A/N: Yeah, I hope this week will get better too. It's not looking good, so far. But it'll all be over on Friday, either way.
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Advent - December 13th
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Castiel is torn.
He knows that the feeling is alien to him. That he shouldn't be feeling anything, by rights, because he is not human.
But he hasn't managed to become acclimatised to his vessel yet, and the events happening around him aren't calm enough that he can manage the focus to do so. If he had had any time, then he would have been able to desensitise himself fully.
The three days at the beginning have not been enough.
The bleed through is horrendous.
Castiel doesn't know how humans cope like this. How they manage everything and still stay sane.
It's overwhelming and confusing and, more than once, Castiel has found himself commiserating with the humans.
He is beginning to understand why they act in contrary ways when every new moment brings with it constant changes.
How can anyone stay steady in such a deluge of information?
Often, when he isn't concentrating, his grace will fluctuate, not used to being confined, and Castiel would be fine one moment and then suffering from all too human emotions and sensations.
It is not something to be proud of.
He has heard tales of other angels, ones who have come down before, having been able to acclimatise within days.
It has been two weeks now, and Castiel still isn't any closer. And it is a mark of shame for him to have to ask for help.
Uriel is trusting him to do his job. His garrison is relying on him. He can't let them down.
But then…he already has now, hasn't he.
Dean is dead.
Dean's soul is in Hell.
And he has failed to prevent it.
It isn't like it would have been that difficult. Dean had finally died, cut down by a demon. And Castiel, despite having never fought against the powers of Hell personally, has been trained for millennia for this.
It would not have been hard to protect his charge. Michael's vessel.
And yet, at the moment Dean drew his last breath, Castiel had been hiding.
Hiding because he had been shocked, and had felt the all too human sense of betrayal, and had run.
He now knew why none of them could find Dean's soul. He'd known since he saw Artemis' mark on Dean's throat.
Dean had joined her ranks.
Willingly joined her ranks of hunters.
It…shouldn't come as a surprise, Castiel thought. Dean was always a hunter; a warrior. That he would chose so again when given the opportunity was not that big of a leap.
No, it is his own feelings that have him in turmoil.
Castiel had felt betrayed because Dean now belonged to another pantheon.
And it wasn't even the loss of the vessel. Dean would always be Michael's, no matter what shape or form his body was in.
No.
It was the fact that Dean had willingly switched. And had done so, so easily.
Castiel felt betrayed because Dean had chosen another over them. That he had told them that they weren't good enough. Had shown it in the complete lack of remorse and the embracing of his new life.
And really, were they good enough? They hadn't prevented the demon Azazel from infecting innocents. They hadn't stepped in to save the vessels from harm.
The situation was odd. But Castiel was not one to openly challenge God's plan.
It had occurred, so there must be a reason.
But how is he to explain this to Uriel? How is he to explain that he let the vessel of Michael die, because he couldn't control his grace and vessel?
Castiel lets his head drop into his hands at the thought. Grace fluctuating again. He is almost at the point where he doesn't even care anymore.
But that is just the human vessel. This exasperation and frustration.
This fear.
It is all because he has not gained full control. And that is an extremely galling thought.
He sighs, again another human reaction, and tightens his grace. Refusing to let it move on its own.
He has not had to do this since before he had joined his garrison.
Once he has frozen his grace, he feels more like himself. The last, lingering sensations from his vessel fading into nothing.
It is odd, to not have his grace flowing freely around him, but maybe that has been part of the problem. That he has expected to carry on as an angel whilst in a vessel, and not making any sacrifices.
It is almost embarrassing at how slow he's been, regarding all of this. But he has an excuse. He had not expected the vessels to have been born so soon. He had thought that he would have had centuries more training.
He is wrong, of course. The vessels are here now. He will have to make do. It is his own fault that he has not taken the time to adequately prepare.
Castiel breathes out slowly and is pleased to note that his grace stays calm.
Now, to learn how to do this without having to spend all of his concentration on it.
He's about to leave when the rustle of wings catches on the air and suddenly he is not alone anymore.
Castiel can feel his grace twitching, but does not show any signs of discomfort or being startled by the unexpected visitor.
It gets much harder to stay calm when said visitor turns out to be Uriel, but Castiel manages it.
Uriel is in fine form, glancing around the empty building that Castiel has hidden himself in for the time being. He does not look like he will begin speaking any time soon.
Castiel doesn't know what to say. Shall he admit to failing immediately? Or should he wait to see what Uriel wants of him.
He will need orders regardless. Uriel has been searching for Dean's soul too. He would have noticed that it appeared back on this plane last night. And then promptly left again.
"Uriel." Castiel says.
"Ah, Castiel." Uriel turns to him with a smile. "Good job."
Castiel refrains from frowning. It is something that he has become used to doing these last few days as he had struggled to regain himself.
