"On the house, sheriff." A waitress slipped a glass in front of Jody Mills.
Jody looked up, surprised. "Oh, thanks, Nance, but I didn't order-"
"So…"
Nancy smiled and mouthed 'good luck'.
"... what are we drinking?" a man asked, sliding into the booth across from her. He wore a black suit and a red tie, and his voice held a British lilt.
"Roderick?" Jody gasped.
"Wow, Jody," Roderick remarked. "Words cannot begin to describe the injustice that that picture does to you."
Jody tried to hold back a girlish chuckle, hiding a flattered grin behind her drink. "Come on."
Later into the night, Jody found herself relaxing, lulled into a sense of comfort by her date. "Look at you."
"What?"
"The fancy career, the suit... I'm pretty much what I am - small-town girl."
Roderick glanced to the side. "We do share something, you and I."
"What?" Jody asked, stirring her second drink.
"Loss."
Jody's smile faded. She remembered a little boy with the bluest eyes, and a tall man with a kind voice. She remembered the blood on the ground, the crimson-stained pajamas. The pop of a gunshot.
"My son and my husband," she whispered. "How did you know?"
Roderick took her hand in his own. His grip was cold. "I've lost someone too."
Her eyes watered. Jody sniffed, now finding herself to be withholding tears. "It's not a date till I've cried," she muttered, chuckling mirthlessly.
"So now you've cried," Roderick said.
Jody stepped into the restroom. "Oh, this is crazy. This is crazy." She moved in front of the mirror and wiped at her eyes, minding her recently applied eyeliner. "I'm crazy." She reached into her bag and pulled out some lipstick. She applied it, still murmuring to herself. "He's attractive, though, right? He's hot."
Still seated at the table, Crowley laid out a spell. He placed a candle in the center, then propped up a photo of Jody against it. Her face was covered by a bloody sigil.
When he was sure no one was watching, he recited the spell under his breath. "Manu mortis accesso, spiritus vitae recedit."
Jody choked. Her lungs contracted, unable to draw in air, and she coughed blood into the sink.
Crowley's phone rang. He held it up to his ear. "You have less than one minute before a very dear, attractive, and slightly tipsy friend of yours snuffs it."
On the other line, Dean slammed his hand against the table in frustration. "Call it off, Crowley."
"Because?"
"Because it's over, you son of a bitch. We want to deal."
"Thirty seconds."
"We stop the trials, and you stop the killing."
"I want the demon tablet - the whole demon tablet."
"Fine, but then the angel tablet comes to us," Dean replied.
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that you're a douchebag and no douchebag should have that much power. Deal or not?"
"First, I need to hear two little words," Crowley said. He held his fingers over the candle, preparing to extinguish the flame. "'I surrender'."
Dean closed his eyes and spoke.
The Impala rumbled to a halt. Kevin Tran jabbed his shovel into the ground, currently digging up the demon tablet for the Winchesters. When the brothers walked over, Dean took notice of the large billboard shadowing the burial spot: a comedic devil, with the classic red skin and pointy horns, stirring a pot of chili.
"You hid the demon tablet underneath the Devil?" Dean questioned. "Seriously?"
"What? I was delirious." Kevin retrieved the two halves, wrapped in separate pieces of cloth. He pressed them together, and the carved text glowed golden for a moment before fading, and then the tablet was whole once again. He handed the tablet to Sam, looking hesitant. "You sure this is gonna work?"
"What choice do we have?" Sam replied.
"Alright, listen. This is a secret lair," Dean told Kevin, referring to the Men of Letters bunker. He gave him a key. "You understand me? No keggers."
Kevin blinked. "I don't have any friends."
Dean swallowed. "Yeah, well, just lay low. Who knows? You'll be a mathlete again before you know it."
Sighing, Kevin only cast his gaze downward. The brothers began to walk off, but he called, "you guys? You're doing the right thing."
They exchanged a look with one another, then headed off.
~ Houston, Texas ~
Castiel watched a homeless man on the sidewalk, brandishing a crude sign made of cardboard with the words 'MAY GOD BLESS YOU'. As he watched, he was ever reminded of the older and stronger force seated beside him.
"What was he like?"
