Dean had just put two sandwiches on the table, and Sam had put two salads, when Dean's phone rang. He checked it, saw that it was a blocked number, and answered, "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" Castiel asked.
"At home having lunch. Last night we found out that Sam's head is OK, and he got the tattoo. This afternoon he has some books and he's wearing clothes that fit."
"You need to meet me in the chapel of Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital as soon as possible."
Dean blinked. "Why?"
"Watch the news."
"The news? What channel?"
"Any channel." Castiel disconnected.
"Well, that can't be good." Dean pocketed the phone, looked at Sam. "Sam, Castiel just called and needs me to watch the news. Sounds like something bad has happened. Maybe you want to put your earphones on, listen to some music."
Sam glanced at the earphones on a desk beside the laptop, then shook his head. "I need to – start dealing with bad stuff sometime. There's so much bad stuff."
"Yeah, but there's no need to rush yourself. It's only been about forty-eight hours."
Sam just pointed at the TV, and Dean turned it on. That was how they learned about senseless violence at the hospital that had somehow made its way into an operating room; a security guard with a concussion, another in critical condition with a gunshot wound; a murdered nurse; two unidentified men dead, one of a gunshot wound and one of yet-unknown causes; and a missing surgeon.
Dean watched for fifteen minutes, long enough to get as much as anyone knew at that time. When he turned it off, his face was cold, his eyes very focused.
But then he turned to Sam and his expression softened. "Sam? You OK?"
Sam's eyes were wide, and he hadn't eaten a bite of his lunch, but he was sitting up straight and he nodded.
"Castiel wants me to meet him and talk about this."
"Demons?"
"I assume, since it's him who's calling. But we're not gonna go up against them right now, I think he just wants to talk about it."
"You're going to help."
Dean looked a little despairing. "Not sure we can help much, but maybe we can prevent something else. But I won't go if you can't handle being alone."
"No. Go. Right now, this is how I can help. I can take care of myself, so you don't have other stuff to worry about."
Dean smiled at him. He pulled a long, locked box off the floor of the closet, wrested the angel blade out of it, and handed it to Sam. "Keep this. Castiel says it'll kill a demon. It'll help you feel safer."
Sam nodded gravely. Dean pulled the angel-blade gun out of the box, checked it, put it in the back of his waistband, put on the ankle holster with the devil's-trap gun, and pulled on his jacket. Sam's breath sped up a little, but he stayed calm.
"Back soon," Dean said, opening the door.
"Don't let anything happen to you," Sam blurted.
"Trust me. My top priority," and Dean was out the door.
Sam shook his head. "No it's not," he murmured.
.
There was crime-scene tape at the emergency room entrance – where an ambulance would go Dean couldn't tell, maybe they were being rerouted – and crowds of police officers, people in suits who were apparently detectives, reporters, and gawkers around both the ER and the main entrance. The main entrance was open, and a cry of despair beyond the sliding door distracted him so that he was halfway through a metal detector before he realized it. Nothing happened, though, and he continued through, looking for the source of the cry.
A big middle-aged man was sitting on a sofa, crying loudly, his face uncovered, uncaring about any onlookers. A younger man sat next to him, one arm around him, tears streaming down his own face. A third man, apparently a hospital chaplain, sat in a chair facing the middle-aged man, leaning toward him.
Dean looked away. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
He passed by two men talking in murmurs, a woman sitting on a couch talking on a cell phone, and a uniformed cop taking notes as he talked to one of the receptionists, and followed the signs to the chapel.
Castiel was the only one there, to his surprise. Maybe it was just too soon to go there – people were still talking to cops, clinging to each other, answering phones, calling loved ones with reassurances.
Light flooded into the room through a big stained-glass window, a simple altar in front of that. Rows of light but sturdy chairs with padded seats faced the window.
Castiel was sitting in the back row, and Dean dropped into the chair next to him. "You fritzed the metal detector?"
"And the camera in this chapel, yes. For my own purposes, I didn't want you to become a known associate of organized crime."
"Thanks. What the hell happened?"
"I'm not completely sure myself. I'm piecing together information from both demonic and police sources."
"Great. I don't even want to know whether the police department mole is a demon or a mobster."
"A clerical employee with access to reports as they come in. She needs money, and consoles herself that giving information to organized crime isn't the same as killing anyone."