Uriel nods in companionship. "I hadn't thought you would be able to solve our little problem so fast. I apologise for underestimating you."
This time Castiel cannot help the frown. "Problem."
Uriel blinks and looks his vessel over. "Yes. The problem of Dean's missing soul." He pauses, "Is something the matter Castiel? Are you having trouble with your vessel?"
Uriel's eyebrow rises with the last question and it is such a human response that for a moment Castiel is surprised. And then he realises that Uriel is mocking him, or would be mocking him if it turns out that Castiel doesn't have full control.
This is not Uriel's first time on earth. He knows what Castiel is going through.
And yet, it is a challenge. And Castiel will not back down, especially not from a challenge of competence from his garrison leader.
His vessel wants to straighten his spine, tilt up his chin. But Castiel cannot, because to do so would be to admit that he isn't in control.
Instead he says mildly, "I am fine, Uriel."
Uriel lets the silence that falls between them drag on for just that little bit too long. Castiel can feel his grace moving uncomfortably again and can already feel the hints of bleed through.
Luckily though, Uriel seems content with his answer and looks away.
"Dean's soul is in Hell."
Despite everything, Castiel's heart contracts and his stomach flips unpleasantly. He hopes that Uriel does not notice.
"I apologise." Castiel says.
Uriel shoots him a look that Castiel cannot figure out. "It is where he rightfully belongs."
"The vessel…" Castiel trails off. He is lost. Wasn't he supposed to guard the vessel? With Dean's soul in Hell, the vessel cannot be used.
"We will retrieve the soul of Dean in good time."
Castiel blinks. "Not now?"
Uriel raises his eyebrow again. "Are you questioning, Castiel?"
"No." Castiel backtracks as quickly as possible, without making it seem that he is backtracking. "I would never question my orders."
"Hmm," Uriel's gaze is narrowed on him, "I see."
Castiel stares back.
"You will be the one to retrieve Dean's soul from perdition." Uriel orders, his voice ringing with the weight of God's Will.
Castiel resists the urge to shiver.
"When shall I depart?"
Uriel smiles and, for some reason, Castiel wants to shiver again. "Not for a while yet, my brother. We need to prepare the garrison. The demons will not give his soul up lightly. I will contact you with more information later."
There is another rustle of wings and Castiel is, once again, left alone. He's confused. There are many questions that have not been answered and even more that have been raised.
But…this is all part of a plan. Castiel cannot think of a reason for waiting to retrieve Dean. Dean is an innocent and would not have stepped into Hell if not for wanting to save his brother. But there must be a reason.
It is not his place to question.
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The phone call doesn't take long.
Ash doesn't even leave the room to take it. Just turns around for privacy, leaving Sam to examine the room more closely.
Shouting distracts Sam from this task though, and Sam turns to see Ash holding his phone away from his ear. He can almost feel Ash rolling his eyes behind the new pair of sunglasses he's conjured up.
Then Ash is talking again but either Sam is too far away, or Ash is speaking too low, because Sam can't hear what is being said.
Sam turns back to the throne of gold. He can be tactful when needed.
Even if his curiosity is slowly killing him.
There's another bunch of shouting and then a sigh and the click of a phone closing.
"Well," Ash says, and then doesn't continue.
"Well?" Sam asks, his fingers pausing as they're tracing out filigree etched into the armrest.
Ash is giving him an odd look, one he can't fathom with the sunglasses, and Sam straightens, suddenly flustered.
"Well?" Sam asks again. "Is he going to help?"
"He wants to meet you." Ash says, holding out his hand. "I'm to take you to his home. He has granted me right of passage for this trip."
"Right." Sam takes Ash's hand and swallows, "Right."
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The room that they appear in is dreary compared to the room Sam's just left.
Whilst Ash's throne room is all gold's and marbles and light, this is stone and grey and dark.
Sam shivers as he looks around. Grateful that Ash is still with him. There's something very forbidding about this place and Sam wonders if that's to do with the scenery, or the person who apparently lives here.
It's also empty apart from a really ugly looking chair.
No, really. Sam doesn't think he's seen worse. Maybe at a funhouse somewhere.
Sam's too busy giving the throne a really weird look that, when the door slams open, he jumps.
Ash's hand tightens in his grasp and then relaxes.
And then Sam's attention is taken fully by the man striding through the room. He passes Sam and Ash without so much as a glance in their direction and sits in his throne, slouching ungracefully.
Well, as ungracefully as he can, seeing as it doesn't look like he can do anything that makes him look bad. Long legs stretch out in front of him, one of them bent so his knees have fallen apart. Shoulder length hair brushes around his face, and from this distance and the state of the lights, Sam can't tell if its light brown or dark blond.
His eyes are easier to tell. They're black. The man has demon eyes.
