SIX

True Blood

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Sam laughed out loud, clapping his hands together and not caring who was watching him.

"No way," he managed, calming enough to look at Katie across the table.

She shrugged demurely. "Well you have to do something to get ahead in this job," she grinned. "So what about you? What do you do when you're not trying to get your cousin into acting?"

"Journalism," he said, recovering his breath. "Writing about whatever people pay me to."

"Interesting. Ever considered turning your hand to scripts?"

"Not until now," Sam smiled. "Would there be a place for me here?" He closed his mouth, abruptly aware of how tentative he had sounded. His subconscious leapt up and smacked his carelessness over the head with a clang that made his eyes roll.

"There could be," Katie replied, apparently not noticing Sam's distress at his actions. "After all, if your cousin gets in on this series, then you could hang around here and make money writing for him."

"On this show?" he asked.

"On this show. Imagine, you could write all kinds of cool stuff for him to," she grinned.

"Hmm…" Sam managed, his mind already turning to the cold rainy sets of grave digging, the shoot-outs and beatings, the near-death experiences and brush-offs from a million female characters. "It certainly is… appealing."

"Can he cry?" Katie asked suddenly, shattering Sam's mind's eyes view of every conceivable torture known to man being inflicted upon his brother.

"What? Cry? When he has to," he nodded. "He's not a pretty crier, though."

"Good. Men shouldn't be pretty when they cry. They should be messed-up," she asserted.

"Oh he certainly is that," Sam breathed.

"Sorry?"

"I said he'll go to bat," he nodded. "It'll be fine. But… aren't you worried? About this murderer stalking execs?"

"I'm sure the police will handle it," she said. She sat back. "Your face says you don't agree."

"No no, I'm sure it'll be sorted out ok," he protested, but she tilted her head at him. "Ok, no. I'm worried. People could be in danger here and not a lot is going on to protect them. I mean - that girl - Amy - she died just this morning and yet here we are, having lunch as if nothing's happened!"

"Yes, but there's one thing you've forgotten," Katie said.

"What's that?"

"This is LA. Short of an earthquake ripping this office building into pieces, nothing is going to stop the motion picture industry from making entertainment."

Sam nodded sadly. "Yeah. I did forget that."

"You want to… fill me in on some of these books?" she asked quietly.

Sam regarded her for a long moment, taking in her blond hair, her searching eyes, her face and the generally commanding presence she had, and realised that for the first time in a long time, he was thinking of doing a lot more than that.

"You know what?" he said, surprised at himself, "I think I would."

"Your cousin won't mind?" she asked slyly. "What if he gets lost in this big funhouse?"

"Ohh… I think my cousin can look after himself."

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Castiel began to walk toward the elevators. Dean hurried to catch up with him, but the angel turned and shoved a hand into his jacket front.

"Stop, Dean. He could kill you."

"Me? He's not going to harm me, remember? He needs me clean and pressed so Michael can wear me to the Apocalypse Smackdown," he growled.

"Fine." He turned again.

"Um, gentlemen?" Phil called from way behind them.

Dean cursed and turned around, a polite smile on his face. "Sorry, we left something upstairs. We'll just be a minute."

He shoved at Castiel and they were at the lift doors.

The man kept his back to them, his finger still on the button. The doors opened suddenly and a tide of people flowed out. The masses parted and Castiel leapt into the lift. He looked around, desperately looking for the presence he could still feel somewhere close by.

The lift was empty save the angel. The doors began to close until Dean's boot stomped over the line. "'Scuse us," he announced, shoving a man in before him.

"I'll get the next one," the ordinary-looking man gabbled. Dean gripped the back of his neck, making him whimper.

"Aw, don't be like that. There's always room for one more," Dean breathed dangerously, slamming him cheek-first into the reflective wall. He looked back over his shoulder and reached for the button for the twelfth floor. The lift began to whisk upwards. Dean kept his weight on the back of the man's neck as he looked back at the buttons. He pressed the Pause button.