"OK. And your sources say – "
"Hex abducted Edward Vincent and magically sealed his lips so that he couldn't escape the meatsuit. There's a brand which, if applied to the skin, will do the same thing, but sometimes the lip-sealing spell is easier."
"Hex is the powerful demon who does the unspeakable rites?"
"Yes. He was convinced that Edward was responsible for the death of Mr. Vincent. I believe that he tortured Edward. When Edward ran into the hospital his shirt was open and there were injuries to his chest."
"What the hell did Hex expect Edward to tell him, with his lips sealed shut?"
"My assumption is that he was not torturing Edward for information, but as punishment. Hex took great pride in his close association with Mr. Vincent, and was enraged at his death."
Dean drew in a deep breath. "But obviously Edward escaped."
"I assume he was being held nearby and just ran here as the nearest open building. An emergency room nurse said he grabbed a letter opener just as Hex followed him in, but a security guard jarred it out of his hand."
"He was trying to get his lips open so he could escape the body."
Castiel nodded. "He next appeared in an operating room. Those aren't easily accessible, of course, but both Edward and Hex are powerful demons. Hex blinded the cameras as he followed Edward in, but we have witness accounts. Edward grabbed a scalpel and began to cut his lips open. Hex shot him with an angel-blade bullet. It killed Edward, went through him, and killed a nurse instantly. After that, most of the witnesses threw themselves onto the floor, feigning death, or onto each other protectively, so we have no visual accounting. But the anesthesiologist heard – and this has been confirmed by others – the surgeon attempting to reason with Hex. Hex told him to take his mask off and said something like 'You're a good-looking fellow.' Then there was a gunshot."
"He wanted to possess the surgeon. That's why they can't find him."
Castiel nodded. "A security guard came in, and Hex shot him. I believe that then he possessed the surgeon – who was certainly dead or moments from death, having been shot point-blank with an angel-blade bullet – and escaped before anyone else arrived.
"Speculation among humans is that there was somehow a second attacker who shot Hex – the empty meatsuit was in the operating room, of course – took the surgeon hostage, and left with him. At some point, they will discover evidence that there is no new bullet in Hex's former body and that the surgeon was struck. I don't know what they'll make of that."
"So." Dean stared straight ahead with a look that should have shattered the stained-glass window. "A surgeon, an OR nurse, and maybe a security guard are all dead because I killed Vincent."
"You are not responsible for Hex's actions."
"Says the demon."
"Say the facts. Hex made a series of infuriated choices that resulted in mass violence in a human setting. None of those actions was forced on him by Mr. Vincent's death."
Dean shook his head, but said, "OK. I'll deal with my crap later. How do we kill Hex?"
"We don't. Not yet. My goal was to start an internecine war among the Loyalists, and Hex has obligingly begun that. Almost certainly, some ally of Edward's will make an attempt to kill Hex, and will either succeed or Hex will kill him."
"I don't want any more humans dying because of a demon civil war."
"I understand that. But you also didn't want to be a killer, and Hex has already killed one of the demons I wanted you to kill. You should understand – "
He stopped, thinking about something. "Yes. Yes, this is an assignment that will meet with your approval. My aide Hannah had a report that Hex has been seen entering the home of a demonic sorceress named Malazir, and that she cast a protective spell on him. Clearly he's aware that he has made enemies, and clearly he's found an ally."
"We kill Malazir, and Hex will go after whoever he thinks killed her."
"I will arrange a secret meeting with Hex, tell him that there's obviously a traitor in our ranks, and aim him at an important target. I will devise a plan with him that keeps humans at a safe remove. This insane recklessness draws too much attention to us."
"What does Malazir get out of protecting Hex?"
"She may be wanting to seize leadership of the Loyalists, with both of the Vincents gone. It would be a mistake on her part. She's very good at her current job, but she'd quickly become bored with the mundanity of the civil war, and certainly of the legitimate business."
"What's her current job?"
"She's in charge of attempting to raise Lucifer from his cage in Hell. She has made enough progress that she's been able, on a few occasions, to communicate with our Lord. This is why you should appreciate this assignment. If she should succeed in her goal, the human toll will be in the thousands, if not the millions."
"OK. I'll do it. If you'll keep Hex from killing any more humans while he's slashing at everyone in sight."
"I will do my best."
"There's gonna be a real problem with access, though. If a demon like Hex goes to her for protection, she's going to be damn hard to get to."
