Careful What You Wish For: Season 1.5
The Road Less Traveled
Chapter Eight
Unwelcome Guest
Hell's Throne Room
Crowley stormed into his own throne room. The heavy doors slammed open, reverberating through the chamber. Fifty pairs of eyes snapped to him, as every demon gathered turned to the sound. Crowley seethed with fury. He hadn't called a meeting. He hadn't even been intending to be in Hell right at that very moment. There were still escapee souls that needed to be tracked down, and coerced into servitude. The angels were scooping up souls at a rate he couldn't contend with, without personal intervention.
"Just what the bloody fuck do you all think you're doing here?" Crowley flung his hand towards the door. "Get the fuck back out there and find those souls!"
The gathered demons shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. Some of them even looked at the floor rather than face Crowley's wrath directly. When not a one of them so much as twitched a muscle in the direction of the doors, Crowley grabbed the nearest one by the suit-jacket lapel and physically threw him out the door.
"Now, now," a voice crept through the air, silken and soft. "That's no way to treat your subordinates, is it?"
For the first time, Crowley noticed that someone was sitting in his throne. His throne. The one he won by deceit and lies and sheer cussedness. The crowd of demons parted as Crowley stalked towards the dais. The vessel was an older gentleman with distinguished steel-gray hair and a lean, hungry face. His suit was a blue tweed, high quality and tailored to fit his nearly skeletal frame closely.
"I suggest you vacate my chair, and apologize for telling me how to police my demons." Crowley let the threat hang unspoken. The demons in the front row, tried to back up slightly, but encountered resistance from those behind them. Everyone wanted to watch, but no one wanted to participate.
"I'm sorry. Did you just tell me to apologize?" The demon on the throne leaned forward, his palms pressed together as he tapped his index finger on thin lips. "I think, we may need to try this whole introduction thing again."
The older man stood up slowly, allowing his mortal eyes to occlude with his demonic presence. Gold, the color of a freshly minted drachma, flooded the whole of the vessel's eyes. It wasn't yellow, not the color of the Princes, but something with more of a glitter to it, like metal, like the false idol of a fallen god. Cold fingers of dread walked down Crowley's spine, but he held carefully still, knowing any weakness would paint a target on his back.
"Mammon, I presume?" Crowley's voice didn't betray him. He was thankful for that much.
"Indeed! And now, you will abdicate your throne to me, and go back to tending your cross-road, little boy." Mammon was delighted by the recognition, but maintained quite firmly that he would not be giving up ground. "Now, Paper King."
"Why should I?" Crowley crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin as he mentally scrambled for a good angle. "Where have you been? These, oh... two millennia or so? Do you even remember how to tempt a mortal anymore? Do you even know what wonders they have at their disposal now?"
Mammon's golden eyes flicked back to his mortal ones, which then narrowed. They were measuring each other. When the fallen god didn't speak up, Crowley got bolder. "These plebeians may be afraid of your legend, Mammon, but I know know that you've been trapped in an itty, bitty gem since the Dark Ages." Sauntering towards the dais, he gestured expansively to the gathered demons. "The mortals don't even know your name anymore. You must be weak as a mewling kit-"
Crowley had one step left to climb, but Mammon uncoiled. He caught Crowley off guard with a back-hand that sent the King of Hell reeling backwards down the stairs, until he missed one, and landed flat on his back. Rising to his full height, the weight of Mammon's power came crashing down upon the room. For a brief second, the fires flickered and died, the shadows casting ominous shapes around the interloper's head. Shadowed horns curved wickedly up from his forehead, the impression of them only disappearing when the fires surged back to full strength.
"Brothers, and Sisters of Hell," Mammon's silk voice rung out loud and clear over the murmur of demons. Crowley tried to crabwalk backwards, but Mammon came to a stop beside him, and planted a finely polished boot in the center of Crowley's chest. "You have languished and suffered under the rule of a buffoon for far too long! This mockery of a demon knows not the meaning of true power. He holds nothing but a puppet title, playing dress up until the day his betters arrive to right the ship."
Mammon looked down at Crowley. His smile was an unkindness, a rictus of hatred and malice. "That day has come. It is time demonkind stop hiding in the shadows. It is time we seize all that the mortals have that we covet. It time to bring Hell to Earth! Who is with me?"
Mammon raised his fist, yet the gathered demons remained quiet. Bewildered, the fallen god cast his gaze around, daring any demon to meet his eyes. They all studiously stared at their feet, some stared at Crowley, prone beneath Mammon's heel.
"What you're promising sounds an awful lot like work to these ones." Crowley rasped out, sneering. "Good luck getting them to follow that."
Mammon kicked Crowley in the face, rattling the demon's brain before he stalked back to the dais and the throne he'd rightfully stolen. Sitting again, he watched Crowley struggle to get up.
"A free ride to wealth and vice for the demon that kills Crowley." Mammon offered quite nonchalantly.
A ripple passed through the gathered demons. The few closest looked in his direction. Crowley didn't like the covetous gleam they all had. Instead of waiting for the outcome, Crowley left, translocating out and away. Abandoning Hell for the first time since his reign began.
