar. "I don't understand why. It was basically suicide and Gabriel not only let her do it but participated."

Dean placed a hand on his shoulder, and Castiel looked back at his friend. He was surprised to see an overwhelming understanding in his eyes.

"We do stupid shit for family, Cas," Dean paused and looked away with a sigh. "I mean, I've done some fucked up shit to protect Sammy. Unlike me, Azrial didn't have someone to-" Dean cut himself off and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Who got the package?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, his annoyance dripping off his voice. "Crowley did. Bobby said the demon was furious once he realized what it was."

Castiel couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice. He didn't doubt what Bobby had said; the hunter wouldn't lie about Crowley's reaction. It still baffled him that Crowley seemed to care, in some demented way, about Azrial. It made him slightly uncomfortable, because if Crowley could care what about other demons? Were there others that would stand against Lucifer with a leader, and would they truly care about the cause?

"Then I stand corrected," Dean sighed, and Castiel looked at him strangely. "She had someone who would call her bullshit and avoided them until it was too late. I almost feel sorry for the bastard."

"You seem oddly informed on this matter."

Dean chuckled and leaned back on the Impala with a sad smile. It seemed to age him several decades, and Castiel found himself gently butting his shoulder against Dean's. He wasn't sure what else he could do, but he knew humans were comforted by physical contact. Dean gave him an amused look before turning back to the road.

"When I sold my soul to save Sammy, I didn't think twice about what it would mean for him or Bobby," Dean shut his eyes, and Castiel found himself listening intently. "Bobby, well, he went off on me. He started out so furious, but then...well he'll deny it but we both cried. In a strange way, it was nice to know I was loved. Wanted. But damn it, it didn't make getting dragged into the pit any easier."

Castiel mulled over his words before asking, "You think she didn't tell anyone because it would make it harder?"

Dean shrugged, "It's what I tried to do, and Azrial seems to be the type who'd do her duty even if it cost her everything."

Castiel felt a laugh bubbling in his chest, and before he knew it he was laughing loudly. Dean looked at him strangely, but his lips still twitched in amusement.

"Something I said?" Dean asked, amusement hanging off his every word. Castiel shook his head, and looked up at the stars with a sad smile.

"You just summed up my sister. Duty, even at the cost of your life, was the creed of our flock, and Azrial led by example. She'd have laid her life down if it meant her goal was met."

"Cas," Dean paused and gently added. "You know, her goal may have been installing Crowley as the leader in Hell or it may have been to stop the fighting. I can't say one way or another if this will help either."

Castiel sighed and nodded in agreement. "You're not wrong. There isn't anything we can do about it now."

A comfortable silence lapsed over them, and Castiel brushed his shoulder against Dean's again. The physical contact helped ground him to this new reality he found himself in. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without the Winchesters. Dean leaned in slightly, butting against him before standing up once more.

"You've never been to a hunter's funeral."

The casual statement had Castiel tilting his head, "No, I have not."

Dean hummed and offered his hand with a small smile. Castiel hesitated for a moment before taking it and letting Dean pull him to his feet.

"Well," he said. "After we burn the body, we always drink. I think, since we don't have a body, we should have a few drinks. In her name, ya know?"

Castiel stared at his friend, a warmth spreading through his chest. He realized he hadn't let go of Dean's hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting it fall.

"I'd like that."

Dean grinned, and draped an arm around his shoulders, and dragged him back toward the bar. Castiel inhaled the cold air and realized that as bad as things were he still had something he'd always wanted; a real family.

Line Break

It was chaos. Pure power flooded the area and seemed to war with each other. Fear dripped off the four astral beings, and he sighed and tapped his cane. It connected with a surface that wasn't truly there, and the soft click echoed through the shattered dimension. The four beings stopped their chaotic movements and seemed to be frozen in time. He moved forward and with a flick of his hand sent the closest one, a mass of cracked reds and yellows, careening out of the dimension. He did the same to the being of sky blue color and was none too kind to the dawn kissed form that followed shortly after. He came to stand in front of the gold being which was circled protectively around the shattered remnants of grace that hung in the air.
"You surprised me," he said softly and ran a hand over the astral being slowly piecing it back together instead of sending it on injured like he had the others. The gold being glowed brighter, and he smirked. "To Earth with you, archangel."

The gold form vanished a second later, though it fought for a moment to stay wrapped protectively around the shattered grace that hung in the air. He moved forward and was about to touch it when another voice entered the area.

"What are you doing here, Death?"

Death sighed and turned to stand with his back to the shattered grace as he leaned on his cane. "Doing your job it seems."

The other man sighed, tugging at the belt of his bathrobe with a strange look. "I've never known you to heal in all the years we've known each other."

Death raised an eyebrow, and the other man seemed to squirm. It always amused him that he had that effect on creatures. Well, his eyes darted to the side where he could just make out the shattered grace, almost all creatures.

"Your son impressed me. Rather creative wasn't it? Bringing a whole dimension down on his siblings."

The robed man sighed, and he looked around the area. He seemed to consider it for a moment, before clapping his hands together once, and the area began to repair itself into the sitting room it had once been. Death tilted his head but lifted his hand causing the remnants of grace to float into it as he sat down. The other man fell into the chair with an exhausted huff before turning his piercing stare toward him.

"What do you want?"

The question hung between them, and Death chuckled which seemed to unsettle the other man even more.

"You ask that like you have any ability to stop me, Chuck."

The man bristled and narrowed his eyes, "You could at least pretend to respect me."

Death raised an eyebrow and lifted his cane. Chuck twitched, and without warning, Death hit the man's forehead with the butt of his cane. The man looked absolutely furious, sputtering incoherently.

"Be a better parent, and then, perhaps, I can respect you," He said flatly, and Chuck scowled.

"I'm a creator, not a parent. Besides, they are millions of years old."

"You left them without any guidance. One would think you'd learn after the first dozen times to at least give your eldest a blueprint."

The sarcasm dripped off his last point, but Death couldn't be bothered. This was a mess, and if the uppity deity wouldn't deal with it then he would. Chuck frowned but seemed to mull over his words.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'm calling in a favor, and if you don't want to be reaped ahead of schedule you're going to do it."

Chuck stared at him for several long moments, and it was clear he was weighing up the validity of the threat. With a defeated sigh, the man leaned forward as his eyes sparkled with power.

"Then name your favor, Death."

Death's lips twitched, and the broken grace in his hand glowed softly. "I'm glad you see it my way, God."

Author's Note:

A huge thank you to everyone who has read this story. The saga will continue in Kingmaker: Death's Play on January 16, 2021. I'll post an update here when it goes live. A special thank you to my lovely beta and best friend, Geethr75. You made this possible, darling. See you all in the new year!