Castiel outright smiled. "Not for you."
.
"Yes, but he's my loose cannon," Malazir said absently.
She was looking out the window of her splendid Hidden Hills home. Although her neighbors had plenty of money, they all struggled against Southern California's desert climate to keep their lawns green or, like good citizens, xeriscaped their grounds. Malazir's bluegrass lawn, however, was somehow always lush and green. Her neighbors would have asked her about it, but she was seldom seen. And if one of them did run across her, she was cold and supercilious, as if she considered them lower beings.
"Hex is no one's loose cannon," Parcell argued. "He followed Mr. Vincent's orders only because he wanted to. It actually wouldn't surprise me if he'd killed Mr. Vincent himself in a fit of temper, and then killed Edward to make it look like – Malazir. I understand that you're my superior and you can ignore my counsel, but what is the point in your having an aide if you won't listen to me?"
"I'm listening," Malazir said, smiling. "I don't need my eyes to listen."
Parcell, a thin pale demon with a deceptively innocent look, took a step so that he could see out the same window. Then, behind Malazir's back, he made a disgusted face.
A male human in a short-sleeved olive drab shirt and blue jeans was planting some flowers beside a low stone wall in front of the house. He was trim and muscular, the shirt stretched a little tight over his arms and chest. The planting seemed to involve a lot of crouching and bending.
"Malazir – "
"I'm a little surprised that you object, Parcell. If Hex helps me take over leadership of the Loyalists, you are the obvious choice to lead the efforts to raise Lucifer. You could join the Council, have some of that power I know you crave."
"Yes – "
"But?" Malazir flashed a look at Parcell, then looked back at the lawn-care guy, who was standing and stretching. He was wearing a belt with a couple of capacious pockets over each hip, and he put a hand trowel in one of those.
Parcell hesitated. "I can't help but wonder if it isn't a waste of your gifts. Mr. Vincent was the leader of both the Sucro business and the war against the Terrestrials, but, as you know, Edward was actually the general who handled ninety percent of the war effort. How will you – "
"I'll be in charge of the war effort," Malazir said, watching the lawn-care guy shoulder a 40-pound bag of mulch and carry it to the flower bed. "You'll be my lieutenant in charge of raising Lucifer. I'll get someone else to be my lieutenant in charge of the business – perhaps Sarah Hughes. Perhaps Castiel, he's good at boring things. Hex will be in charge of my security and of certain personal missions for me. You'll scarcely need to be bothered with him."
Parcell, considering it, raised his eyebrows as though he were convinced and hadn't expected to be. "That's a very good plan."
"Thank you for your approval," Malazir said dryly. She looked back out the window. "Now go."
Parcell took a couple of steps away, then stopped. "Ah – Malazir. Seeing that our two main leaders have just been killed, one of them in a way that drew enormous human attention, do you think that now is the time for – to – "
He seemed to expect rage, but she just smiled as gave a tiny, but visible, wriggle. "I think that now is the exact time. I could use the focus and the sense of power. And don't worry about human attention. Tonight his image will appear on security cameras ten miles from here. That's where they'll focus their search. And they'll never find what's left of his body." She looked the human over thoroughly. "I think I'll keep this one for a few days."
"You think of everything, Malazir."
"That's why you're just an aide." She flicked her hand at him in dismissal.
Her rudeness didn't bother Parcell. For one thing, he was used to it. For another, he was contemplating a win-win situation as he stepped out the door and crossed the lawn to his car. If Malazir's plan worked, he'd be in charge of raising Lucifer and would, as Malazir had said, join the Council. If Malazir overreached and was destroyed – well, that left more room at the top, didn't it?
Parcell looked across the lawn as he started to get into the car. The lawn guy had taken off his cap and was wiping sweat off of his forehead with his sinewy forearm. He had a profile that a movie star would kill for. That was probably why he was in L.A., hoping to be an actor, doing lawn care until he got his big break. With looks like that, he might have actually succeeded, though now no one would ever know.
The demon grinned at the thought of what awaited the human in the house, and drove away just as Malazir appeared in the doorway.
She was wearing a long and long-sleeved black dress with plenty of décolletage. The color and sleeves would have been logical elsewhere in the country on March 6th; they seemed out of place in Los Angeles' 75 degrees, but the dress was seductive nonetheless. She had fluffed her blonde hair before she stepped outside. She began walking toward the human, and he gave her a smile and wave. He had a great, boyish grin.