Singer Salvage, Sioux Falls, SD
"Where is she?" Castiel started to move into the kitchen, but both Sam and Bobby blocked his path. "Kayla. She's here. I heard her calling me."
Sam stared, unable to formulate a coherent sentence in the moment. Bobby didn't have any such problem.
"What the fuck, Castiel? It's been eight months, and you don't even bother to let us know you're alive?" Anger vibrated in Bobby's voice. There was no way at all that he was about to let Castiel barge in on Dean at the moment. He had enough to deal with.
Castiel gaped. Vibrant blue eyes shifted between Sam and Bobby as just how hurt and angry the two were really began to sink in. "I... I've been searching for Kayla. Sam, she's here, isn't she?"
Setting his jaw for the inevitable disappointment, Sam shook his head slightly. "I heard her too, but.. she's not here. I think... Jessie-"
"Sam!" Dean's voice echoed in the house, stringent and terrified. Sam knew that tone. Something bad just happened.
Bobby gave Sam the slightest nod, promising him that he'd keep Castiel at bay. Splitting off from one drama to the next, Sam practically skidded across the floor on his knees to his brother's side. He'd lain Jessie back down on the linoleum, one hand cradling the back of her head, as he tried to keep her airways open. Sam could see she was struggling to breath.
Dean was desperate for answers when he look up at his little brother. "Help me. I dunno what else to do."
Sam didn't either. Helpless, he scrubbed his jaw. He knew the answer was standing in the library, in a worn trench-coat and a weary-expression. But he had no idea how Dean would react to seeing Cass again. Dimly he was aware of an indignant sound from the library, Bobby's classic what the hell noise. The reason was evident as Castiel knelt across from the brothers Winchester, looking down at the girl struggling to breathe.
Castiel couldn't ignore it. It was there as soon as he crossed the threshold between rooms: the dusty miasma of an ancient library, smelling of secrets and forgotten lore. It was the marks of Kayla's power, but the sense of her humanity, what he'd associated with the verdant energy of a forest in springtime, was subsumed beneath the weight of the unfettered Grace. He didn't dare touch the blonde mortal without asking permission, and in some way, forgiveness.
Looking up, he found Dean's gaze, locking eyes with those terrified, hazel ones of his favorite mortal. If Dean had been close to tears before, they were running freely down his face now. Dean didn't care. He couldn't find it in him to be angry at the angel right at the moment. Not when Jessie's life was on the line.
"Help her, please, Cass." Dean wasn't above begging.
Castiel didn't need any more coaxing. He touched Jessie's chin, turning her face slightly towards him. As soon as he came into contact with her skin, the sense of an ancient library gave way to the fetid odor of burning books. Kayla had done this. Accidentally, or on purpose, he wasn't sure. All he knew was the truth: the nephil's power was unfettered and dangerous, where ever she happened to be.
The faintest of burn marks scored around her eyes, visible only because Castiel knew what he was looking for. The burns of someone who had glimpsed the raw power of Grace as a weapon; humans tended to be hollowed out by the sight. Most people wouldn't survive that, as it was as bad as looking on an angel's true form. Cass covered her eyes with his palm, but she flinched, gasping, and tried to pull away.
Dean found her hands, grasping them. "Hey, I'm right here. Let him help, okay? He's gonna help, I promise."
Her answer was a wet cough, the sound of fluid in her lungs. Controlled Grace could heal as surely as uncontrolled could burn. Castiel had long been adept at both applications. Granted, his history of using his powers for war and combat was far longer, but he'd managed to adapt with the changing world. Unlike some of his brethren. The damage that Kayla had caused was extensive: not just her eyes, but much of her nervous system was burned. Her heart weakened by the strain. Her lungs shutting down as they filled with blood. She had been dying by inches. Cass wordlessly coaxed her body to heal itself, using his Grace as a bridge for the damaged pieces to knit back together. She shuddered under his touch, whimpering as soon as she had breath. Her grip on Dean's hands first tightened, then began to slowly loosen as the tension drained out of her, while the pain ebbed.
Dean waited, holding his own breath, until her eyes fluttered open. He busted out the biggest grin when she focused on his face. Untangling one of her hands from his, she reached up to rub a thumb under his eye, drying the sheen of tears there. Exhaling a huge sigh, she patted Dean's cheek, and closed her eyes again. As her hand slid from his face, he caught it, and held it.
"She'll sleep." Cass offered carefully. "For a while. But, when she wakes, we shoul-"
"No." Dean felt the betrayal bubbling up inside him. It gave his voice a harsh edge, and a hard tone. "Absolutely not. Jessie is not doing that again."
Sam patted his brother on the shoulder, glancing at Cass. "He's right. It's too risky. Dean, take Jessie upstairs... Bobby and I can deal with Castiel."
The angel opened his mouth to protest the idea that he needed to be dealt with. But, he remembered what he'd done. The lies he'd told and the secrets he'd kept had led to this schism. He wasn't sure if there would be a way for him to find forgiveness. While Cass struggled with the idea, Dean carefully picked Jessie up. Maybe he'd even just stay upstairs with her. Watch her sleep. Make sure she kept breathing.
