A/N: Okay, so, we're getting into the last stretch of the story now! I can't believe it's almost over – seems like just yesterday I was starting this :D
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Advent - December 18th
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As soon as Uriel leaves, Castiel shivers.
What had that been all about?
His vessel's heart is still frantically beating and his breathing is coming in short sharp bursts. It is almost painful at how much Jimmy's body is overtaking him.
He is not gaining control, he is getting worse. And it is becoming painfully obvious that he is nowhere near ready to take over completely. Especially if events keep catching up with him.
And earth is not such a great place either. True his Father's hand can be seen in almost everything, but it is getting increasingly harder to focus on the beauty and majesty of it all when he is surrounded in squalor and hatred.
Castiel wants to go home.
He wants to be able to feel his brothers and sisters sing; the air vibrating with haunting echoes. He wants to be able to feel love and acceptance whenever he walks through the kingdom. He wants to be able to stretch out his grace without the fear of injuring innocent humans or losing control of his vessel. Again.
He wants to not be alone anymore.
But he can't. Because he has a duty.
A duty given to him by his Father at the time of his creation.
He has trained long and hard for this. Everything he is is this.
Dean Winchester needs protecting and guiding for when Michael shall walk the earth.
And he is the angel to do that.
He cannot just give up his reason of being because he is unprepared.
No.
That is not who he is. Who he wants to be.
Dean still needs protecting. More so now than ever before as Castiel does not think the demons will take his escape from their clutches lightly.
And Dean has no idea that they will be actively seeking him out either. He may be prepared for some to follow and try to attack. But it is not some he has to worry about. Dean's escape will have bruised the pride of possibly all the demon. Especially if they do not know how he got out.
Dean will not have one or two demons that just happened to be topside coming after him.
Dean will have the entire legion of Hell.
Dean will not be prepared for that.
He needs protection.
He needs Castiel, even if Castiel will protect him from the shadows.
Decision made, Castiel straightens and tugs his coat back into position. He will protect Dean Winchester from the forces of Hell and anything else that may want to hurt him.
Castiel focuses and pins where Dean's current position is. Then he disappears with the rustle of wings.
###
Stryker is sitting on his throne and thinking on the report his squadron leader had given to him two days ago.
The preliminary had, ultimately been a success. Even though they had lost warriors.
Said warriors had not only gone up against Acheron and a Dark Hunter, but they had successfully battled with them long enough for his real squadron to attack a human weak spot.
And Acheron hadn't even known about it to stop it.
Which is…odd. To say the least.
Stryker knows about Ash's weakness. So someone with him at the time, or at the hospital, is important to the god. Important enough that Ash's entire view of the attack had been unobtainable.
That was…a strong relationship. And it was something he will have to think about; see if there was any way to figure out who it is and how to hurt them.
No blow is too low.
But while that is certainly interesting, it is not what is taking up his thoughts right now.
No, that award is given to the Dark Hunter and his…companion.
At first Stryker had not believed the squadron leader as he described his attack being stopped by a being with power. A being that had appeared out of nowhere.
A being with wings.
But then he had described him so well that Stryker was forced to re-evaluate his disbelief and accept that the dark hunter had been protected.
The only question is is why a dark hunter is being protected by an angel.
Once a human leaves a pantheon, they revoke all rights of the beings of that pantheon.
And someone selling their soul to Artemis definitely constitutes leaving the Christian religion.
So why was the angel there? Why was it protecting the hunter? Why is the hunter special?
Just what is going on?
Stryker rubs his forehead. He can feel the beginnings of a headache starting. He will need to feed soon.
His men in his advanced scouting party have been boisterous over the past day, drunk on their success and gorging on the souls at the hospital. The rest of his men have been both congratulatory and jealous in equal measures.
Stryker knows that they are clamouring to get out in the field. They wish for success too, and he cannot blame them for this.
But he cannot just send them out without knowing all the players in this game.
This time is not like that last. He will not be content to sit and idle away his forces as they attack one by one.
No. This time he will use his skills to rain havoc and destruction across the mortal realm.
What he is planning is big and bold and, if he manages to pull it off, will leave the humans reeling where they stand.