"Whose idea was the flowers?" she asked as she reached him.
He looked disconcerted. "Wasn't it yours? My boss said something about some color in front of the tan stones. Crap, I hope I haven't planted these at the wrong house."
She smiled and gave a one-shoulder shrug. "I'll pay for them. That wall could use some color."
"And these aren't even at their peak blooming time yet. You're gonna love what they look like in a month or so."
Quietly, "They'll remind me of you."
He laughed. "Yeah, these flowers will remind you of the sweaty guy."
"Come on inside. Have a drink and cool down."
"Thanks, but we're not supposed to drink on the job. And even if we could, you know, alcohol is real dehydrating."
"Some water then. Or lemonade with ice?"
The man closed his eyes as if he could already taste it. "That sounds. Really good."
"Well, come on in, then." And as they began to walk toward the door, "Are you an actor? You look like one."
"Thanks, you know, people say that sometimes, but I like doing this. I'm gonna have my own company someday."
"I'll bet you will," she said in an admiring tone, going up the two steps to the doorway. "Where do you come from originally?"
The human followed her into the house. He began speaking just before he crossed the threshold and ended as he closed the door behind him with the side of his hand. "Texas. We've had drought there too. Oculi mortui caeci sunt. So California's kinda the same thing."
Malazir turned. "What did you say?"
Dean pulled the angel-bullet gun out of a belt pouch and shot her.
It caught her in the gut, and she slammed backward, her hair flying, and crashed into a sofa. She collapsed to the floor, her back propped against the couch, her legs stretched in front of her. She stared at Dean in rage and disbelief.
Unnerved, Dean aimed the gun again.
The she gave a short enraged scream and orange light flashed in her eyes, illuminating the bones of her skull. Her unoccupied body slumped to the side.
Dean let out a long, slow exhale between pursed lips. Keeping hold of the gun, he looked around. He'd thought that Hex might somehow sense the murder and turn up. He wasn't crazy about the idea of tackling two demons in five minutes, but whether Castiel wanted Hex dead or not, Dean was going to kill that son of a bitch someday.
It wasn't going to be today, though; that became obvious after a few minutes. He re-pocketed the gun, put on a work glove and opened the door with his gloved hand, and turned on the porch to look back inside. "Thanks again!"
He closed the door and went back over to the flower bed. Every nerve in him was screaming to get out, but he finished putting the mulch down on the flower bed before he left. He tossed the partly empty mulch bag into the back of the old pickup truck he'd stolen and drove away.
He took the 134/210 to Arcadia and parked the truck in the mass of cars at Santa Anita Mall. The Impala was nearby. He transferred the mulch bag to the trunk of the Impala to be disposed of later.
He got back on the 210 and headed for San Bernardino, where was Sam was reading a Hardy Boys book and deciding where they should go for dinner.
.
"I'm not afraid to speak openly to you, Castiel," Hannah said. "But as you know, I said the same thing even to Mr. Vincent. Although more politely."
"I can't even imagine your being impolite, Hannah," Castiel said. He negotiated a sharp curve in the road before he said, "But you're right, you can be more blunt with me, because I agree with you. The war with the Terrestrials wastes demonic resources. On both sides. Even with Terrestrial weakness, we could hurt humans much more – " he paused and took a breath – "by combining our forces."
"And now the thing has happened that I was always afraid of. Our own forces are killing each other for power in the anti-Terrestrial army. Why bother? It's not like Terrestrials would challenge any of us for leadership of Lucifer's army. They're too busy drinking and sleeping and wallowing."
Castiel smiled tightly, changed the subject. "Do you really think that the angel-blade bullets came from Mr. Vincent's own armory?"
"I don't see how else someone would get them. They're rare. Most of them have been issued to Revard, who's in charge of weaponry, and he accounted for every bullet after Mr. Vincent's death. But we know that Vulcan made them for Mr. Vincent personally, and for all we know, perhaps Mr. Vincent gave Hex access to the personal armory."
"Of course, he gave me such access too."
"I thought of that," Hannah said coolly, "but I don't see what you gain by Mr. Vincent's death. Unless you're trying to persuade everyone else that you could replace Mr. Vincent and not mentioning it to me. But I don't think you would."
