CHAPTER FOUR
HIGHWAY TO HELL

Castiel put himself right where he used to be before Azrael called him away - smack dab in the middle of a highway. In the rain.

He hadn't expected Dean to just stop the car and wait for him, of course. He was just sad and disappointed, both for not seeing the Impala up ahead and for wanting so badly to see it. Foolish. Like lemmings. Lemmings threw themselves off cliffs after other lemmings. Proof that God occasionally had a sense of humor. Cas scoffed. Occasionally? The whole damn planet was a stage for his theatrics. God was the greatest comedian of all time. Because the best comedy was rooted in sadness. In truth. In despair. The fact that everything could be so horrible, and yet life would carry so cruelly on. A sick sense of humor. God had one black funny bone.

Castiel's hair was wet and dripping now, droplets falling into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He wished for a scant moment that Azrael had taught him how to cloud-burst, but then he thought better of it. The effect of the rain was bracing. It reminded him he was alive and numbed him at the same time. He began to walk.

His plan? At first, he had no plan. He was just wet and walking. He did begin to slowly form one, though. Roads always led to towns. Towns always had telephones. He prayed Dean hadn't gotten rid of his. Well, if that happened, he would just keep walking. He would find Dean. He would find Dean even if that meant scouring every inch of small town America. Because he had to. Because if he lost Dean, Cas would be lost, too. And he knew it.

So he walked. He wasn't tired. He wasn't bored. He just walked.

A couple of hours and several miles later, the rain was still going strong, and so was Cas. The only thing that had changed was the scenery. Cas now found himself on the crest of a little hill (one of the few in central Illinois) and a little town was laid out in front of him. Cas saw that town and somehow just knew that Dean wasn't far away. Not there, maybe. But close. He almost smiled.

That's when things started going downhill again.

"Hello, Castiel," came a voice behind him. A male tenor, light and edgy, with a tinge of heat. Cas turned and accosted the speaker. He was tall, very slim - narrow, even. His face was tinged with auburn scruff and held the sophistication of an experienced individual. He had warm, medium brown eyes, and he wore a long dark coat that accentuated his semblance to a beanpole.

"Hello, Nathaniel," said Castiel. He recognized him immediately. Nathaniel had been instrumental in the breaking of the original 66 seals, before Castiel had been aware of the angel's actual plan. Fact about angels - they liked to keep things from each other. It kept things interesting. Like now. Castiel was very interested in why he was staring straight at the volatile smirk of one of his most dangerous rivals. He wondered if Nathaniel was very interested why he was trudging through the rain.

"Lovely night for a stroll," said Nathaniel, his lips curling back in a humorless smile. Clearly he thought God wasn't the only one with a sense of humor. "It's been a while since I've just thrown it all away and decided to walk eighteen miles in the rain."

"What the hell do you want, Nathaniel?" asked Castiel, taking several steps toward him, spreading his arms and frowning.

Nathaniel shoved his hands deeper into his bottomless pockets and laughed, and Castiel imagined him for a second with a forked tongue. He pushed his pelvis forward and threw his head back, cackling. Theatrics. And from what Cas knew of Nathaniel, theatrics wasn't good.

"Oh, I just want to see God's favorite," said Nathaniel, returning again to the barely sophisticated calm. "His new golden boy. Trudging through the rain. Some victory, eh?"

"Lucifer and Michael are in the cage. The apocalypse has stopped. I'll call that a victory," Cas said simply, and started to move away. He was starting to smell Nathaniel, and he didn't like what his nose was telling him.

"Really? You really think everyone living out their petty little lives here is a victory?"

"I've heard all this before, Nathaniel. I get it. You wanted to make the world paradise. You especially, being the Angel of Fire," he murmured, still walking. "You were gonna destroy the world, before it could be remade. I don't care what you want, or wanted, just know that it won't happen now."

He heard another trademark Nathaniel scoff from behind him. Following him. Great. "God's not on your side," he said. Castiel heard his footsteps and took this time to whirl around on him.

"God's not on anyone's side, you idiot," Cas snarled. It had been one hell of a day. "Nobody knows what He wants any more. Nobody knows what to do any more, so I would suggest that you get off your high cherubim and reevaluate your alliances."

They were close now, like Castiel and Azrael had been just hours before. Nathaniel towered over him, but Cas stood his ground. He was not in any mood. From what he could gather from Nathaniel (a smell of rotten fish and eggs, which couldn't be anything good) he wasn't in any mood, either.

"You're not in any position to lecture me," spat Nathaniel, adding in an Enochian insult.

"Stop following me."

"No."

