AN: Hey guys - alerts apparently were down the night I posted chapter five, so hopefully it the alerts are up and running then you guys will be surprised with chapter five and six! Lucky you :P So unfortunately I don't think I'll finish this before season 9 starts. Hopefully you guys will stick through the story regardless :) Un-beta'd.

ONE WEEK AND FOUR DAYS AFTER THE ANGELS FELL

"Charlie?"

On any other day she would have relished the look of surprise on his face. She would have quipped about his eyes becoming as large as Bambi's and hugged him - tight and quick, before launching into updates about the latest Battle of Moondoor

But not today.

Instead, as she saw his eyes widen, she bit her lip. She allowed hesitation to halt her movement, just for a moment, before flinging her arms around him and quietly saying, "Anything you need, you got it."

There was a slight flinch but in spite of it, she couldn't fight off the smile that came with Dean wrapping his arms around her. "I told you not to come."

She pulled back, rolling her eyes. "Of course I had to! Lead the way General!" Having her bags taken from her, she looked around the bunker in awe. "I don't think I'll ever get over how cool this place is!"

Dean's tired voice let out a 'Charlie', which she acknowledged by closing the gap between them and entering her room.

"Fill me in. I'm here to help, what do you need?"

"Really Charlie. I don't need anything."

"Water? Baby-sitter? Nurse? Researcher? Because you know, I am a really good researcher."

Dean's stance faltered and he braced himself near the wall. "What's wrong?" She rushed towards him and felt his forehead.

"Shit, get off me." Her hands were batted away.

Stepping back quickly, she rummaged through her bags. "Jeez, no need to get antsy. Just wanted to see if you were ok."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, pull the other one." She pulled out her Darth Vader bobble head and turned around. "When was the last time you slept? I'm talking proper eight hour, land of the dead shut eye. Not bobble-heading?" Her head automatically tilted up and down like a bobble head, indicating micro-sleeps.

A withering glare was sent her way.

"I'm just saying. Running on empty is no way to run, and from what you've told me, it sounds like you're running a marathon."

Dean just stalked out of the room.

_?_?_

"James!" Castiel turned his fearful eyes onto Peter who rushed at him. He closed his eyes, bracing for a tackle of some sort, but it never came. Instead Peter had grabbed the fire extinguisher dousing the flames on the stove.

"I apologise!" Peter gave one last squirt of the fire extinguisher that had spluttered to a pathetic close before dropping it and turning around.

"Oh, dear sweet lord, what have you done?"

When he turned his head, his voice was swallowed by the orange flames that searched for air on his sleeve. "I-I-"

"It'll be alright." A tea towel wrapped hand began hitting his arm.

The warmth of the fire was starting to hurt.

Eventually with the flames extinguished, Castiel spoke. "You committed blasphemy."

"You nearly burnt down my kitchen. I think I'm entitled to it."

The chastisement was well warranted as he took in the sooty walls and stove backsplash that was once a charming olive colour, but now as pitch black as night. The charred remnants of the egg swam sadly in oil. The arm of his shirt, singed and still slightly smoking.

"My deepest apologies...I was hungry."

"What did you want to eat?"

"Fried eggs."

"Uh…You can't cook?"

"My...my family was very sheltered. One of the people I knew joked that I was 'boring and Amish'. I disagree of course. The Amish are wonderfully talented people with a great perchance to song, but I digress. Never had I the need to cook. I hardly ever eat."

"Alright. Come on, we should get you checked out. Hopefully you're not that badly burnt."

Castiel looked down at his arm as he walked out the door and into Peter's car. The skin had reddened and blistered, angry at both the fire that scorched him, and the ice cold water that was used to numb some of the pain.

Dutifully he was silent through the drive to the hospital and allowed himself to be prodded by the nurse. She tutted at him gently, cleaning the burn, and warned him away from the stove. It was extraordinarily mundane like his other two trips in the past.

At least it was mundane until he caught a wisp of brown hair that reminded him of Ellen, and a panicked voice that was resoundingly Gail's.

A shadow ran past the curtain of his room.

Minutes later he was looking Peter who had ducked his head through the curtain. "Sorry, would you mind if I left for a moment." Without waiting for a reply, Peter's head disappeared.

A moment later he was cleared with one last warning about stoves and managed to track down Peter to an isolated ward.

He was very unprepared for who he saw.

"Gail!" He stared at Peter who had taken her hand in his own, before quickly walking over to them. Guilt almost tripped him over. "Gail! Are you okay? You aren't hurt are you?"

Fear.

Castiel stopped short. "I…"

Peter stood, eyes stuck on Gail. "James. How do you know her?"

Panic. Sheer terror coursed through his veins. "She...she helped me once." I am so sorry. He clenched his palm remembering the weight of the Cupid's bow that once resided there for a few brief moments.

"Do you know if she's got any family?"

He looked up, passed Gail, taking stock of the rest of the ward. "A few brothers and sisters…" Oh, what have I done?

Once a proud leader, Barachiel now sat huddled at the top of his bed. His dead eyes sweeping over the room.

"...Castiel, you're orders are to retrieve Dean Winchester…"

Nathaniel, an angel who sought out inspiration was watching him cautiously.

"...Castiel, your rebellion, my garrison pledges loyalty to you…"

Sraosha, was weeping - her dark her acting like a curtain around her eyes.

