A/N: So I don't write these often but here we are at the final two chapters of Coup D'etat. I wanted to get it now just because. I wanted to say thank you to everyone reading this and those who enjoyed it. I tried to make it better than Raison D'etre...and I know the only thing I can say for sure about it is that it sure as hell is is longer and has a lot more going on then the first fic. ;)
No, but seriously. It's been a pleasure to write this and I hope everyone who made it with me this far enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. As I've said before, you guys are definitely a big part of my inspiration. Thank you, thank you, thank you for staying with me here. You guys are the best.
-J
P.S- Sorry for the long length of the chapter.
P.S.S- LOLNOI'MNOT.
Chicago Transit Station, 7:00 PM
This time it was Michael's turn to wait. He made a face when he spotted Castiel among a slight crowd, and sensed his power level. The Fallen was making no attempt at hiding his presence any longer. It was almost like he welcomed the grand challenge. It made Michael scowl. After giving the warning about the Host watching their movements, this was reckless.
"You're-" Michael began.
"Not late," Castiel finished.
"Regardless," Michael grimaced. "I could sense you coming from a mile away. You're like a red beacon to any supernatural presence other than me."
"That's the point, Michael. The Order of Tarana will probably be expecting some type of interference tonight...and I want them to see us coming. That will teach those spawn to keep it down where it belongs," said Castiel smugly, taking a hold of his jacket collars and adjusting them unnecessarily.
"The Order of Tarana can defeat you, Castiel. They're half-demon, half-spirt. Not full blown anything...In most cases, that makes them more powerful, but they can't be killed. They've been blindly planning this for a long time...I won't lie to you. This will not be easy. These demons want one thing...and they'll stop at nothing to get it."
"I'm aware," said Castiel. "I've encountered them before. Stench of spirit is all there. They'll receive full balance if the ritual is complete...I know."
"We can't let that happen," said Michael fervently. "I found out more of what will happen if the focus site becomes active. The ritual...it's...not just for Dean. He's part of it, yes. He always will be. But it's primarily...an opening ritual. If it goes through, the dimensional walls that connect this realm to Hell will crumble. Every gate, every circle will be open and every demon trapped in Hell will be released. "
"Sounds intense...And funny how easily it slipped past your defenses. You seriously let this order get this far in completing the ritual before you made a move to stop it? I'm disappointed in you, Michael," Castiel remarked.
"I haven't been commander of the host for a long time...As it was...when I met Dean during my time as Commander...before you officially met him...This was his stipulation. Of course he couldn't predict that he would die...but he warned me during the treaty resign that if any celestial invaded Hell again after Raphael's demise, he would break the barriers down and lead the armies of Hell against us. It was a rare moment where I knew he was serious," said Michael. "And yes, I can tell when he was being serious and when he wasn't. Even then. Lucifer had his backup plan with Sam as his vessel..and Dean had his, obviously."
"And you just let him have that," said Castiel mockingly.
"I regarded it as fair," Michael countered angrily. "There wasn't going to be an invasion after what Raphael did. Our counter was simply that he did not enter the mortal realm...but he did...twice, thereafter. So he technically drew first blood in breaking the treaty."
"Dean never followed rules. Not Lucifer's. Not yours. That's a lesson you should have learned a long time ago," said Castiel wisely.
"Yes, I'm aware. That's why you're here, isn't it? To keep him human and exactly as he is. Did you get to say goodbye to him by yourself?" Michael asked.
Castiel gave him a hard look as though Michael was probing in something he shouldn't have. "I didn't...I don't plan on remaining gone long, Michael. The way I see it, we destroy the Order tonight and I'm back in Chicago by morning. It would be like I never left."
"I like your enthusiasm, Castiel," Michael commended. "But there's something you should know. If this ritual goes through tonight...if the final focus site is active...It would be the apocalypse as you know it in all your stories...all your legends. It will be-"
"Am I interrupting?" The voice made them both turn. Immersed in their conversation, and blocked by the bustle of Chicago's civilians boarding and unloading off trains, they didn't feel him.
Crowley, surrounded by at least ten other demons of the same Imperial-Class, dressed in all black. It attracted the stares of everyone around them passing by. Crowley was usually more subtle when Castiel knew him, all about keeping to the shadows and attacking from there. It was how he acquired the throne and it was how he had survived this long. He was his Fallen's demon, through and through.
Looking at him was like looking at Dante. Burns aside. Half of Crowley was a complete mask of too-soft skin that had deadened through the fire spell that Carmen had used on him at the last minute before they all plummeted down into Treachery. It was strange how the effect was. Half of his face was twisted with mockery, and the other simply made no expression at all.