That thought stung. Because he wasn't sure he could trust the angel anymore, and he didn't want to face that head one right then. Bobby's newest weekend project was the formerly closed off portion at the back of the house. Unfinished rooms that Bobby and his wife had fought over, and in the wake of her death, had remained unfinished and indeterminate. Bobby had intended to surprise Kayla with her own space, before. Now, it was only slightly less unfinished, but it had a purpose, as Jessie's space. It wasn't much, just a mattress and a boxspring on the floor, and the contents of Jessie's life that she'd packed away in her trusty Subaru.
Laying her down carefully on her bed, Dean sighed softly. "Don't scare me like that again." He scolded her gently, brushing her hair back from her face. He debated heading back down to the kitchen, but instead, settled himself on the floor, leaning against the wall. Avoidance was probably best. And he could be on hand just in case.
In the kitchen, Sam and Bobby were equally at a loss though. When Dean left, Castiel got up from the floor and began to study the quartz bowl, the spice mixture still floating atop the water. He dipped a fingertip in the water, frowning before smelling it.
"She's... a witch?" Castiel seemed genuinely perplexed. The brothers were the ones that hunted the monsters. Those included witches. He had to concede, as he rubbed his wet fingertips together. There was no sense of a demonic pact that gave this girl her powers.
"Maybe that's why she could reach Kayla." Cass continued thinking aloud, when neither Sam nor Bobby answered him. "She's hidden from us. Too well." Picking up the rubbed-tipped striker, Cass carefully unwound the cloth from the handle, frowning at the familiar design on the tee-shirt. He'd held it up for a few moments, before Sam reached over his shoulder and pulled it from his grasp.
The younger Winchester was visibly unsettled. "Cass, you... you don't get to just pop back into our lives like nothing happened."
"And we are not puttin' Jessie through that mess again," Bobby added in. "Whether or not she can track Kayla down means diddly-squat if we have to put her life in danger."
Cass stared at them. Of course they were right. His willingness to endanger mortal lives was what had gotten them into this predicament in the first place. Looking down at the table, Cass tapped the edge of the quartz bowl, making it chime softly.
"Bobby's right. Until we figure out this whole Mammon mess, Jessie's too valuable to risk." Sam had his own suspicions about her full value. But he was happy to keep those to himself.
"Mammon?" Castiel keyed into the name, the confused and hurt expression dropping into something shrewd and alarmed. The look on Sam's face was enough to confirm the truth. "Tell me. I can help."
"I don't think that's the best idea, Sammy." Dean interrupted, coming down the stairs. "We can handle Mammon ourselves, just like we've been doing for the past eight months." Wincing, Castiel took a step back from the kitchen table. Dean's expression didn't soften even when Cass said his name pleadingly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you showed up right in the nick of time, to save the freaking day, but where were you all the times I called, all the times I asked for a sign that you were still alive out there? Eight months without so much as a hello."
Cass' brow wrinkled as he tried to figure out what best to say. "It took time for Naomi to put me back together." The excuse was lame, flimsy at best. Because after that, after he was given his task, he had no excuse. "Heaven wants to kill Kayla before she becomes a threat. I've been searching."
"So have we!" Dean threw his hands in the air, giving up at that point. "You couldn't even be bothered to stop by to compare notes even! Cass, what the hell happened? When did you stop trusting us? 'Cause, y'know what? I can put an exact date, and time on the moment that I stopped trusting you."
It was the second verbal blow that hit like a well-placed punch. Cass felt all the air rush out of his body, and that unexpected surge of emotional hurt that followed in it's wake was enough to set him back on his heels again. "I... I never stopped trusting you, Dean."
"Hey, c'mon." Sam caught his brother's shoulder, pulling him back from the edge of saying something he would really regret later. "You should cool off; we should talk about this later."
Before Dean could take a breath to protest, Castiel was agreeing. "Yes. Later. I should... I should go. Heaven needs to know that Mammon's back."
Casting a baleful look at his little brother, Dean grumbled something unkind and unflattering under his breath, and immediately felt guilty for it. Sam was right. Sam usually was right. It was too much to process, too fast. But the tension and anger had no outlet, at the moment. Somewhere in between breaths, Castiel had left. Again. The tension bled out of the room with the angel's absence.
Dean desperately wanted to hit something.
"Sammy, find us something to hunt. Now." Shrugging his shoulder free of his brother's grasp, Dean turned to head deeper into the house.
"Where you think you're goin', son?" Bobby's question was innocent enough. Dean got impulsive when he got emotional. And he'd been through the wringer in the last few hours.
"Upstairs. Gonna check on Jessie."
Bobby followed Dean a few steps into the library, just far enough to be sure the boy wasn't headed out to the Impala or angling for weapons. As he disappeared around the landing, Bobby was grateful for small miracles. Cass was alive after all. The boys were alive. They'd made contact, however violent and detrimental, with Kayla. Small wins would add up. Turning back to the kitchen, he found Sam already setting up his laptop. With a grin, and a pause at the fridge for a couple of beers, Bobby joined him in the search.