"Who?" Metatron asked. He glanced over at Cas. "Oh, God? Mm, pretty much like you'd expect. Larger-than-life, gruff, a bit of a sexist. But fair - eminently fair." When he saw Cas' troubled expression, he tried to placate him. "The nephilim was a monster, Castiel."
"And the next trial?" Cas questioned, changing the subject.
"Across the street." Metatron pointed at a bar. "His name is Dwight Charles. I've been listening in on the angel radio. Cupid frequency, actually. And he is the next on their list."
"Their list?"
"To do the horizontal mambo," Metatron replied. "Slap bellies."
Cas stared at him.
"To find love," Metatron clarified, rolling his eyes.
"Oh. Yes."
"Well, that. He's slotted to be dinged by Cupid's arrow within twenty-four hours, which is good for us, because the second trial is retrieving Cupid's bow."
"No killing?" Cas asked.
"No killing," Metatron confirmed.
~ Sioux Falls, South Dakota ~
The Winchesters pulled into Bobby's junkyard, the Impala rumbling to a halt. They stepped out of the car and surveyed the broken-down cars, each feeling a pang of grief for their surrogate father. Bobby's car was overgrown with weeds and rust. They looked down on it in silence.
"Hello, boys," Crowley greeted. He stood several yards away, a comfortable distance from any attacks he may be subject to. "What's that old expression? Success has many fathers. Failure is a Winchester." He chuckled to himself. "Where's the stone?"
"You show us yours, and we'll show you ours," Dean said.
"Really, Dean? I'm trying to conduct a professional negotiation here, and you wanna talk dangly bits?" Crowley rolled his eyes. "The stone."
Sam reached into his jacket.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Crowley said. "Slowly."
Slowly and deliberately, Sam revealed the demon tablet.
"There she is."
Sam put it away.
Crowley held open his suit flap, showing the angel tablet to be tucked into his pocket. He smiled.
"And the contract?" Dean called.
In a grand flourish, Crowley rolled out the contract, which spanned the several yards between them in length and bumped against his foot. The parchment rippled in the breeze.
"Yeah, I'm sure there's no hidden agendas in there," Dean commented sourly.
"The highlights? We swap tablets, you stand down from the trials forever."
"You stop killing everyone we've ever saved," Sam added.
"Agreed."
Dean pulled a pen from his pocket and stepped towards the contract.
Crowley tugged it away, clicking his tongue. "Nice try, squirrel." He gestured at Sam. "Moose is doing these trials. Moose signs."
"No," Dean said. "Sam's not signing anything until I read the fine print."
"I can read it," Sam snapped, grabbing the pen.
"Hey, you wanted me here," Dean whispered, his tone harsh. "I'm here. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him screw us even more."
"What's this?" Crowley remarked. "Trouble in paradise, boys?"
They glared at him in unison. He chuckled.
~ Heaven ~
An angel pushed open the doors to an white office, halting before the desk. The walls were illuminated with light, and white lights dotted the ceiling. The floor was pristine, the doors clear as air, and nothing was out of place. He waited to be addressed before speaking.
"What is it, Nathaniel?" Naomi asked, scanning some papers.
"One of our freelancers has reached out to us," he informed her. "He's found Castiel."
That drew Naomi's attention. She looked up at him. "Where?"
"A drinking establishment in Houston, Texas. And…"
She set down her papers. "What?"
"He says Castiel was not alone," Nathaniel admitted, looking nervous.
"Who was he with?"
"By the description, I-I think it was him - the Scribe."
~ Sioux Falls ~
"You're gonna move your lips the whole way up here, aren't you?" Crowley questioned, watching Dean approach. He scanned the contract carefully, allowing no words or phrases to slip by him. He wanted to be absolutely sure of what Sam would be signing. "You know why I always defeat you?" Crowley continued. "It's your humanity. It's a built-in handicap. You always put emotion ahead of good, old-fashioned common sense."
Dean frowned at him.
"Let's have the big galoot sign it now, shall we?"
Every movement filled with reluctance, Dean turned back to Sam and beckoned him. Sam uncapped the pen, then nodded at his brother.
Dean whirled around and slapped a pair of handcuffs on Crowley's wrist.
The demon glared at him. He let the contract fall. "Is this a joke? You realize, all I have to do is-" He snapped his fingers; nothing.