"In the factory, I was sure I was going to be accompanying you to Treachery, Castiel. I know not the details of what transpired down under, though I wager it wasn't a pleasant experience. Here you are again, brimming with that disgusting humanity that Dante worked so hard to coax out of you," said Crowley, smiling in a very unkind way at Castiel. "Not only that...You brought along some luggage upon return. A dead Archangel...two amnesiac demon, a pathetic excuse for a former celestial and of course the brat queen herself. It seems like you had the time of your life down there."
"Crowley," Castiel addressed the demon in a rather light tone, as though they were best of pals. "So good to see you again. I do wonder how much skin foundation you need apply to your face to keep up appearances."
Crowley had already turned his attention to Michael. "How are you even alive, Michael? It must be nice to come back to the mortal realm and masquerade as this...John Winchester persona that you've created for yourself without fear of repercussions on the deception. You're very fortunate that Heaven doesn't seem to give a damn. As it were, they have more important matters at hand."
"I take it you would know that because you're currently employed by them?" Castiel asked conversationally.
Crowley's gaze grew icy and he deadlocked Castiel with a hard look. "I'm employed by no one but myself."
"That's not the story I'm familiar with. You're always someone's bitch. Shadowalker or...what have you. You're always working for someone. If it's not Dante today, it's Heaven tomorrow. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Crowley," said Castiel. He knew it was wrong to taunt him. They were severely outnumbered, and while Michael and he were powerful, it had been proven in the past that Imperial Class demons could stand their ground against angels of all caliber. They were Hell's deadliest weapon aside from the beasts of old.
Not to mention Crowley was probably exceptional himself. He was, after all, the only demon created by Dante.
At the mention of 'Shadowalker' and 'Dante', they saw Crowley's hand flash behind him as if itching to draw out his weapon.
"You two think you're so justified, don't you. You have no idea what's really going on," said Crowley with a smirk. "You may be half-right, Castiel. I'm not employed by Heaven, certainly...but I do know something. They want you dead. And not just you...Dante. Dean. You're all Heaven's focused on destroying. They know what you are. We know what you are. The brat queen may be the most ignorantly stupid bitch I've ever met...but not all demons are in the dark. If she was smart, she would have killed you both in Treachery...and regaled as a hero when she came out."
If Castiel was fazed by this, he didn't show it. He continued to look at Crowley like he was mildly interesting. They were still attracting stares...and time was ticking away. So much for subtlety. Michael wanted to take the train to keep up appearances, to keep humanity in the dark. But, looking at the train that was boarding behind Crowley, he could tell that wasn't going happen.
And he should have known better.
"I don't have time for you," said Castiel shortly. He grabbed Michael's arm rather sharply, leaping and absorbing all the gravity around him like a demon would to make a Jump and the two of them flew over the demons, landing atop the train that had already begun starting up its engines to make way.
Michael was unsteady on his feet but Castiel drew out his sword. There was gasps and screams from the passerby. Some people even whipped out their phones and snapped a few pictures. Non believers. None of them saw what he drew out then. To them, he was probably a junkie with an invincibility issue. His wings unfurled behind him, black as the deepest night.
"Got a train to catch, boys, see you on the other side!" The train grew faster and Castiel grabbed Michael again and crouched low just in time to not catch the wall of the tunnel that he slid under. His fleeting glimpse of them was Crowley advancing, a snarl ready on his face.
"They're going to follow us," said Michael over the roaring sound of the train from the outside, obviously much more magnified to their sensitive hearing. Castiel barely caught the sound of Michael's voice over it.
"Probably," said Castiel and without further ado he jumped off the edge of the train, climbing the windows on his hands and knees like an insect before he found the door which he proceeded to jump through, parting a frightened crowd and earning him quite a few more gasps of shock and astonishment.
Michael followed him, but slowly so. Castiel was already standing, looking relatively unhurt just windswept. He ignored every single passenger, extending his hand towards the front of the train and curling his finger into a fist. The train began to accelerate at max speed, grinding through iron tracks with sparks flying.
Michael grabbed him, took a hold of his shoulder and yanked. He received a bit of a shock when he saw that Castiel's eyes were melted into a deep shade of maroon, almost black, hazing over his vision. Retribution's power had curled inside of him, taken over.
"Are you insane?!" Michael shouted. "There are people on this train! Innocent lives! You're going to run us off the rails!"
Castiel glanced Michael's way, opening his mouth to answer but broke off when a sword tore through the roof right between them. There was a loud bang as the rest of Crowley hit the top of the train after his plunge. It barely missed either of them by an inch before Castiel slid away, crouched low, his sword tight in his hand.
As he rose, he lightly swiped the air and the humans surrounding them, all of them collapsed at once where they were. Castiel walked past them, his eyes averted to the ceiling.
"Human transportation worth the effort now, Michael?" Castiel mocked openly.