Bells began to ring outside the lift carriage but Dean ignored them. "Now then, Ramiel - if that's your name - tell us what the Hell you're doing here."

The man struggled and grunted. "Let me go! You two are nuts!"

"No, we're not nuts: he's getting angry and I'm ready to tear you a new one," Dean accused, lifting the man slightly before pushing him back into the wall. "Tell us why you're here ganking studio executives!"

"I swear I have no idea what you're talking about!" the man squealed. He put his hands up in surrender, his cheek still pressed against the mirrored wall. "Please! I don't know!"

"Dean," Castiel said quietly.

"Don't lie to me!" Dean roared, pressing harder. "I have had it up to here with your pissing contests! Now you're going to explain what you're doing here and you're going to do it now!"

"Dean!" Castiel snapped. "This is not an angel."

Dean's mouth worked for a second before he blinked and looked at the raincoat-wearing heavenly creature. "Come again?"

"This man is not an angel."

"Well of course I'm not!" the staff member wailed. "I just number crunch for Mr Beeson on the fifteenth floor!"

Dean looked back at the man, then at Castiel. "You said he was!"

"He was when he was standing waiting for this elevator," Castiel confirmed. "He must have left this man as the other people came out. He could now be anyone."

"Woah woah woah," Dean protested, turning a look on the angel that could have reheated any number between one and a hundred gas station burgers, "you mean he jumped ship? He just slipped his meatsuit and hijacked someone else? I thought you said your team needed permission to borrow someone?"

"We do. Unless they are…" Castiel suddenly appeared worried, rubbing a hand over his forehead and turning away from the two men.

"Unless they're what? Unless they're what?" Dean demanded angrily.

"Uhm - can you let me go now, please - uh - sir?" the accountant said quietly.

Dean looked back at his hand, and by extension, the man still trapped against the wall cheek-first. "Oh." He let go abruptly, causing the man to slide down and collapse in a relieved heap in the corner. "Yeah, ahm, sorry about this. Case of mistaken identity."

"It's no trouble," the man whimpered, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his sweating face with it.

Dean's eyes went back to the sole angel in the lift. "Well?"

"We need to rethink this," Castiel warned, not meeting the human's eyes.

"Why? What are you pretending is a state secret this time?" he snapped.

"Dean - you have to understand--"

"Cas, quit it! Either you tell me right now what's so damn awkward about this Ramiel guy you claim was an angel, or I am going straight to the welcome bar, getting blind drunk, picking up those two girls from reception and letting all this go to Hell in a handbasket. You get me?"

The angel blew out a long sigh of consternation, letting his shoulders sag. Then he straightened himself up and turned to face the wrathful Winchester, the patience of whom was about to let its head explode.

"Some angels - some - are allowed the right to borrow people when it is direly needed," he admitted.

Dean's eyebrows didn't hesitate. They crouched, steeled themselves, and then leapt for the ceiling of the elevator as if their lives depended on it. Dean's chin tilted down and the look the angel got slapped with would have left a dent in the wall behind him had he not intercepted it.

"Excuse me?" They were only two words, but the quiet chill to Dean's voice prompted the accountant on the floor to put his hands to the walls each side of him for support. "So all this 'he prayed for it' crap - it actually really is just crap?" he accused.

Castiel drew himself up and stared, unblinking, at the human. "Only when needed."

"Wow. That's great, Cas, that's just… great," Dean shrugged, shaking his head in judgement. "So when things really are circling the crapper, you guys pull out your Dirty Dozen? Huh? The stormtroopers take over Cloud City? And what could be so extreme that they let the dogs out?"

The angel's head tilted. "The only reason they would be so desperate… is if it could somehow stop Lucifer."

The accountant on the floor squeaked. Dean and Castiel looked down at him. The Winchester blinked, thought about it, and without looking, stretched a hand out behind him. His fingers brushed a few buttons before his palm hit the Pause button. The bell stopped ringing and the lift resumed its journey to the twelfth floor.