"Uh uh uh," Dean said, mimicking Crowley from earlier. "Demonic handcuffs, jackass." Crowley turned his wrist over, just now seeing the strange sigils and powerful markings. "No flicking, no teleporting, no smoking out - oh, and, no deal." He revelled in Crowley's expression. "Which pretty much means that you're our bitch."
"Fine," Crowley hissed. "You wanna play chain gang? Let's." He punched Dean across the face. "You saddled yourself to the wrong bull, mate."
Dean retaliated with a blow that made Crowley stumble. He yanked the angel tablet from his coat, then passed it off to Sam. He gripped Crowley by the collar, grinning. "I can do this all day, cause you know what? Damn, it feels good! But sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it - you're ours. Which means that your demon ass is going to be a mortal ass pretty damn quick."
"What's he mouthing on about?" Crowley inquired, looking over at Sam.
"You're the third trial, Crowley," Sam told him. He allowed himself a triumphant smile.
"What are you reading?" Metatron asked.
"Personal advertisements." Castiel glanced up. "The faster that man finds love, the faster the Cupid will come."
The two angels looked over at the bartender, who was busy serving another customer.
"Trust me," Cas added. "I'm friends with friends who do this for a living."
Dwight Charles strolled over to them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a bushy beard and a friendly smile. "May I help you gents?"
"Yes," Cas said. "Would you say that you're looking for, uh, a partner in crime, or uh, someone who's into nurse role-play and light domination?" He peered up at the man, completely blank-faced.
Dwight stared at him. "Brother, it's 10:00 AM on a Tuesday."
"Uh, we'll have two drafts, please," Metatron said hurriedly.
"Coming up," Dwight told them, walking away faster than he needed to.
"You're not the most subtle tool in the shed, are you?" Metatron muttered.
Hands latched onto his coat. Several angels grabbed Metatron, dragging him from the booth and holding him captive between them. Castiel rose to his feet, preparing for a fight. He raised his blade.
"Kill him," Naomi ordered.
Before anyone could make a move, a gunshot rang out. The angel stumbled and touched the graze in slight irritation. Everyone swiveled to see Dwight, standing behind the counter, a rifle in hand. He cocked it.
"Next one won't wing you," he promised, eyes narrowed. "Take it someplace else."
A flap of wings, and then the angel was behind him, snatching his collar and smashing him into a rack of bottles with a great crash! The angel tossed him to the ground.
"Let him go," Cas growled.
Naomi's eyes latched onto him, burning with fury. "Haven't you caused enough harm already, Castiel?"
Cas stepped out of the booth, but Metatron's words made him halt.
"Stop, please," Metatron pleaded suddenly. "Castiel, don't make this any worse. Please."
And then the angels were gone.
~ Heaven ~
Metatron opened his eyes. He was in Heaven, strapped to a chair with restraints around his wrists. His gaze found the angel standing before him, and hatred bubbled up inside him. "I know you."
"We've never officially met," Naomi replied.
"Naomi." Metatron chuckled a bit. He glanced to the side, where he found several tools of their purpose he could only assume. "Your reputation precedes you. The archangels-"
"Wanted me to debrief you after God left," Naomi finished.
"'Debrief' me," Metatron huffed. "Is that what you call it?"
"Well, how would you know? You ran before I even had the chance. But... here we are." Naomi offered a plastic smile. "I just have one question before we begin. You had to know that we would leap at the chance to extract all of God's secrets from that head of yours, which is why I ask myself: why?" She rose to her feet and crossed the room. "Why did the Scribe suddenly come in from the shadows? And what are you doing with Castiel?"
Metatron watched her, his expression one of faint amusement. "'Of the blessings set before you, make your choice and be content.'" At Naomi's questioning look, he added, "not a big reader, are we?"
Gritting her teeth, Naomi flicked on the drill.
The Impala rolled to a stop. They were at an abandoned church, situated at the side of a vast lake. The grass was vibrant and soaked with moisture, and a smoky fog hung over the land.
Dean yanked Crowley from the backseat and marched him inside the church, where they chained him to a chair and sprayed a red Devil's Trap on the floor beneath him. Extra precautions, as always. Crowley strained against the collar around his neck, rattling the chains.
"You really think this is going to hold me?" Crowley hissed, shooting Dean a baleful glare. "That you're going to cure me, or whatever it is?"