"I wouldn't even think of a venture like that without consulting you. But I prefer a role as an adviser or negotiator, in any case. Still, what would Hex gain from Mr. Vincent's death?"
"Hex doesn't need a logical reason to kill. It's his first or second solution for everything. Parcell, Malazir's aide, thinks that Hex killed Mr. Vincent in a fit of temper, and then killed Edward so he could claim that Edward did it."
Castiel looked dubious. "If Hex did somehow get bullets from Mr. Vincent's personal armory, that would be a premeditated fit of temper."
"Exactly. I think Hex conspired with Malazir to kill our leaders so that she can take over the Loyalists. Parcell agreed that it would be like her."
"Such a loyal aide," Cas said, and Hannah chuckled. "If that's the case, we should try to anticipate who Malazir and Hex would see as a threat and give them some warning."
"Well, that's obvious," Hannah said. "You. I've always worried about your enjoyment of driving around by yourself, and now it's not just risky, it's plainly dangerous. Lester's a good driver and a reasonably good fighter, and I wish you'd take advantage of that."
Hannah wasn't the first to raise this issue with him, and he was usually able to brush it off as his own fondness for being alone. He couldn't very well tell anyone about his meetings with Terrestrial contacts, and now Dean. He hadn't realized that his own plan to foment chaos among Loyalist leadership might end up restricting him, but of course he had to pretend that there might be a threat to him.
"You're right," he simply said. "I supposed I can reduce my time alone during the current crisis."
"Thank you," Hannah said. "That makes me feel – that is, I think that's a logical choice."
Castiel smiled a little. "Did Mrs. Vincent approve of my obituary?"
"With a few minor changes, yes. She was very grateful for the suggestion of 'private services.' Mr. Vincent's host had been decidedly Catholic, and he kept up the front by contributing money to the church, but it never occurred to him that if he were destroyed, a church service would be almost mandatory. Everyone would have had to send flowers, as at a genuine Mafia funeral. And with Edward gone, too – Mrs. Vincent was dreading the prospect of sitting in a church for a couple of hours, on top of having to pretend to be grief-stricken at the loss of her husband and son. So we're putting out the word that Mrs. Vincent is too devastated to appear in public, the services will be private, and your long admiring obituaries of both leaders will appear several times in the newspapers and online."
"I would also suggest that, in a month or so, she make a substantial contribution to a hospital or a children's charity in the names of both Mr. Vincent and Edward."
Hannah raised her eyebrows, nodded. "That's a good idea. It's amazing how much you can think like a human."
"Mr. Vincent found it a useful gift," Castiel said easily. "Will Mrs. Vincent be there when we arrive?"
"No. She left this morning for Tahiti."
"How Terrestrialist of her."
Hannah didn't see the humor. "Hm," she said disapprovingly. "But that reminds me of something I wanted to discuss with you. If it's all right with you, I'd like to move the SavorStop surveillance system to your house. Mrs. Vincent has no interest in it, and is happy to have it moved when she won't be there to be inconvenienced."
SavorStops were convenience stores owned by Sucro through a shell company. After the conflicts between Loyalists and Terrestrials had turned into a full-blown war, Mr. Vincent had ordered that the SavorStops in Los Angeles be remodeled in a way that would lure Terrestrials. They now featured bright cheerful colors, popcorn machines and hot-dog roller grills that filled the stores with delicious smells, salty snack displays next to long bins where all kinds of soft drink bottles were nestled in crushed ice, and a free chocolate bar with any purchase of $20 or more. There were also, in each store, one or two alcoves with a table and well padded chairs, which were closely watched by security cameras. It had been Vincent's idea to make the stores alluring to Terrestrials as meeting places, and Castiel had contributed strongly to the remodeling. Of course, he'd also warned his Terrestrial contacts about it, and they'd found the SavorStop alcoves useful once to twice, passing false information to Loyalists while pretending to have meetings there.
The security cameras that watched the alcoves were a completely different system than the stores' other security cameras. Several Loyalists who knew the difference between humans arranging a tryst and demons arranging a meeting kept watch on the monitors, which were set up in Mr. Vincent's home.
Castiel, however, was pleased to have the setup moved to his home, where he'd have the chance to alter or destroy any tapes that accidentally revealed too much about Terrestrials. He and Hannah were discussing where to put the equipment and how to transport it to Bel Air when he pulled into the Vincents' wide circular driveway.