"Have you out in a minute," Dean nodded at the man with an attempt at a friendly smile. "Oh, and ah… thanks for… --Helping us learn lines," he added brightly.

"Lines?" the man dared.

"Yeah. Some new show they got in pre-production. We're… ah… hoping to ace the audition."

The man scrambled to his feet, flinching as Dean put a hand to his elbow to help him.

He slapped the button for the next floor. "I think - I think you'll be fine," he gabbled, and they looked at each other until the lift stopped. "Good luck," he managed, before throwing himself out of the elevator. He hit the carpet on the fourth floor running and didn't look back.

Dean sniffed and turned back to Castiel. "So," he said politely, "we got the Angel Secret Service here at Demon Central, all cos Luci's got himself noticed. You think he's here?"

"I do not think so," Castiel allowed. "But perhaps the demons here are working for him. It must be why Ramiel is here - to foil his pans."

"Foil his plans?" Dean smirked. "What is he, a James Bond villain?"

"I could not say," Castiel replied in all seriousness. "But I think Sam should know what is going on here. We will need to split up and search for Ramiel. He knows I am here, and he knows I recognised him. He will be hard to find."

"Cas, Cas, Cas," Dean tutted, as the lift pinged and announced the twelfth floor, "you're not thinking like a spy."

"I am not a spy."

"You are now you've been booted out of the angels' club upstairs," Dean said, stepping out of the lift. The angel followed. "How do you find someone that's here to do a dirty job, when he doesn't want to be found?"

"You look harder."

"No," Dean grinned. He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open with the ease of the practised. "When you're a spy," he intoned, "the only thing that you need to find your target is his target. He will appear and you will have saved yourself hours of wasted plans."

Castiel appeared surprised. "Impressive. Where did you learn that?"

"Burn Notice," Dean allowed, pressing the speed dial button before slapping the phone to his ear. He frowned and pulled the phone from his face, sending it a dirty look as it went straight to voicemail. He cleared his throat. "Sam, it's me," he said, managing to keep the surprise out of his voice. "Cas and I just found an angel. This whole thing could be much worse than we thought. Call me when you get this."

He snapped the phone shut and looked at Castiel.

"He must be all over something," he said confidently. "So all we have to do is find ourselves a demon. Your angel ninja will come running to gut him like a fish and we'll be there to--"

"To do what? He is doing his job, Dean. He is here to stop something we did not know was happening."

"Yeah, 'did', Cas. That's the past tense. Now we know, we do something about it."

"Our first priority is Chuck. He must be protected."

Dean's mouth opened then closed quickly. He blinked, thought about it, and then looked back at the angel in awful trepidation.

"What if that's what he is doing?" he asked quickly. "Chuck's supposed to be a prophet protected by an archangel - what if him being here when Chuck's trying to make us into a TV show isn't just a coincidence?"

"There are no coincidences. Just obscure master plans," Castiel nodded.

"Holy crap. So we gotta stick close to Chuck - the demons will try to gank him and that's when this Ramiel angel dude will appear. We find out what all this is about, offer to help the ancient mutant ninja angel with whatever plan he's got going against Luci, and all this will be put back to rights."

He turned to go but Castiel caught at his arm, hoiking him to a stop. "Dean."

"What?"

"We cannot interfere with him, nor his purpose."

"Like Hell we can't! What if the demons aren't here to kill Chuck but to possess him? What's gonna happen if Stephen King there starts writing the Winchester gospel the way he wants it? You want The Word all out of whack like that, according to some demon?" He pulled his arm free.

Castiel huffed and looked up and down the corridor. "You have a point." He searched Dean's face for a long moment, then nodded. "We must find Chuck."

"Knew you'd come round," Dean nodded, turning away again.

"I know where he will be," Castiel added.

"Oh?"

"The staff room. He will not move far from the coffee and doughnuts. That is where we need to be."

"Amen to that," Dean muttered, already turning to the staircase that led to the eleventh floor.

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