"Leave me alone."

Nathaniel laughed again. "No."

"You know what you are, Nathaniel?" Cas looked at his feet and took a deep breath. The rain continued on. "You're a lost lamb. You're powerful, sure, but are you prudent? You think you know every facet of the argument, but you really only know what they've told you. One side of the story. You don't know these people, Nathaniel!" Cas swung his arm towards the little town. "You don't know how many lives you'd extinguish ... you don't know the meaning of life. You've never been alive. You're just an empty, dead shell, just like Lucifer - "

Before Cas could finish, Nathaniel's very real, very live fist collided with his jaw, and Cas tasted blood. That was different, too. Sweet and salty and metal all at the same time. Cas realized he was mulling over the complexities of his vessel's own blood rather than fighting back. That soon changed, and he clenched his fists and felt the crackle of hot electricity in his fingertips.

Cas returned the blow with another in Nathaniel's narrow nose, but Nathaniel was coming around quick. Cas took a knee to the stomach and a clap over his ears before he gained enough leverage to slam his shoulder into Nathaniel's chest, knocking the taller man off balance. The next few blows the pair exchanged were too fast and too bright for human eyes, each channeling their angelic might through their fists and into their opponent. Cas hit Nathaniel in the gut again and whirled to get an arm around the other angel's neck, but Nathaniel retaliated with a stomp on Castiel's knee, forcing it back the wrong way. Cas decided to take advantage of his plummeting to earth by grabbing Nathaniel's collar and forcing his head down to the asphalt with a solid crack.

Both angels halted for a minute, both bleeding heavily. Cas' left leg was bent at a sickeningly cruel angle, and he had cuts and bruises on his face. He spat out a mouthful of blood. Nathaniel was giggling - a sick, delirious noise, his teeth stained with crimson and his hair matted with scarlet, his head creating a pool of blood. Both had dark purple marks on their knuckles. Both would be perfectly all right in a few hours, as long as they didn't go another ten rounds.

"Castiel, Castiel," said Nathaniel choppily, a thin trickle of blood oozing out the corner of his once-handsome mouth, "Angel of Temperance. Your reputation -"

"I am not at all concerned with my reputation. I don't live by mine, as you do." Cas staggered to his feet. "Foolish creature. I could kill you."

"And I, you." Nathaniel eased himself up off the ground and rubbed his head. "I am not the one who aligned with the sinners, Castiel. You're the foolish one."

"You're wrong," said Cas. He was tired. So very tired. He just wanted to find Dean. He just wanted this brother of his, this once noble and powerful being, to realize the truth. "I hope you believe me one day. I won't kill you. But follow me again, and I shall send you back to heaven. I hear it's a real party up there. They're all not too keen on you and your misled brothers."

Castiel got up, turned and left Nathaniel chuckling in the road.

"Then leave me, brother. But I am not the misled one."

There was a flutter of invisible wings and Nathaniel was gone. Cas kept limping in the rain, towards the little town called Breckinridge.

Azrael was alone. Again.

She'd spent her existence in solitude. Her work, or rather, the work of Death, wasn't a work that condoned much friendship. Most angels she spoke with were wondering whether or not she was there to end them. So she spent her time watching. Observing, unnoticed, in the shadows. God's favor towards the creatures called Humans was fascinating. Sinners, every one - but miraculously blessed. This confused Azrael. She was not used to being confused.

She was still in her dress, and standing conveniently over the Cage in the cemetery of Lawrence, Kansas. She was waiting patiently. Sometimes she felt like that was all she did - wait for the ends of things. She recalled the Greek story of the three Fates: three sisters who wove the tapestry of Life together. Azrael was the oldest sister in the analogy. The one who waited, with the scissors. The one who ended things. That was her existence. Her purpose. Wait and end. End and wait.

She stood there, waiting, in the little Kansas cemetery. She hummed a little tune, one she had come to know as 'Stairway to Heaven'. Ironic, considering her duties here.

All of a sudden, her wait was over. A warm, bright light bathed the headstones and Azrael stopped humming, lifting her eyes to the light. Even though her body made her appear in her late twenties, the way she carried herself and the way her eyes flashed made her look like a little girl.

"Hello, Father," she said in a small, cheery voice. The reply to her one-sided conversation could not be heard by human ears.

"No. No. Yes. Of course." She paused and waited patiently, apparently anticipating a lengthy reply. "I volunteer willingly. I understand the consequences. I accept responsibility for the soul called Sam Winchester, the sinner in Your care, who lives in the cage with Your sons. I will raise him. I will watch him. I am his."

Azrael took a deep breath and was plunged into Hell.