The manservant who admitted them was a demon. He greeted Castiel respectfully, saying that Mrs. Vincent had told him to expect them, and showed them into Mr. Vincent's home office.
Castiel locked the door. He pressed a hidden switch, and a bookcase moved to one side, revealing a large wall safe, about four feet by five. The safe had been set up by Vincent the capo long before he'd been possessed, but of course the demon who'd possessed him had been able to change who had access to the safe. Castiel punched in a code on a keypad and pressed his thumb to a small metal plate, and there was a quiet electronic beep. Castiel pushed down on a handle and swung open the door.
He and Hannah both ignored the human-killing guns, knives, and drugs. Their eyes went straight to two sets of two deep brackets on the wall. One of the brackets held a Hell-treated donkey jawbone like the one he'd given Dean. The other, of course, was empty.
Hannah sucked in a breath. "Was there a tempered jawbone in that bracket?"
"There was. Yes."
Hannah knelt and opened the long velvet-lined cases that held the angel blades. Castiel was sorry that Lester hadn't come up with the idea to search Mr. Vincent's armory; Lester could have been counted on to flip open the top case, see an angel blade, and assume that all the rest were there. Hannah went through the stack, opening each case and laying it aside, until she opened the bottom one and found it empty. "An angel blade is gone, too."
"What about the bullets?"
Hannah, still kneeling, turned to a small case on the floor of the safe. It contained six smaller boxes; each box had a lining with indentations where six of the precious bullets rested. It took her only seconds to find the empty box at the bottom of the case.
She let out a long hiss and sat back, shaking her head. "Six angel bullets are missing. Six."
"Actually – only three," Castiel said. "We know that three of them went into Mr. Vincent, and went through Edward and the surgeon Hex is now possessing."
"And there was a bullet hole in the window of Mr. Vincent's office, although neither we nor the police have found the bullet yet. That means Hex is down to two."
"And Hex will be rash in his use of them. I don't know whether – "
Castiel's phone rang. He pulled it from his jacket pocket, looked at it, gave Hannah a nod and stepped away from the safe as he took the call.
She put the bullet boxes and angel-blade cases back in place as Castiel said, "Speak. – Parcell, slow down, I can't understand – " and then listened for a full minute, asking one-syllable questions in a sharp voice.
Then he said, "Yes, your safety is important. The safety of all of us is important. If you feel that Malazir's home is more secure, stay there. If you feel that your home is more secure, go there directly. Each of us needs to go into a personal lockdown until we can have a Council meeting in a safe location and determine what's happening. – I'm at Mr. Vincent's home with Hannah. Mrs. Vincent is out of the country. Hannah and I will return to Bel Air immediately, and I'll phone the other Council members on the way. – Don't bother about human police. Simply leave now, and let Hex or her staff discover her. I'll be in contact."
By the time he'd put the phone back in his pocket Hannah had closed the safe door and was leaning against it, staring at him. "Malazir?"
"Parcell just found her. Shot to death."
Her lips parted and she shook her head; then her eyebrows drew together. "That makes no sense. She was protecting Hex. With her death, the protective spell will have no effect. Why would he – "
"Perhaps an ally of Edward's wanted Hex to be more vulnerable to attack."
"Another killer? With more angel-blade bullets?" Hannah ran her hands through her hair, which for her was the equivalent of screaming hysterically. "This is out of control."
"We must go back to the house now. You drive, I'll call the other Council members and warn them. We'll triple-check security when we get back, then discuss what to do next."
Hannah nodded and left the office as Castiel touched the switch that slid the bookcase back in place.
.
Dean was smiling even before the other man answered the phone. "Hey, Bobby, Dean Winchester here. Not dead yet."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that. I can use any good news I can get."
"I can deliver that. Someone here wants to talk to you."
Dean handed over the phone. "Mr. Singer? This is Sam Winchester."
"Oh my God! For real?"
"For real. Dean told me everything you did, how you trained him and everything. I wanted to say thank you."
"No need to thank me. You just made my week. How are you doing?"
"Well, I'm – OK."
"Still pretty shaky."
"Yeah. But I'm better, and I'm going to keep getting better."
"That's the spirit. Is Dean all right? Did he get injured and he just won't tell me?"
"No, he's really all right. Except he keeps bossing me around."
Bobby laughed. "Well, let him do that for a couple days. I'd say he deserves it."