Smiling faintly, Dean only tossed the empty spray can to the side and headed back out.
Thunder rumbled above, and a gentle trickling of rain dampened his clothes. Sam was at the trunk, gathering the necessary supplies.
"He's primed," Dean informed him. "How you feeling?"
Despite Sam's gaunt appearance, he managed to sound hopeful. "Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we're gonna win." He chuckled. "I'm good."
"Alright, well, no dancing in the end zone until we're finished. What's the good father's playbook say now?"
"Well... now that we got the consecrated ground, I just, uh, I slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours-" Sam pulled a syringe out of its container, "-and seal the deal with a bloody fist sandwich. That should do it."
"Your blood's supposed to be purified, isn't it?" Dean questioned. "You ever, uh, you ever done the 'forgive me, father' before?"
"Once, when we were kids," Sam admitted. "Which is why I have no clue what to say now."
"I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want," Dean offered.
"O-Okay. Yeah. Sure."
"Alright. Well, I'm just spitballing here, but if I were you - Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to Purgatory-"
"Thanks," Sam muttered. He cast his gaze downward. As if he needed any more reminding of his numerous screw-ups throughout his lifetime.
"For starters," Dean finished.
Sam reached into the trunk, pulled out his bag, and walked into the church without looking back.
"Or, hey, how about what you did to, uh, Penny Markle in the sixth grade?" Dean called after him, smirking. "Why don't you lead with that?"
"That was you," Sam corrected.
Dean blinked. He pressed his lips together. "Carry on." When Sam was out of sight, he frowned to himself in contemplation.
The confession box was dark. Sam swung open the door and took a seat, feeling awkward the whole time. He mentally ran through his list of sins, everything from Lucifer to Purgatory. He was unsure of where to start, but eventually realized his greatest sin, the one that deserved the most attention.
"If anybody's listening, here goes," Sam murmured.
Outside, Dean was leaning inside the Impala's trunk when he heard a flap of wings nearby.
"Dean, I need your help," Castiel said.
"Little busy, Cas, take a number," Dean muttered.
"I'm afraid this can't wait. Naomi has taken Metatron."
Dean straightened. "And you know Metatron how?"
"I've been working with him on the angel trails," Cas told him.
"The what?"
"We're going to shut it all down - Heaven, Hell, all of it."
"Metatron, the guy who was full-on crazy, cat-lady hoarder angel yesterday? Now he wants to save Heaven?" Dean raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
"Yes, he wants to. But I'm the only one who can." Cas' voice grew desperate. "I can't fail Dean, not one this one. I need your help."
"Look, Cas," Dean said, rising to his feet. "That's all well and good, okay, but you're asking me to leave Sam, and we've got Crowley in there, tied and tressed! Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam."
Sam rounded the corner, and, upon hearing he was the topic of conversation, interjected. "You should go. Seriously."
"And what, leave you here with the King of Hell? Come on."
"I got this." Sam glanced back at the church. "And if you guys can lock the angels up too, that's a good day."
"Look, I…" Dean swallowed. "I'm down with sending the angels back to Heaven, just cause they're dicks. But the demons? This is on us. Start the injections now. If I'm not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation."
Sam gave a tight nod. "Yeah."
His movements slow and reluctant, Dean grabbed the angel tablet from the trunk, and then he and Cas were gone.
Within the church, Sam drew out the first dose of blood from his arm, wincing. He turned back to Crowley.
"You really think injecting me with human blood is gonna make me human?" Crowley taunted. "Did you read that on the back of a cereal box?"
Sam pushed his head to the side and stabbed him with the needle, uncaring about precision. Crowley let out a cry of pain. When Sam stepped back, the demon glared at him. Sensing the hunter's anxiety, Crowley's expression shifted to smug confidence.
"You're miles out of your league, moose. See you in an hour."
As Sam turned around, his arms lit up with pulsing red light, causing him to muffle a groan. He exhaled sharply.
~ The Bunker ~
"Is this a joke?" Kevin scoffed, staring down at the angel tablet.
"No. It's the word of God," Castiel said.
The prophet glanced up at him. "What?"
"It's a tablet," Dean told him. "Translate. That's what you do."