"Shut up," Michael melted away his facade, his clothes shifting into golden armor. He pulled his own weapon, the golden blade that was the source of his power out of its sheath from his waist and held it eye level.
The lights flashed on and off on the train, then red, seemingly because of the velocity which Castiel had thrown it into. Colors blurred past, shapes that Michael couldn't only catch through extreme concentration. He wasn't wrong before. Castiel was going to throw them off the rails at this dangerous speed. But he didn't seem to care.
Too much Dean influence. Demon Dean influence.
"Can you sense him?" Michael asked Castiel in a low voice.
Castiel didn't answer. A moment or so passed, Castiel slowly walking past Michael towards the nearest window to his right, where nothing was really discernible. They couldn't hear anything. Nothing walking above them...but the sound of the train itself speeding down the railway was too loud. Even for angels, this made it hard to hear anything above it.
"Maybe he left. I would too if I were facing either of us," said Michael after a few minutes while Castiel kept his head inclined towards the window as if expecting something to jump out. In his peripheral, he saw Michael begin to sheathe his weapon.
"You think so," Castiel murmured more as a statement than an actual question. He turned to face Michael fully. The lights were still off, and only the flashing ones outside the train seemed to show Castiel's expression as he addressed Michael. "You're too confident in yourself, Michael. It's going to get you killed."
"I was the Commander of the Heavenly host. No one exercises caution quite like me," said Michael smugly. "But I know when my opponent is weaker. And my opponent knows it as well. Crowley is an arrogant demon, but even he knows when he's outmatched."
"Crowley is Dante's demon. If he's working with Heaven against us, no offense Michael, but we're thoroughly screwed. If he's really gone, do you really think he's gone for good? He's going to bring down the entire legion on our heads if they discover the truth. That you're alive...that Dean's here, defenseless...Hell, who knows how much they know about the Scripture. Crowley knows everything. He's probably told them. We have to go back. Screw the ritual. We have to get to Dean. Now."
And Castiel actually made to turn for the emergency exit doors but Michael reached forward in the darkness and grabbed a hold of Castiel's jacket. "No. The focus site is our priority. You don't seem to comprehend what will happen if we don't stop the ritual."
Castiel's gaze automatically shifted to Michael's grip on him, then slowly raised to his face. It was a warning indicator, that hard expression on his face. Michael let him go, but his face was set with resolve.
"I don't give a damn about the focus site. Or the Order. My focus is saving Dean. I can't do that when I'm states away," said Castiel, looking out the window. "I can't let Crowley get to Dean. I have to protect him. It's better to do that...if I'm right next to him, don't you think?"
"Castiel," Michael curled and uncurled his fist like he was seriously trying to restrain himself from grabbing Castiel again. "This is protecting Dean. Don't you understand that everything I've done since coming here is in his best interest? I know how heaven works. I know how slow they manage themselves. You remember too. By the time we're done stopping the ritual, they'll still be processing the information that I'm alive, Dean's alive and you're a Fallen. And we'll be there, and ready for them."
"I don't have time for waiting," said Castiel, backing away from Michael back towards the exit. "I know you'll do what you can. But you can do it without me. I'm going back."
"Castiel!" Michael called, reaching for him again. But Castiel had waved aside the sliding door of the train with a hard wave and the sounds from the outside magnified by another ten.
"I'd say screw subtlety. If I were you, I'd fly. You might make better time that way," said Castiel. He gave Michael a two-finger salute that may or may not have been more mocking than it was serious before he jumped out.
There was barely enough space between the rail and the track and a normal person would have been shredded underneath the subway immediately. But he wasn't, instead his feet flattened on the rails and he rode them, reminiscent of a young man on a skateboard, barely applying any weight or pressure on his feet as he slid along the edge between the train and himself until he was free of it completely. Castiel jumped away, and twirled in the air, facing the back of the subway as it continued to drive at top speed.
Castiel turned away and began to walk only a few seconds before he extended his wings and took off. His velocity beat the train by almost a hundred times. It could be considered teleporting, but even then, he caught every single detail as it passed him. His arms extended in front of him, curled into fists and strong to keep from dangling or hitting anything unnecessarily.
He was closing back in on Chicago...ignoring any thoughts on Michael. He couldn't allow himself to be worried about Michael or if he'd fail. It was a stupid idea to think he could accompany him and there would be no repercussions. Castiel didn't expect it to be Crowley though. The demon wasn't stupid...but he thought they were done with dealing with him. He thought he would disappear off the face of the map as soon as he realized Shadowalker was captured.
What his goal then in working with Heaven? He didn't have time to ask that, and now he realized he didn't really care. The priority was Dean. Not the activation site, not Crowley, and certainly not Shadowalker.