Hell was just that, hell. Azrael found the stench was the thing that offended her most. Rotting flesh, rotten everything. Rotten souls, that was the worst. The smell of evil hit Azrael in a place that made her shudder to think of. She thanked God she could not see much more than inky blackness and the occasional flame, because the screams were enough. It struck her that Hell was even Hell for Lucifer, when she saw the cage. She stopped - her wings refused to carry her on - when she saw the cruel contraption.

She was only allowed milliseconds, she remembered. Less than an instant to do her duty and keep the other Archangels in their place. She reached through the bars and touched the soul known as Sam Winchester on the right shoulder, gripped him tight and pulled.

Castiel was right, the feeling was indescribable. Just touching something so perfect, so imperfect as the human soul was incredible. She was flooded through with emotion; Sam's emotion. His pain and fear, his hatred. His love. His triumph. His peace. Azrael couldn't feel anything that wasn't Sam's. She knew Dean now, knew the strength of their bond. Knew how hard it was to leave the broken brother at the edge of the pit. Knew how he had no other choice. Knew his sacrifice.

It hurt, pulling all that grief and pain and sin and goodness out of Hell. Azrael thought she'd be pulled apart in little pieces. She could only pray she made it out of the Cage, she had no idea anymore. She could only pray the soul she held close was intact. Azrael, at one point, had given up on surviving the ordeal. She only wanted her little soul to make it out alive.

And then all at once, she was gasping on the grass, on her hands and knees. She was out. Lord, what a beautiful feeling, to be out of that place. But where was Sam? Where was her soul? She felt suddenly naked, a failure. Like her other half was forever lost. She nearly drove herself insane, clawing at the ground. Where was he? She was sure she pulled him out. Did she pull him out? Did he even make it out of the Cage? Maybe during all the pain and confusion she let him go. Let the only chance he ever had go to waste. But no - that was impossible. Azrael would have never let that soul go. Not accidentally. Not without dying herself.

A hand plunged out of the grass and felt around. Another hand. Two arms. A mess of brown hair. Broad shoulders. A flannel-shirted torso. Hips. A belt. Jeans. Work boots.

Azrael's face was a blank canvas again. She stood up and looked at the dirty, panting man on the cemetery grass before her.

"Sam Winchester."

"Yes?" said Sam.

"I am Azrael."

"You raised me?"

"Yes."

"But how - I mean, the Cage, Lucifer -"

"With the help of God." She gave him a little smile.

Nobody spoke for a long while. Azrael just watched him. She was content with just watching him. Well, she was content, until she got an idea. Azrael wasn't known for keeping ideas to herself.

"Do you know where Dean is, Sam Winchester?"

Sam was quiet for a bit longer, Azrael could tell he was checking himself. Ten fingers, ten toes, no scars. Except for the handprint over the top of his right shoulder and neck.

"Just Sam is fine, Azrael," he said softly, staring up into the sky. "And yes. Well, I know where he's supposed to be."

"Think of that place," Azrael said abruptly, then placed two fingers on Sam's forehead and whisked him there.

The streetlight popped and went out at Azrael's arrival. She frowned. She had to keep from letting her power getting away from her like that. It just wasn't subtle. Sam was there on the street, under the sputtering lamp, staring through the window at his brother having dinner with a dark-haired woman and a boy.

"There," Azrael said simply, and folded her arms. "That wasn't so hard." She looked over, trying to read the man's expression. But instead of running to the door and immediately reuniting with his brother, Sam just sadly smiled.

He turned to her, and Azrael saw his tears well up before she smelled the whiskey and rain of sadness rolling off his soul. "Thank you," he said. "Really, I - thank you, Azrael. Thank your Father for me, too."

"Thank him yourself," Azrael faintly whispered, but Sam didn't hear her.

"You have to take me away from here now."

"Why? Don't you love him? Don't you want to tell him you're alright?"

"Yes," breathed Sam, his eyes briefly flicking towards the 'happy family dinner'. "But Dean ... he deserves a normal life. He does. And to him, I'm dead. The Apocalypse is over, everything's all right - just ... just let me leave him alone."

Azrael pursed her lips, unsure of what to do. She remembered her oath.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. Oh," said Sam, suddenly remembering something, "can you hide me? Like Cas did?"

"Of course."

Azrael placed two fingers to Sam's forehead and the street was suddenly empty. The streetlamp flickered back to life.

A/N: Thank you all for reading! I'm going to try and add chapters about once a week if I can. Stay tuned, there's a shower scene in the works and some Gabe and Crowley action coming up. D Thanks for the feedback!