Sam has to force himself not to shift when the man's gaze passes over his guests. Though Sam does blush when the man locks onto Sam and Ash's intertwined hands.
Ash clears his throat and the man sighs.
"Acheron." He acknowledges.
"Akantheus." Ash says.
The man sits up and snarls. "I'm sorry, are we using those names now, Apostolos?"
Ash's lips quirk into a half-grin. "My apologies Thorn."
Thorn huffs and drops back into his seat. Sam has to try really, really hard to not compare him to a ruffled kitten. He's never had to compare a demon to a ruffled kitten before and he'd quite like to keep his sanity for a little while longer.
"So, who have you brought me today?"
Ash untangles his fingers from Sam and nudges Sam forward. Sam is only a little disappointed at the loss of contact, but his stomach is flipping with nerves. There's something familiar about this man, something that has Sam's blood racing.
"This is Sam Winchester."
Thorn's eyes widen and he sits forward.
"Er, hi." Sam says, for lack of a better greeting, giving a little awkward wave. It's unnerving being the sole recipient of that gaze and he wishes he had some holy water on him. He sees Thorn's lips twitch, and feels pleased, even though it looks like the involuntary reaction has made Thorn even more irritable.
Definitely a kitten.
"Interesting." Thorn says slowly and then turns to Ash, "Well?"
Ash raises an eyebrow.
"Go on," Thorn clarifies, "shoo."
Sam glances to Ash. Ash wouldn't really leave him here, right?
"I don't discuss business with others in the room, Acheron. You know that. I'll let you know when we've concluded." Thorn smiles slowly and it's almost like the shadows stretch to him, "Or is it my word you're wanting?"
"That would be helpful." Ash's face is blank and Sam is lost. He stays silent.
Thorn chuckles, a dark sound that chills Sam where he stands, "Very well. I promise that Sam will not be hurt whilst our meeting takes place."
"Until I retrieve him." Ash counters.
Thorn pauses and licks his lips, then nods. "I promise that Sam will not be hurt whilst our meeting takes place until you retrieve him." He amends.
"Wait a minute-" Sam cuts in.
Ash sighs and turns to Sam. "I'll see you later, Sam." He says, "If you're in any trouble, just call my name and I'll come." He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper, "Don't agree to anything you don't want to, Sam." He says urgently. "Just remember that this isn't the only option. I can try and find another way if he asks too much."
"Wait." Sam says, eyes wide, "You're really going to leave me here?"
"I can't stay Sam, its part of the rules." Ash smiles then, sudden and sharp in the dim light, "Don't worry, you'll do fine."
And then he's gone. Sam blinks in shock and turns to face Thorn again.
Thorn who is leaning back and surveying him like he's the most interesting thing to happen in the last decade.
"So…" Sam says when the silence gets too much.
Thorn jerks, realising that he's been caught staring. "What is your request?"
"I want my brother back out of hell."
Thorn exhales loudly. "Well, you sure don't do things by half, do you kid?"
"Can you do it?" Sam asks.
Thorn shoots him a sly glance and stands, brushing the creases from his trousers. "Yes."
Sam sighs as he feels the tension leave his shoulders. Dean is almost free.
"The question," Thorn continues, "is will I do it. And so far, I'm not seeing much of an incentive."
Sam frowns. "What do you want?"
Thorn picks lint off his shirt sleeve, looking casual. "Hmm, now that is another good question."
Sam wants to punch him. Really, he does. Demons always try to capture and trick you with their words. It's hard enough trying to deal with them when you don't know what's truth and what's lies. Even more so when they're going out of their way to be obtuse.
"Are you going to answer the question?" Sam asks. And, okay. Irritating the powerful being that may or may not help him save Dean's soul is probably not the best way to deal with things, but this is getting ridiculous.
Thorn's eyes narrow, "Careful, or I won't deal with you at all."
Sam restrains from rolling his eyes. "So you were planning to deal with me then."
Thorn opens his mouth and then closes it again. He gives Sam an appraising look and moves closer to him.
Sam is only mildly amused to find that he's taller than Thorn. He's careful not to smile though.
Thorn notices anyway and Sam watches as exasperation and annoyance flash in his eyes.
"What will it take for you to bring back my brother's soul?" Sam asks carefully.
"You don't just walk into Hell." Thorn says testily, "It's a little more complicated than going for a stroll and picking up a couple of souls on the way back."
Sam wets his lips. "What will it take for you to bring back my brother's soul?" He repeats.
Thorn scowls and sighs. "Fine. You."
Sam blinks. "Me?"
"I want you."
Sam narrows his eyes, "You…want my soul?"
Thorn scoffs and rolls his eyes, "I'm not under the delusion that you'll give me your soul. Besides, what would I do with one? Have you ever handled a soul? It's not as fun as you might think."
"So what…?"
"I want you to work for me." Thorn says. "That's what it'll cost you to get your brother's soul back."