He was barely a mile from Chicago when he hit it. When he felt an enormous shock run up the length of his body from his head to his toes. A horrible jolt of strong lightning that made his hair stand on end. He hit something physical, he knew, but not quite seen by the naked eye. Castiel plummeted straight to the ground, landing on his front, subway rails digging into the front of his knees and his upper chest.
A magic barrier.
"That had a nice effect," The casual intonation was enough to aggravate Castiel, even as he pulled himself up from the faceplant. He registered Crowley walking towards him through the empty tunnel. Crowley stopped right at the point where Castiel hit the barrier, kneeling down. "This is a very strong barrier. I had to pull in a favor to create it, Castiel...It was in place the entire time you went through it, the moment you left it, was the moment you were cast out as someone not welcome."
"Crowley," Castiel grunted, placing his hand flat on the ground to propel himself up.
"My new allies don't think much of your involvement in all this, Castiel. They view you as a very large nuisance," said Crowley conversationally. "But as of this moment, they don't want your interference with the going-ons in Chicago."
"And here I was thinking you weren't employed by Heaven...I thought you were only employed by yourself?" Castiel laughed to himself.
"I'm not," said Crowley, biting into the bait Castiel left to piss him off. Castiel had the immense satisfaction of seeing him go red in the face. "employed...by heaven."
"Heaven's bitch. Dante's stooge..One or the other. Though I can't imagine you can be loyal to someone who has no power right now,"
"Laugh it up, Castiel," Crowley snarled, stepping forward bravely, as close as he could to the barrier without hurting himself. "You'll have the time of your life outside this barrier. Don't get up if a train comes speeding down this way...God forbid you make me happy."
"Crowley!" Castiel struggled again, but he managed to stand, staggering as he did so. "Let me through! You don't understand. I need to get to Dean. He's in danger. You have to let me through here. You have to. Please...He's your King...or he was. "
"Exactly," Crowley flashed Castiel a gleaming smile before turning around. "I'd run, poppet. You're next on the hitlist."
Before Castiel could make a move towards him or say another word, Crowley crouched low, seeming to absorb gravity around him and taking off with a speed that mirrored Castiel's before during flight.
"Crowley!" Castiel called again fruitlessly. He cursed and immediately body slammed the barrier, anticipating the solid barrier that prevented his further entry. He beat at the invisible wall with fists, his hands seeming to singe and burn each time, but he didn't care. It didn't budge. Crowley was right. He couldn't have done this himself. It was a being much stronger than him...and he couldn't figure out who since Michael had already traveled outside of it...only the Shadowalker could possibly...
...Wait.
It may have been the smartest move to think of or the most foolish. Quite a tossup. But he knew the one being in the world that could control Crowley with a mere thought. He had seen such things before venturing into Treachery, when Castiel was not of right mind. Not like those memories were inaccessible to him.
He blew out a sharp breath. The barrier shone with a faint white light, basically taunting him. He couldn't get through it...but barriers went down if the invader was stronger than the caster. And he would need that kind of help.
Castiel had no choice.
Castiel drew out his blade and pulled the sleeve back on his jacket, pressing the blade into his wrist where he slit the vein. Blood poured from the open wound, spilling onto the dirty tracks. He hoped it was late enough...really hoped that another train wasn't scheduled to come through. He stretched out his hearing as much as he could, and detected nothing...but really, he couldn't feel anything inside that barrier, thanks to Crowley.
He made a circle, enough to accommodate the size of one person. Droplets of blood spilled from the cut and when he finished.
"By the power of Dominion,
I command thee.
I am Retribution.
I am Compassion.
I command thee to appear.
I command thee, Queen of Hell,
By the power of Dominion.
I command thee."
The droplets were immediately ablaze with red fire, swirling and dancing in a circle before he saw a figure appear.
"Motherfucking fire," Someone muttered before jumping out of Castiel's circle. His eyes drifted over the tall form of...Dante.
Dante looked a little different than what Castiel remembered from the last time. He was broken and shabby and unclean...Now he still looked unkempt but his stance was what Castiel had seen in Treachery. Proud and arrogant.
"I summoned Carmen...Not you...Since when did you take on the title of 'Queen of Hell'? Was Shadowalker not cuddly enough for you?" Castiel mocked crudely, crossing his arms.
"The Queen is indisposed. She's dealing with other matters of much more importance than answering a stupid summon from you. I opted to answer instead," said Dante.
"Wow," said Castiel, surprised. "I didn't think she was fond enough of you...or trusting enough with you to send you in her stead."
"She isn't,"Dante confirmed. "But her Imperial Highness isn't that fond of you either. Not fond enough to say, interrupt her current predicament. She's a very busy person, Castiel, as I've noticed. Besides, she's pretty aware I can't do you any harm with that damn bind you have on me. If that was off...you know...maybe you'd actually be cowering right now rather than mouthing off."