Acheron has been so proud, thinking that it is his doing that is protecting the mortals, when really Stryker just has not had the motivation to use strategy and force.
But the pieces are slowly falling into place.
This person, that has blocked Ash so beautifully, is an unexpected but welcome pawn. Stryker can take advantage of this and increase his plans. Instead of just attacking America, he will attack the world.
Let Acheron try and stop that.
But the angel…the angel is a worrying development.
What do the angels have to do with the dark hunters. And will they intervene in Stryker's plans.
A clamouring from one of the hallways distracts him from his thoughts. Stryker straightens in his chair, looking for all the world like he isn't brooding or suffering from the biggest headache he's had in years.
Three daimons come crashing into the room. They are young and exuberant and so obviously punch-drunk that Stryker wants to slap them for interrupting him.
One of them glances up and spots the glare Stryker is levelling at them. He freezes and swallows.
Stryker feels pleased at the terror and awe he sees in the recruits eyes.
The other two haven't noticed him yet, but when their friend hits them none to gently, they complain and then look.
"Sorry!" They struggle to apologise and bow and run out the room at the same time.
It is almost comical how they start to trip over their own feet as well as each other. Unfortunately the noise they are making is just making Stryker's headache worse.
"Would you just stop that?" He snaps.
The three daimons still immediately.
Stryker pinches the bridge of his nose.
The angel is a problem, yes. But there is a simple and elegant solution.
He will lead the charge against New Orleans and judge the situation if any occurs.
He turns his attention back to the three stooges cowering by the wall.
"Get my second here now. I have an attack to plan."
The daimons scrabble to do his bidding and Stryker sighs in relief when they finally disappear. Silence at last. At least for the moment.
Soon he will be caught up in arranging troop formations and doling out instructions.
Soon he will lead the charge against the humans.
Soon the greatest large-scale attack ever committed by daimons will begin and the mortal realm will shake in terror.
Soon, the night of blood will begin.
###
Sam had taken to the idea of hunting with a lot of enthusiasm.
Dean would be suspicious, but he sort of knew where Sam was coming from. It would be nice to finally feel like normal again. Feel like they did before all this happened.
They are both alive and both human.
And a hunt is just what they need to make them forget that any of the last year and a half has taken place.
It'll be just Dean and Sam and a gun full of rock salt. Just like old times.
True, Sam is technically under contract to the shadiest person Dean knows. But Thorn hadn't demanded anything off Sam before they left.
In fact, Dean would say that Thorn was rather waiting on Sam.
And his brother is absolutely clueless about it. Which is tragic. Hilarious, but tragic.
Seriously, Dean doesn't know how Sam ever got laid, never mind managed to bag Jess.
Dean can only laugh from the side lines. He's not sure whether he wants to help or hinder this thing that is going on. But he's decided to wait and see what Sam's feelings on the matter are.
Not that this makes him girly in any way, meddling in relationships and setting people up and what-not. But he's still an older brother and he can throw a bone his younger brother's way.
Or a boner as the case may be.
Okay, that was disgusting. Dean never wants to think that again. Neither does he want to picture that again because, just…no.
So, here they were in the kitchen, a pile of newspapers scattered across the table in front of them.
Dean's not really doing work though. True, he's sitting with a paper open on the table and a red marker pen spinning idly between his fingers. But he's not concentrating on the articles. Instead, all his attention is focused on his arm which is lying in a patch of afternoon sunlight that is streaming in through the open window.
Dean is enthralled.
He's never realised how much he missed the sun when he was a dark hunter.
It's never been something he's ever thought he could miss.
But here he is, completely distracted by the warmth that is spreading across his skin. He's staring, he knows. But it's fascinating. Watching his skin shine almost gold, the light catching off the hairs turning them blond and silver.
If he was going to be poetic about it he'd say that it's almost like he can see his skin tanning before his eyes.
But he's not poetic, so he'll just enjoy the light.
Dean is so caught up in it that he doesn't notice Sam's gaze. It's not a noise that alerts him to it, though, it's the absence of noise. Specifically, the squeaky scritch of pen on newspaper.
Dean glances up to see Sam with his eyebrow raised. He shifts in embarrassment at being caught.
"Dude, what?"
Sam holds his hands up, "Nothing man."