Kevin chuckled dryly. "Okay. Um, it's the angel tablet, which I've never laid eyes on in my life. You want a translation in like six hours when it took me six months and a dead mom to translate a piece of the demon tablet?" He walked across the room and poured himself a drink. His voice became snappish. "And according to your own words this morning... this is not what I do. It's what I did. You told me I was out, Dean."
"Yeah, well-"
"And if this is gonna be the 'guys like us are never out' speech, save it," Kevin interrupted.
Castiel hauled him upright by his shirt collar, sending his drink shattering on the floor. He held Kevin in a rough grasp, reminding everyone in the room of his rank as a Seraph and power imbalance between them.
"Dean's right," he growled.
"Cas," Dean protested.
"There is no out. Only duty."
"Get the hell off me," Kevin cried, struggling against Cas' hold.
"You are a prophet of the Lord, always and forever," Castiel snarled. "Until the day you cease to exist, and then another prophet takes your place." He shoved Kevin forward, forcing him to look at the angel tablet. "Now, are you clear as to the task before you?"
Kevin gritted his teeth and nodded.
"Then do it, and let's go," Cas finished, releasing the young prophet.
A rustle of feathers, and then they were gone.
Sam checked his watch. It's time. He headed over to Crowley, gave him the next injection, and prepared to move away, but Crowley managed to grab his arm and bite down.
Crying out, Sam jumped back. A bloody wound marred his skin.
"What the hell, Crowley?" Sam snapped. He hit the demon across the face. "Biting? Seriously?!" He stormed off to bandage his arm.
Meanwhile, Crowley waited until he was gone to spit blood into his palm, creating a makeshift bowl. "Inferni sectatores, nunc audite regem." The blood began to writhe in slow, undulating waves. "For the love of everything, whoever is hearing this, if anyone is hearing this - this is your king. Send help immediately."
~ Houston, Texas ~
Dean tipped back a beer. He was seated at the bar, watching an old movie play on the TV. Castiel sat down next to him.
"Anything?" Dean asked. "You've been gone long enough."
"No. There was one female, but…"
"What?"
"I don't think she was female," Cas admitted. "Anything here?"
"Free drinks." Dean gestured at the bartender. "Your, uh, buddy over there thinks you saved his life."
Cas waved. Dwight Charles nodded, smiling.
"Do you really think it's wise to be drinking on the job?" Cas questioned, watching Dean take another swig.
"What show have you been watching?" Dean replied. "Talk to me. Are you sure about this? I mean, it's one thing me and Sammy slamming the gates to the Pit, but you - you're boarding up Heaven, and you're locking the door behind you."
Sighing, Cas grabbed his own drink. "Yeah. I know."
"You did a lot of damage of there, man," Dean continued. "You think they're just gonna let that slide?"
"Do you mean, do I think they'll kill me? Yeah, they might."
The pair shared a long look.
"So this is it?" Dean muttered. "E.T. goes home."
The bar doors swung open. Dwight greeted a woman walking in. She wore a bright smile.
"Where's Ed?" Dwight asked.
"Flu," she replied. "I'm Gail."
"Showtime," Dean whispered.
Gail tugged a cart in behind her, which Dwight helped load up.
"Holy crud, this is like the first five minutes of every porno I've ever seen," Dean commented.
"Rod rides a stool here most days," Dwight was saying, referring to the other man nearby.
Gail set a hand on each of their shoulders. "I'll be seeing you both." She gathered up her things and left, after bidding them each goodbye.
Dean and Cas watched in confusion.
The two remaining men looked up at the TV together. There was a pause, and then in unison, the two remarked, "damn, that's sweet." They gazed at each other. Their expressions turned admiring.
"How about the next one's on me?" Dwight offered, smiling.
Dean blinked in surprise. Without wasting another second, Cas got to his feet and followed the female cupid out back.
"How we doing, moose?" Crowley called out. "Ain't it 'bout time for the next love injection? Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes, turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes, just gonna have to be a different man, time may change me but I can't trace~"
Sam clenched his fists, holding back his vocal signs of pain. He gripped the syringe in one hand.
Then the church began to rattle. The ceiling shutters banged together, filling the dimly lit interior with a great clattering of noise. The floorboards creaked as the wood started to splinter, a slice arcing across the ground and breaking the Devil's Trap.