"Actually, that's exactly what I want to do," said Castiel. " I was just hoping that Carmen could be aware of it too. But I guess not. That's fine. I don't have enough time. I wanted to talk to you more than Carmen."
"I beg your pardon?" Dante gawked at him.
"I want to unbind you," said Castiel, stepping forward. "Look around you, Dante. You see the barrier? It's barring my entry back into Chicago and I need to get back there. Dean's in danger."
"When is he not?" Dante murmured absently. "So you're asking me. Me. For help. Wow...Are we back to Act One, Scene One? Remember that, Castiel? Didn't work so well for you last time, did it? You didn't quite agree with my methods."
"I still don't," Castiel snarled, closing the distance between them. He was shorter than Dante by a good handspan but he knew there was thunder in his eyes to even the stake. "But you're all I have. Your demon. Crowley. He's part of the plot behind this. I don't know if he's working with Heaven or not...but he seemed to imply that Heaven wants us all dead. I'm not concerned with Crowley...but who he's friends with now. Heaven wants to kill you, me, Dean...all of us. They want all the fragments destroyed...As much as I hate to admit it...I need you. Alive."
"Don't flatter me, Castiel. You want your boyfriend safe and snuggled in your arms again," said Dante coldly. But he grew thoughtful, stepping out of the fiery circle fully where it died. " What's my incentive? I told you. I hate you. Both of you. You're annoying. You're hopelessly romantic and you two are under a poor delusion that you can actually be together, it disgusts me. Why should I help you? I want to kill you."
"Because if Heaven wants us dead, who do you think they're coming after after Dean, Dante?" Castiel growled impatiently. "You're strong, Shadowalker. But there is no way in Hell you can take on the legion or whoever is controlling it now."
"I could, actually," said Dante with a cruel smile. "I could kill you. Kill him. Become Dominion and really...heh...The legion won't stand a chance against me."
"You could...But you had many opportunities in Treachery to kill us both and you never took any. And maybe if you had, maybe if you were Dominion right now, none of this would be happening. Maybe if you hadn't spent so much time and energy punishing Dean and myself, that you'd actually have what you want. But you didn't and you haven't." Castiel told him. "I am asking you...for your help. I need you to help me save him."
"Again, I ask, Castiel, what's the incentive," Dante answered, looking down at him. "There is none. Think of that. Better to keep me bound. I swear you're going to be my first casualty when you unbind me."
It was a token characteristic of being Havoc that Dante was openly admitting this. A normal person would at least play along and then strike from the shadow as was his namesake. But perhaps Dante was tired of the pretension and the hiding. He was being completely honest with Castiel when he said this and Castiel had to commend him for it.
Either that or he, like Castiel was aware of that link between them. It was not done by spell or magic. It existed inside. It linked all three fragment vessels together. There was no lying between them, because it was impossible. As much as Castiel hated being remotely associated with the Shadowalker, he couldn't deny his allure and power that he felt all too familiar with. He could not utilize Havoc's power, but he knew Havoc as though they were best of friends...It ranked close, unfortunately, to his kinship with Dean.
"How about the incentive is that your demon doesn't get his skull crushed in my palm?" Castiel bit back after a long moment. Bond or no, he didn't miss out on the opportunity to snap at him. Dante was much more trouble than he was worth.
"Fiesty. Not nice, Castiel...Threatening my baby boy...It seems to me, like you're kind of screwed. Hope you get to him in time," said Dante, shrugging and walking the other way that Castiel had flown from.
"What do you think is going to happen, Dante? You think your demon is going to survive the night? If he's working with the legion against us, the moment the get what they want is the moment he's turned to ash. That's the moment where all you'll have left of your 'baby boy' is what you can dig out of the concrete. You and I both know that the celestial chain of command is jaded. They'd never negotiate long with a demon."
Dante stopped in his tracks and turned in Castiel's direction. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Like my demon dead."
"You may not have much sentiment, Dante," Castiel walked towards him. "But you love your creation just as any Fallen with their first. I don't know his motivation if it's rebellion against you or lost hope that you'll come back to him. But I know the bond between us and ours. If not for Dean or me...The least you can do is save your demon from certain death. You help me...and I'll help you save him. You have my word."
Dante's jaw twitched and he sniffed. His expression was hard to read but he stared at Castiel for a long time. "Your word is about as useful as tits on a turtle, Castiel...But you are right. I know how those cloud hoppers work without a fair leader and since Michael is out of the equation by Heavens' standards...you're right."
Dante started walking back towards Castiel, stalking right past him and coming to a stop in front of the barrier that shone again with that faint white light. "Invoke me."
Castiel could have breathed a sigh of relief. But he spoke in a strong, clear voice. Foolish or the most genius idea ever. Who knew?