"Yeah, he does."
"Let me talk to him again, will you?"
"Sure."
"Great talking to you, Sam."
"I do not boss him around," Dean said.
"How'd you do it?"
"Just – finally bought the right information from the right demon. Once he was in the devil's trap, I just did the exorcism ritual the way you taught me. He slammed Sam around pretty good, but nothing permanent."
"That's great. Just great. Kinda makes it all worthwhile, even if I wasn't there."
"You were there, Bobby. Everything I did – I wouldn't have had the first idea what to do. I'm going to owe you forever."
"And me," Sam called.
"Well, start by buyin' me a beer if you get near Sioux Falls. You guys gonna stay in sunny California, or come back to God's country?"
"I've got a couple things to wrap up here, but I don't think we're gonna stay. Not a lot of great memories here for either of us."
"The things to wrap up – are those hunts?"
Dean hesitated. "Yeah. Just a couple."
And there was an answering pause on Bobby's end. "I know how that goes. They're all important. But don't let yourself get pulled into the life unless it's really more important to you than anything."
"I understand."
"Not sayin' you don't make a damn fine hunter. I'm just sayin' it's not for everybody, you understand?"
"I do. I always listen to your advice, Bobby. It's kept me alive. And it saved Sam."
"Can't tell you how good that makes me feel. I got another phone ringing, I gotta get it. You keep me posted, Dean."
"I will. We will."
Dean disconnected with a grin.
Sam said, "With Castiel coming by tomorrow, you should have him talk to Bobby. I bet they have a lot in common."
"Mm," Dean said, putting the phone away. "Castiel likes to keep a pretty low profile. Hey, what're we doing for dinner?"
.
Seated at the dining table, Castiel and Dean talked in low tones, although Sam, draped across the sofa, had his earphones on and was flipping through Smithsonian magazine.
"The more I think about it, the trickier it gets," Dean said.
"Perhaps it's not a good idea."
"No, it's a good idea. Your aide – Hannah? – she's right, you're the next logical target. If Loyalists keep dropping all around you and you're not touched, they're gonna start wondering why. Faking an attempt to kill you is the right way to go. It's just, it's a lot trickier than it sounds.
"We both agree that we need a witness. If you come staggering home with an arm injury that no one saw, that looks more suspicious than if no one tries to kill you at all. If the witnesses are humans, they'll call the cops, and I don't know how often I can get away with this before the cops track me down. They take murder a lot more seriously than stealing from drug dealers. But if the witness is a demon, he's likely to blow me into Orange County."
"Perhaps a gunshot from a hidden vantage point."
"Couple of problems with that. First, I hate to use one of the three remaining angel-blade bullets on a fake attempt, I'm savin' those for Hex. And if we use a normal bullet, the witness is likely to find it and realize this wasn't a real attempt. And second, shooting from a distance to wound is a whole different thing from shooting point-blank to kill. I'm not sure my marksmanship is up to it."
"Sure it is, Dean," Sam said.
They both looked around sharply. Sam was still lying there with his earphones on, but obviously wasn't listening to anything but the conversation.
"I mean, you'd want to practice, of course, but you've got real good aim and a steady hand. You could do it."
"Sam," Dean said, and seemed unable to go further than that. "Sam. Damn it. How much did you hear?"
"Everything." Sam sat up, shedding the earphones. "The murder thing – you've been killing demons, haven't you?"
"Sam. Look. You need to – "
"I kind of wondered about that anyway. Right after that awful thing happened at the hospital, Castiel called you and you went off to meet him. And you have those demon-killing weapons in the closet, and you told me that Castiel knew a lot about demons. And you knew how to exorcise the demon from me. I was guessing for a while that maybe you and Castiel were teaming up to kill demons, except – " He looked at Castiel and took a breath – "except you are a demon, aren't you?"
Castiel and Dean looked at each other.
"See," Dean said, "this is what it was like growing up with him. You can't get away with a damn thing."
"Can you see my true form?" Castiel asked Sam.
"No. It's because you hurt when someone does something nice. The demon – he – " Sam couldn't yet bring himself to say Andrealphus' name – "he would hurt like that sometimes. But it was easy for him to get rid of it, he'd just get jealous of the warmth and fill himself up with anger and hate. It got rid of the pain, but not the – " he stared off for a moment – "the hopelessness. That was always there."