Crowley grinned, eyes gleaming with malice. "Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice, dumb nuts?!"
The doors flew open. A lithe shadow stalked inside, a triumphant smile curving her lips.
"Hello boys," Abbadon greeted.
"That's my line," Crowley muttered. He tried to look back, but could only catch a brief glance. "Abbadon? They told me you were dead."
"So not."
"And the rest of the cavalry?"
"Oh no, it's just little old unkillable me," Abbadon said.
Sam lunged for his gun, but Abbadon tossed him against the wall, causing the bullet to ricochet.
"Brilliant!" Crowley cackled. "Why send in a few grunts when you can send in a knight? Say your prayers, moose."
With a wave of Abbadon's hand, Sam went flying through a window, showering the floor in glass.
"That'll do," Crowley praised. He raised his cuffed wrists. "Undo these. I'll kill him myself."
There was a lengthy pause. Abbadon circled to the front, regarding him coldly. "That was an order, was it?"
Crowley could see the defiance in her eyes. "I am your King."
"About that..." Abbadon struck him across the face. "Do you know what I find the most shocking about time travelling through a closet and landing in the year 2013?" She hit him again, and again, and again, until his chair toppled over and sent him to the ground. "Somebody thought it was good idea to make you the King of Hell."
"You know what that boy's trying to do, right?" Crowley groaned, trying to appease her. "He's trying to shut the Gates of Hell."
Abbadon waved her hand, slamming the doors closed. She knelt down to his level. "Right now, you and I are going to talk about a regime change."
"You little whore," Crowley snarled. "I am your ki-!"
Abbadon punched him once more. When he slumped over, she straightened with a sigh. She turned.
Sam doused her in holy oil, causing her to gasp. "I love the suit," Sam growled, then tossed a lit match on her.
Flames engulfed the Knight of Hell. Abbadon screamed, limbs flailing in an attempt to escape the fire that was all around her, scorching her skin and turning her vessel to ashes. In a great funnel of smoke, she fled from her body, spiraling to the ceiling and fleeing out the window, and then everything was quiet.
The cupid jogged down the back steps. When she caught sight of Dean and Castiel, she halted, her shoulders tense and eyes wary.
"Hello, brother," she said.
"Give us your bow," Cas demanded. His blade slid into his hand.
"What?" The cupid flinched and took a few steps back as Cas advanced on her.
Dean grabbed Cas' arm. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey." He circled around to protect the cupid. "Talk first. Stab later."
The cupid relaxed a bit, realizing they weren't going to hurt her. When she heard their side of the story, she admitted, "I've been afraid to go home for some time now. Orders used to come once a day, and now it's chaos. It all seems to be breaking down. And you think you can fix that?"
"With time, yes," Cas replied.
She stepped forward and extended her hand. On her palm was the black symbol of a bow-and-arrow. "Take it, then."
"You've been digging," Metatron murmured. Blood tracked down his face, but he managed to offer a smug grin.
"Why are you doing this?" Naomi demanded. "This?"
"Do you have any idea what it would be like to be plucked from obscurity, to sit at God's feet?" Metatron gazed up her, his voice earnest. "To be asked to write down His word? The ache I felt when He was gone, telling myself, 'Father's left, but look what He's left us - paradise.' But you and your archangels couldn't leave well enough alone." His lips curled into a snarl. "You ran me from my home. Did you really think you could do all of that to me and there'd be no payback?"
Naomi only shook her head, then vanished.
"I think I found angel trials, but I don't see anything about a nephilim or a cupid's bow, or anything like that."
"Oh, come on, Kev," Dean groaned over the phone. "We're on the one-yard line here."
"Okay, and I should've mentioned this six months ago, but the sports metaphors - y-you wanna motivate me? 'Magic' cards, 'Skyrim', Aziz Ansari."
"What?"
Castiel paused. A rustle of feathers behind him alerted him to presence of Naomi.
"I'm not here to fight you, Castiel," she placated immediately, spreading her arms in a gesture of surrender. Not anymore."
"Where is Metatron?" Cas demanded.
"He told you he was going to fix Heaven, didn't he? Murdering a nephilim, cutting off a cupid's bow - it's a lie. All of it. I've been in his head."