The words that came from his mouth came from a memory. The moment he had unlocked Retribution inside himself was the moment this knowledge to punish and cast a whole slew of spells came to him. He spoke the words as if they were the same on the Scripture itself.
"I invoke you, Havoc.
By the power of Dominion.
By the ink that bleeds from the Scripture.
I unbind you from your mortal bonds.
Embrace darkness once more.
He, who walks in shadow and death."
At first, nothing happened at all. Then Castiel's own shadow warped off the ground, the little he could see of it. It twisted, became a slight blob then slunk away towards Dante. Blackness began to shroud him, surround him in a shapeless mass then Castiel witnessed them from into two enormous wings from his back, much bigger than his. If Dante was an Archangel, he would have been the most powerful, surely.
Castiel approached him. He should have been afraid, but he stood by his side for the first time with all of his mind in tact. They weren't touching, weren't making physical contact with one another, and yet Castiel could feel an upsurge of power thrumming beneath the surface that wasn't wholly his own. Red lightning crackled around him, transferred to Dante and he felt a bit of the shadow release into him as well. They were almost one in that moment. Dante was freely releasing his power and Castiel instinctively let his own sift out of him too. They both extended a hand towards the barrier at the same time, palms flattening when they touched the solidity.
It shattered upon impact.
Michael was still aggravated with Castiel. As he suggested however, he abandoned the train, safely leaving it at its designated stopping point and allowing the passengers on board release from the sleep spell. They woke with little more than a headache and no memory whatsoever of anything amiss. Perhaps they would be confused at their own amnesiac states...and it might make headline news later on as a mystery. But at least they were unharmed.
He looked like little more than a shooting star when he soared through the sky. He abandoned the armor as well, thinking it better to blend in, even with his angel wings extended wherever he landed. Night shifted in time around him but the stars remained the same. In little less than fifteen minutes, he was already in California, landing himself where he felt the most power. Los Angeles. Now it was always hard to detect that. A large amount of humans, clumped together in one area was enough to create a power signature that could match an army of demons. But his senses were attuned enough to know that the power that he was drawn to here was not humans. Not just humans, he should have said.
It was the Order of Tarana...Surrounding the city. The half-spirit forms made them invisible to humans still passing and going about their daily lives, oblivious to the brown-robed men and women with twisted, demented faces that were crowding the streets as though waiting for something. Their faces were upturned towards the sky which slowly began to darken.
It was right in the central part of the city, near the tallest building, the bank tower that the power signature was giving off the most waves. In the distance, Michael saw it. He saw, what no one else apparently could see but the invisible Order. He extended his wings again, and took off again, not worried at all by the passing cars and people on the sidewalk. There was not enough belief here or anyone with even the time to indulge him.
There was a faint orange light emitting from the Focus site at the top of the tower, slowly gathering power to break through the sky. Yet it had stopped for now, and the light was not as strong as the one from Chicago's sewers. There was the same pillar from the sewer though as tall as a small child with a white orb...unlike the one from Chicago, however, the orb was not smeared with red.
Michael spotted three symbols etched into the ground. It was an archaic demonic language spoken by the first demons created by Fallen. It was not a tongue used by modern demons of any caliber...though it was usually an inborn knowledge that all of them had. Having killed enough demons in his lifetime, Michael recognized the meaning behind them. Each symbol meant one word in the language. Heart. Mind. Soul. Two of the symbols were burning orange. Heart and Soul.
The Order may have occupied the city streets and even inside the nearby buildings to get a good seat, there was no Tarana demon here.
And yet Michael was not alone.
Who he saw was not who he expected.
The being had their back to Michael, but unlike him, they had an obvious qualm with hiding their clothing behind human garments. It was pure silver armor with dark blue trim. White angelic wings extended from their back through a long blue cape, roughly the same size as Michael's own...and even larger than Gabriel's or Raphael's ever had been.
A woman, or at least that would be a form described by humans. Usually angels or celestial beings never really identified with a particular gender and simply...were. It did not matter. Mankind's depictions and differentiation usually ordained that females were the weaker sex. Angels had no such opinion. Some angels were mightier than others through rank alone. Most simply had their own strengths and weaknesses just as any other.
Metatron was the Archangel that Michael trained personally after Lucifer's betrayal and fall. He ordained her as God's messenger to spread hope and aid humanity. It was her words that came from God. And it was her hand that formed his will onto every tablet, every holy document...and this did not exclude the Scripture itself.
Aside from that, she was his most formidable prodigy. The only being in the world that had mastered all forms of Will element and harnessed each one equally. Michael himself had never been able to achieve that. Never been able to find the time nor the concentration. He instead depended upon strength to win a battle.
But that was beside the point.
How she was here...Why she was here of all places was not totally unheard of. It was only natural to assume she knew everything and wished to see it destroyed. What could he say? If Dean was not his son, he would be in her place. And it was only natural to assume as well that she had taken full command of the legion.