Dean huffs a little at the lie, but is grateful at the out so he doesn't call Sam on it.
He does, however, pull his arm from the patch of sunlight. Sam frowns at the action ever so slightly, but again, Dean isn't going to call him on it.
He likes his afternoons entirely free of chick-flick moments, thanks.
Sam doesn't seem to get the memo though and Dean mentally sighs when his brother looks between the light on the table and the window.
Oh great.
"You know," Sam says lightly, like Dean hasn't just watched him decide to do something girly and emotional, "it's a nice day today."
Dean stares at Sam blankly.
Really?
Really, really?
That's the best he can come up with?
If it is, it's pathetic. Dean decides to be awkward, just for the hell of it.
Well, that and it's going to take Sam a lot more effort to get Dean to participate in this kind of conversation sober and or not coming in off a traumatic and fatal injury.
"Yes."
Sam looks at him with pissy-face number four and Dean wants to cackle. He's forgotten how much he enjoys messing with his brother.
It's been a long time since a threat of one type or another hasn't been hanging over their heads.
Sam's tenacious though, and fully prepared to have this conversation.
"I was just thinking," Sam says, putting the pen down and closing the newspaper he's been trawling thought, "that it might be nice to go outside for a bit."
Dean slowly raises an eyebrow, in the most dramatic way possible of course. It's the look he perfected when Sam was in his early teens and hadn't wanted to tell Dean anything.
It's a look that says I know what you're doing and you should think twice about continuing.
Sam, apparently, is going to make this happen one way or the other. Even with Dean being awkward about it.
"You've never seen New Orleans in the sunlight." Sam points out, "I can show you some nice places that I've found and we can go get something to eat."
"Don't we have food in the fridge?" Dean asks.
Sam's lips thin, "Well, yeah. But it's mostly salad."
And, okay, that has Dean's attention.
"You bought salad?" Dean asks, not even beginning to hide the horror from his voice.
Sam smirks, "I like salad, Dean."
"But…no meat?"
Sam shakes his head, smirk widening. Dean can't believe it. Well, actually, Dean can believe it because this is Sam here. Sam who likes that sort of rabbit food and is always going on at Dean about how Dean's going to die of cholesterol or some shit like that.
Sam who has been in charge of the shopping for the past few months since Dean has been unable to go to the supermarket.
Sam who is plain evil wrapped up in his gigantor frame and puppy dog eyes.
Dean doesn't trust him at all, which is why he gets up and goes to the fridge to check for himself.
He's horrified to find out that Sam is telling the truth. The fridge is mostly empty apart from salad and cottage cheese and some sort of dressing.
There is even celery.
Dean turns to shoot Sam a glare. Sam looks completely unrepentant.
"Dude, what is this?" Dean says, motioning towards the non-meat taking up valuable fridge space.
There isn't even beer for Christ's sake.
Sam shrugs, "It's healthy."
Dean is left speechless and Sam's smirk widens.
"You know," he says slyly, "we can pick up some stuff on the way home."
Dean looks at his brother feeling very unimpressed, though knowing he's been completely outmanoeuvred.
He's going to have to go along with Sam doing something nice for him because he's got no choice. Not if he wants to eat actual food sometime in the next few days.
"Fine." He says ungraciously, "We'll go to the store."
Sam grins brightly, knowing that he's won and not afraid to bask in it. "But first I want to show you this restaurant that I found. They make the best beignets I've ever tasted."
A small part of Dean mourns the lack of diner food.
"Fine." Dean says again, knowing when he's lost. He straightens and closes the fridge with only one last mournful look inside at the horrible diet choices of his brother. "Food first and then shopping on the way back so we have real food in the house."
"And we can even take some of the papers to look through while we're out!"
Dean just manages to resist groaning.
Just.
Really, Sam is totally pushing it. And yet Dean can't help but let him get away with it because Sam is wearing such a grin that Dean hasn't seen in…years. And he can't take that away.
Crap. He's so screwed.
"Fine." Dean says. And no, it is not whining.
Sam's grin gets even brighter, if that isat all possible, and they both move to gather up the last of the papers that they haven't looked through yet.
Which is, of course, exactly the moment a very angry man appears in the middle of their kitchen and tries to run Dean through with a sword.