Castiel nodded, and there was a moment of silence.
Dean looked at Castiel. "Forever?"
"I assume."
Dean and Sam exchanged a look. Then Dean said, "What are the three ways that a demon can escape Hell's influence?"
"This has nothing to do with – "
"Tell me now, Cas. Or you'll have to fake your own attempt on your life."
Castiel shrugged. "A very few times in the history of humanity, a human soul has somehow learned repentance and empathy in Hell. For most souls, this is impossible. There is nothing about unceasing torture and cruelty that teaches empathy. But very occasionally – and it's impossible to predict which ones it will be – a human soul realizes that this pain is like the pain he or she inflicted on Earth, that he is feeling what his victims once felt, that the self-absorption of the demons torturing him is like the self-absorption he once felt. A few of them have even told their torturers that they understood the pain driving them. And shortly afterward – they disappear from Hell. No one knows where they go. They somehow slip the bonds of Hell."
"OK. What's the second way?"
"An angel can enter hell and take a soul away. This has happened even fewer times than a soul learning empathy, but it's possible."
"And the third way?"
Castiel stood up and walked as far away from them as he could – which, in that apartment, wasn't far. He turned in a corner of the kitchenette, his voice steady, not looking at either of them. "It's something like the first way, except that the soul has changed completely to a demonic spirit and is occupying a human body. The spirit begins to identify with human beings, to feel empathy. The grief at the loss of love, the pain of sympathy for humans, puts the spirit through a – transformative process. If the original soul in the demon's meatsuit has moved on, the transformation – " only now did he seem to grope for words – "reverses the change Hell wrought. The demonic spirit – regresses, to a human soul, fused to its, its body."
Dean said, "The demon becomes human."
After a moment, "Yes."
Dean stood. "Has the original soul moved on from your body?"
Castiel smiled a little, shook his head. "Yes. But the chance – "
"You need to do that."
"I'm not strong enough to withstand the pain."
"Yes you are."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"It really is – " Sam said, and they both looked over at him. "It really is awful, Dean. It's like – OK, remember when you were cooking pasta and you accidentally joggled the pot and boiling water splashed on you?"
Reluctantly, "Yeah."
"And you remember the way you felt the night Dad died?"
Dean's determined look faded as he began realizing what Sam was saying. "Yeah."
"OK. Imagine those both at once, multiplied by ten. That's what – the demon would feel, just in little flashes, and he had to hate someone or kill someone or get high just to get away from it. I think what Castiel is saying is, while he tried to become human, he'd feel like that all the time, and he doesn't know how long it would last."
Castiel nodded, and Dean gave him a grief-stricken look.
Sam looked at Castiel. "And even so, I think you should do it."
Castiel raised an eyebrow. "It's easy – "
"You're kind of in the middle now, and you get these stabs of pain a lot. Right? Eventually you're not going to be able to take it. Eventually you're going to have to get rid of the pain, either by going completely demonic, so you can cover up the pain with hate, or by going human."
"Because being human is painless," Castiel said dryly.
"Yeah, it hurts sometimes," Dean said. "Still sounds like being a demon is worse."
"And if you're human, you can have friends, and – " Sam's gaze flicked quickly to Dean and back to Castiel – "and loved ones, to help you through the pain. Maybe even a feeling like a spiritual connection. There's nothing like that when you're a demon."
Castiel's back was pressed against the kitchenette counter, his shoulders pinched up, his hands raised as if in surrender. "I will, I will consider it. If we can leave this topic and discuss the next step in the war."
"The war?" Sam asked.
"Civil war between demons," Dean said. "I'll tell you about it later. – I'm thinking maybe a drive-by up in the hills, where the bullet goes off into a ravine, so no one even knows we didn't use an angel-blade bullet. It might be kind of hard logistically – "
Sam shrugged. "I drive, you shoot at Castiel while he's in a car. Castiel's driver can be the witness."
"No way. You are not getting involved with this."
"Dean, I am involved with it. I'm the whole reason why you're here, remember?"
"And you're still freaked out."
"Less and less all the time, Dean. And this is a two-person job."
"Maybe later – "
"Maybe now. I've got an idea."
Castiel and Dean heard him out, and the three of them refined the idea until they all agreed that it was as likely to work as any plan in a demonic civil war was apt to work.
As it turned out, they would never know whether it would have worked or not.