Her wings raised at Michael's landing, almost perking up to the rise of a threat, like an animal in the wild. But if he knew Metatron, he was fairly confident she had sensed his presence the moment he had entered the city.
Aside from the armor that designated her rank and gave her protection, she had on a silver galea with wings on the sides, curving up at each part of her forehead, hiding the top of her head. Having worn the same exact galea before, he knew her facial features would be somewhat hidden, with her cheeks her forehead and nose covered by the hard plating.
"Metatron," said Michael in greeting. "It's good to see you."
"Michael," said Metatron. She did not turn fully, only craned her neck just a bit in his direction. "I had thought you would bring Castiel. My recent reports indicate that the two of you are allied now."
Michael took a few steps closer, daringly. Her tone was subdued, clear, as he remembered of any emotion. If she was pleased at all, it was impossible to tell. " We separated in Chicago. I came here to dispense of this activation site. The Order is all over the city...I can see them. If we hurry, we can disperse of it together."
"Do not worry about this Focus site," said Metatron. "As clever as demons sometimes may be, they are not always intelligent. This focus site requires a blood sacrifice. I have a barrier in place. They cannot draw close to this building."
Funny, Michael didn't sense the barrier, but he had to believe her. She was right. There was no Tarana demon close enough or daring to approach with her right there.
"Metatron," said Michael, softening his tone a little. "I know you probably do not regard me in high spirits. For that, I am truly sorry. But I am pleased. I am pleased that you are the new High Commander."
Metatron was silent for a moment. She slowly turned her head back to face forward. "There was not much choice in that."
"I'm sorry," was all Michael said. "You have to understand my intention. I only wanted to protect my son...You probably know now. Of...whom I speak."
"Your son...," She mused, and he thought he heard her chuckle. "Yes, there's been quite some mayhem with your son as the instigation for most of it."
"You have to understand," Michael implored. "He is mortal now. Innocent of his crimes from the past. I only did not return to Heaven because I wish to protect him. I don't want to see him harmed."
"No one condemned to the ninth circle has ever been innocent," Metatron stated. "You, of all people should know this."
"What would you have had me do? Come back to Heaven instead and leave him there upon my return? Have you not sensed what I should have long ago? The chain of command is corrupted. Look what happened with Raphael," Michael pointed out. "Look at Heaven's lack of attention to everything going on. It's chaos."
"The legion fell with your absence, Michael. It corrupted with your death," Metatron replied flatly. She turned fully to face him. To a normal person, Metatron could have been a young woman of about twenty-six or twenty-seven. Her figure was slim yet with arms exposed, she had a very toned muscle structure. Her eyes were a deep shade of amber nearly gold, deep set and large.
"And you are a slave to your sentiment. In no small part due, I wager, to that soul," She extended her hand towards him and he felt a slight tingle before a white shroud of vapor extended from his heart around him. She was not pulling it out, merely exposing what she could clearly see to him.
"He's my son," said Michael as if that answered everything.
"Michael, I do not know what happened to you. Father gave you a clear order to protect the Scripture and Lucifer was able to breach our ranks and take it down. The Scripture was never meant to be broken. Never meant to become sentient. Dominion should not exist. I wrote the Scripture with these very hands with the intention of creating law and balance on the mortal realm," Metatron did not move, and yet Michael felt a strange shift in the air as if she was subtly calling power to herself. Or perhaps this was only because of how much power she was already able to harness that it simply was drawn to her like moths to the flame. "But you allowed it to fall into his hands and now look where we are. These fragments, facets and personalities of Dominion are an abomination. They must be destroyed or you may as well destroy the planet."
"I know where you're coming from, Metatron, I do," Michael assured her, taking another step towards her. "I know what you mean...I know what Dominion will do. It was my own essence that helped breathe life into it. You are the hands the cultivated the Scripture, from Lucifer and I was Dominion born. But he...or it...is not at his peak any longer. It's broken. It's harmless, like you say. I beg of you to let Dean live if no other."
Metatron did not flinch or seem fazed. "I never said it was harmless. These fragments are hardly harmless. And now they are all active and walk this realm as if they own it."
"No. Dean is human. I've suppressed Dominion's two facets inside of him. He can't harm anyone,"
"A temporary solution to a much larger problem. If the fragments were to destroy each other, if one being were to dominate the other two, Dominion would return. And no power on Heaven, Hell or Earth could stop it. This is not a matter of destroying something you care for, Michael. It is necessity," said Metatron.
She was set. He knew it. Because he would have probably said the exact same thing if he were in her position. All Michael could really do was beg. " Please, Metatron. He is my son. I made the mistake of letting his life be destroyed by my brother. I can't allow him to be destroyed by another mistake on my part in allowing the Scripture to be corrupted...in allowing Dominion to be. It's not right. He is innocent in this."