"You've been in all our heads," Cas argued. "That's the problem."
"No, Castiel, you're wrong," Naomi said.
Cas shook his head. "This is what you do. You twist things. I'm trying to fix Heaven. Metatron is trying to fix Heaven."
"Metatron isn't trying to fix anything. He's trying to break it, as an act of revenge for driving him away."
"Break it how?" Dean asked.
"Dean," Cas snapped.
"Expel all angels from Heaven, just as God cast out Lucifer," Naomi answered. The urgency in her voice was authentic.
"Cast you out to where? Hell?"
"Here," Naomi whispered. "Thousands of us, walking the Earth."
"Lies," Cas snarled, and he moved to attack her, but Dean pulled him back.
"Our mission was to protect what God created," Naomi said, her eyes brimming with desperate tears. "I don't know when we forgot that. I want nothing more than to see you shut the Gates of Hell," she told him now, addressing Dean alone, "but I told you that you could trust me. If Sam completes those trials, he is going to die."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean questioned.
"I saw it, in Metatron's head. It was always God's intention. The ultimate sacrifice." Naomi locked eyes with her brother. "As for you, Castiel, I beg of you, stop this path. Metatron has been neutralized. If you want back in, truly, I will listen."
Her message delivered, Naomi closed her eyes and disappeared.
Dean raised the phone to his ear. "Hey, right now, talk to me. Is she lying?"
"I don't know," Kevin replied shakily.
"Well, find out!"
"She's lying," Cas told him.
"Take me to him," Dean breathed.
"Dean-"
"Take me to him now!"
Sam hauled Crowley's chair upright with a grunt of effort. Crowley coughed.
"You did good back there, moose," Crowley told him. "I'll deny it if you ever quote me, but I'm a proud man. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks," Sam muttered. He shook up the spray paint.
"Hold, w-what's that?"
"It's what it looks like," Sam replied. He knelt down and sealed the Devil's Trap once more.
"Are you joking? I just saved your life."
Sam chuckled. "Seriously?"
"Seriously? Me, seriously?" Crowley watched Sam walk by with wide eyes. His voice wobbled and cracked in an uncharacteristic manner. "We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the- the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like this?"
Sam poked him with the needle. Crowley yelped.
"'Band of Brothers'?" Crowley tried. "'The Pacific'? None of this means anything to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once? 'Girls'?"
The hunter's expression was a comical one.
"You're my Marnie, moose," Crowley insisted, sounding increasingly panicked. "A-And Hannah, she just- she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all? You, me - we deserve to be loved. I deserve to be loved!" Crowley sobbed. His eyes glittered with pain, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I just want to be loved."
Sam stared at him. "What?"
"What?" Crowley repeated. After a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as if he wasn't conscious of his outburst. He swallowed.
An hour later, Sam drew out the last dosage of blood from his arm. Crowley had long since fallen silent, which left them to a quiet, awkward atmosphere where no one mentioned the demon's strange wave of emotions.
"Would it be possible, moose..." Crowley spoke suddenly, his voice soft and tentative. He wouldn't meet the other's gaze. "...I'd like... to ask you a- a favor, Sam. Earlier, when you were confessing back there... what did you say? I only ask, because, given my history, it raises the question... where do I start to even look for forgiveness? I mean..."
Sam held up the syringe with trembling fingers. "How about we start with this?"
Crowley tilted his head to the side, allowing Sam to give him the injection. This time, he was silent.
Nearly finished now, Sam opened up the instructions and read off an exorcism. Crowley flinched at the words, but nothing happened. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra."
Sam used the demon knife to create a slice in his palm. It pulsed orange and yellow, and a wave of nausea almost sent him to his knees.
Outside, Castiel called after Dean, "Dean, I'm not wrong. I'm going to fix my home." And before he could be persuaded otherwise, he vanished.
"Cas!" Dean shouted. Torn between his best friend and his brother, he turned and ran into the church, crying, "Sammy, stop!"
Sam flinched violently, but didn't retreat.
"Just take it easy, okay?" Dean said quietly, as though he were speaking to a skittish animal. "We got a slight change of plan."
"What? What's going on? Where's Cas?"
"Metatron lied," Dean told him. "You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam."