"...Castiel...I mean, my Lord, please, I beg of you, spare me and my sisters…"

What have I done?! Breathing suddenly became difficult. His head was swimming. "I don't know-" he croaked out.

"James, whoa, calm down." Peter grabbed him, forcing him to sit on Gail's bed with his head between his knees. "Just breathe with me okay?"

He struggled against the grip when black hazy spots danced in front of his eyes. "C'mon. Breathe. You have to breathe…"

Cas, relax man! Dean's voice.

Castiel's eyes snapped upwards. "What…" he wheezed." What did...you call...me?"

Peter looked confused. "James."

Oh.

_?_?_

Kevin looked at the angel tablet with trepidation.

It had to be wrong.

There was absolutely no way that it said that.

But, excuse the pun, it was written in stone...right in front of his eyes.

"Kevin, how's it coming along?" He watched Dean move towards the kitchen and stop when he didn't give a reply. "Kevin?"

"I think I've been up for too long."

He caught the confused frown that crossed Dean's face. "Ah, okay. Go to bed then, but give me something?"

"It's wrong."

"What do you mean it's wrong? You translated it wrong, or it's not an angel tablet…" He looked up at Dean who suddenly seemed more alert yet defeated. "Oh, for fuck's sake, tell me that is the angel tablet?!"

His voice sounded uncontrollably small to his own ears. "I-I don't know." He wanted to break down and cry because, holy crap, what the hell had they been fighting over if this wasn't the angel tablet. If it was a recipe for stew he swore that he'd off himself.

"You don't know?!"

"Are you deaf?" he said tonelessly, standing up out of his seat. "I need sleep."

He flinched as Dean grabbed his arm. "No. You need to tell me what the hell is going on, because this shit is not funny, and it certainly can't wait for you to have your beauty rest." Waves of heat poured off from Dean. Kevin frowned. "You feeling okay?" Dean still hadn't let go of him.

"Tell me about the goddamn tablet." Finally, his arm was released. A bruising hand print already started to develop on his pale skin. He glared at the hunter trying to rub away the pain.

"It's different from the other two. The style...I don't get it."

"What Kevin?"

"The whole thing? Fuck, the opening line basically translates to: 'Metatron could never write for shit'. What the hell is that?!"

From the flare of his nostrils and the look in his eyes, he was willing to guess that Dean was really didn't know what that meant.

Or...Dean was pissed off, about to snap and ready to put a bullet through his eyes.

Kevin really hoped it was the first one.

_?_?_

"I didn't expect a visit so soon." He had to admit, the kid had guts.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it brief."

"I'm touched you remember me down here, all by my lonesome."

No reply.

"I take it Dean doesn't know that you're the one who dropped me the info on Sam's illness? You should have seen his face. Thought the poor boy's eyeballs were going to explode outta his sockets."

A bag thudded to the floor.

"Listen, I've had a good few days of one sided conversation, not that I'm complaining. You know that I love the sound of my own voice, but come now, I'd like a bit of interaction...maybe an eyebrow twitch, hell, blink a little, or your eyes will dry out."

The zip of the bag opened. A knife was pulled out.

Interesting. The shadow loomed above him. The blade danced across his knuckles, the pressure threatening to break skin."That won't work you know."

Kevin smiled at him softly. "It never hurts to try."

"Be reasonable-" Crowley unwittingly let out a hiss and watched blood flow through the flap of skin that Kevin had pulled back.

Shit.

"Perfect." The knife was dropped, clattering to the ground.

For a puny kid, Kevin managed to pack a punch.

Three across his left jaw. Two across his right. One that skimmed the edge of his nose. Another couple of hits to his stomach.

He took the anger silently, watching as the Prophet barely took a breath. "That's for my mom, you fucking bastard."

Kevin moved to leave.

"Oh what," he coughed, "leaving so soon?"

"Not just yet...there's one more thing that I want to try." Kevin returned with a syringe in hand.

"Getting creative now."

"Just a little something I picked up by reading."

The syringe was plunged into his neck. "Holy water?" A slight tingle ran through his veins. "Would you like me to scream in pain?"

"Son of a bitch!" Through blurry eyes, he watched Kevin shake his fist and walk out of the room. Blood cascaded from his nose down to his lips. Bastard broke my nose.

Hours later, the pain in his nose dulled, and softly in the dark, Crowley wept.

Guilt ripped through his insides. He could hear their screams, the piercing sound of women, and children, and men, some who deserved their fate and others who had been tricked into following.

He used to relish the smell of Hell. The copper tang waft of blood in the air. The salt of people's tears. The sulphur that was strong enough to burn the eyes of the freshest of stock. The stench of bodily fluids was a smell of home, but as his memory recalled what used to be akin to perfume, his body convulsed. Tremors rippled violently through him forcing his stomach to spasm. Vomit then, coated the front of his suit. Dark globs of black bloodied - Sam's - spit slowly inching down the length of his pants and dripping onto the floor.

With one last spit to clear the taste from his mouth, Crowley closed his eyes.

AN: So turns out that the Cupid in the last episode of season 8 was called Gail :) She was cool. Anywho, thank you for reading this. Of course, I'd love to hear your feedback, love/hate, it's okay :)