Sam only stared at him. His appearance was haggard from the trials, but something else made his lips wobble and his hands shake. His next words were filled with anguish. "So?" He shook his head, then gestured at the chained Crowley. "Look at him. Look how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this!"
"Think about it," Dean said. He knew he was treading on careful ground now. "Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from Hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you."
"You can barely do it with me," Sam whispered brokenly. "I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?"
"Come on, man, that's not what I meant."
"No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was?" Sam's face twisted with misery. "It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again."
"Sam-"
"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?" Sam took in a shuddering breath. His voice cracked. "Who are you gonna turn to next time, instead of me? Another angel?" He remembered all those times Dean confided in Castiel, and not him. He remembered when Dean relied on Cas to fix what Sam broke. "Another vampire?" Benny was a sore spot. Dean wanted to be with Benny rather than Sam, because Sam was a screw up, but Benny was the brother that he could never be. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just-"
"Hold on, hold on!" Dean interrupted. "You seriously think that? Because none of it- none of it -is true." Sam shook his head, grimacing. "Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've some junk that set you back on your heels. But Sammy, come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom walk because of you." His voice turned gruff with emotion, and this time, he didn't try to hide his desperation. "Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you."
Sam looked down at his hands. The trials pulsed inside him, igniting him and burning him up. He let out a shaky sob, then met his brother's watering eyes. "How do I stop?"
~ Heaven ~
Castiel found Naomi dead on the floor. A bloodied drill protruded from the back of her head.
"She told you I lied, didn't she?" Metatron stepped up behind Cas, pressing an angel blade to his throat. A smile of pure malice curved his lips. "You should've listened to the bitch."
In the next instant, Metatron had Cas restrained in the chair.
"You promised," Cas hissed.
"Shh," Metatron murmured. "Castiel, I want you to stop thinking about master plans, Heaven, and angels, all this." He set a hand on Cas' head and forced him to lay back. "That doesn't concern you anymore." With the tip of his blade, he created a thin slice on Cas' throat, causing the latter to groan in pain. Metatron fished a small vial from his pocket, and began to fill it with swirling, bluish white grace. As he did so, he spoke, "these were never trials, Castiel. This is a spell. And what I'm taking from you now- your essence, your grace -is the last piece."
Cas choked; Metatron healed his wound.
"And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me, and for you." The Scribe leaned close. "I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die, and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story."
Then white light filled the room, and Castiel was gone.
"Now go."
"Just let it go," Dean murmured. He took a step forward.
"I can't. It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like."
"Hey, listen to me." Dean reached into his pocket and produced a strip of cloth. He began to wrap Sam's hand, covering up the bloody slice. "We will figure it out, okay? Just like we always do. Come on." In one swift motion, he pulled Sam close and embraced him. Sam leaned against him for support, trembling. "Let it go. Let it go, brother."
Sam's arms glowed, humming with power. He drew back suddenly, panting, as the light vanished.
"See?" Dean said. They shared a look of relief, the beginning of a smile on Sam's face, when abruptly, he cried out in pain and collapsed. Dean quickly helped him to his feet, and together, the pair stumbled from the church, falling against the Impala for support. "I got you, little brother, you're gonna be just fine," Dean soothed.
Another groan ripped itself from Sam's throat. He gasped for breath, choking, as Dean held him close.
"Cas!" Dean shouted. "Castiel!" Silence. "Where the hell are you?"
Somewhere in the wilderness, Castiel opened his eyes to a midnight sky. He forced himself to his feet and staggered to a clearing. Up above, the stars were falling.
In the bunker, Kevin marched up the steps to leave, when suddenly, previously dark lights began to flash on. Beeping filled the place. Machines powered on with a great humming, and lights started popping up on a map of the Earth, red and glowing. Hundreds, thousands, millions of lights, clustering and gathering.
Thunder boomed. Dean looked up at the sky, and what he saw shocked him to the core.
As though the sky were a black canvas and needles were puncturing the paper, bright lights appeared through the clouds. Falling stars flew down from above, forming a spectacular light show.
"No, Cas," Dean whispered.
Their wings burned. The lake erupted as they hit the surface, plunging into the depths. Sam jolted.
"What's happening?" Sam gasped.
"Angels," Dean breathed. "They're falling."
Castiel watched his siblings plummet with horror in his eyes.
And so the Heavens burned.