"Innocence is a subjective term, General," Metatron replied, same flat tone. "And one simply cannot apply it to a demon. He is innocent at the present moment because he is mortal and has no memory of his own misgivings. He may be your son, Michael, but he is Lucifer's demon."
"That's not how it is now," Michael insisted. Such fruitless attempts were all he had left. He knew how set Metatron was...and he knew why she was here.
"You're right. How it is now is that two of our celestials have gone rogue. One escaped from banishment and walks the planet. Freely," Metatron's eyes narrowed.
"No. Dante is bound," Michael told her. "I promise you. He can do no harm unless invoked."
"That's what you think...but even if you were right, which you are not," Metatron answered bleakly. "It would not matter. I do not base my orders on chance and luck and hopes that things go well. I get results in the ways I know how. It was you who taught me this."
"I know," Michael looked down. This was going nowhere well...as he knew it wouldn't. She wasn't stubborn. She wasn't power-hungry. She was in a position that required her to give out orders and execute some of them whether she wanted to do any of them or not.
And knowing her, she had absolutely no feeling whatsoever regarding the situation. She knew what she had to do.
When he looked up, he saw her looking down as well and he thought he saw something flicker in that cold expression. Almost like pain...or an angel's equivalent of it. Fallen felt so strongly...and angels never did. It was impossible to break an angel to feel something without something huge happening to them.
Yes, Michael could blame the sentiment, the emotion on his soul. But Castiel, Dante...even Lucifer. They had no soul but emotion had become part of who they were. So what if Dante and Lucifer predominantly felt hatred? Castiel loved Dean. He still showed love. To love was to Fall.
He was an exception. He did not Fall and he did not plan on, but everything he had done, even without the soul in the past was for the love of someone else. For God, for Mary and now for Dean...because Dean was all he had left.
"Look at what it's come down to, Michael. I've declared martial law upon you, Michael. You are to be captured on sight with fair trial with likelihood of execution. But I do remember..," Metatron blinked and slowly lifted her gaze to meet his, her expression sliding back into empty. Yet it was her eyes Michael focused on, burning and nearly red now. "I do remember what you meant to me. I remember what you taught me...Taught all of us. This is the only offer I can give you. Exile. If you turn and walk from this city, from any city to embrace a life of solitude...Then I can promise your protection. Under my command, I can promise that you will never have to face trial. You will never have to explain your actions to the Celestial court or myself."
It was Metatron who made the step this time, her heavy boots clanking with the movement. "But we know...what decision you've made already, don't we?"
Michael didn't even give pause to consider it. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," said Metatron, and for once, it sounded like she meant it. Her voice was soft, barely heard if Michael didn't have supernatural hearing.
He only heard the whisper of wings as they came behind him. At least three angels, all above soldier-class. Commanders of their own garrisons...like Balthazar had once been. Two of them took Michael by the arms.
"I know it would be pointless to engage you. You could not have breached my magic barrier without being at least an echo of your former power," said Metatron, continuing to walk towards him. "Perhaps it was not wrong of you not to bring someone along to assist you. Castiel...I've denied a trial. He is to be executed on sight. I wager a sight like that would be relatively painful for you. At least this way, you are spared of such things."
"You would do the same to Dean. You don't have to lie to me, Metatron. I'm still older than you," said Michael with a flicker of a smile. But he wrenched himself free of the grip and stepped forward, a hand going to his sword at his waist which he pulled out, the golden blade gleaming dimly from the setting sun.
Metatron did not smile. She raised her hand and Michael immediately went immobile, as if frozen in place through an ice spell. There was no physical proof that it was an ice spell, it seemed to come within, holding him in spell. With a slight shock, he realized that she had frozen him through a Soul Scream spell. It was not a spell used often and definitely not feasible for angel against angel. It was the spell usually used to hold a soul in place when it was facing judgement.
"A mortality curse curses one with a clean soul," said Metatron. "And yours has remained in place for a long time, General. It is the only reason you survive now. Your soul is a weakness. You are, at this point, no better than a Fallen, at the mercy of your feelings. And that is what makes you weak and alone, Michael."
"I'd like to test that theory,"
Metatron whipped around at the sound, the first sign of urgency that Michael had seen her do without being in the midst of battle. She saw it first. Carmen, lounging on her sword behind Metatron. She looked different from what Michael last saw of her. Now her relaxed, almost lazy pose was a complete reflection of Dean. She, like Metatron had a black cape trailing behind her, though hers was much longer. She pulled the sword out of the ground and Michael immediately recognized the sword as Dean's.
"Your Majesty," said Metatron vaguely, inclining her head. "I see you refuse to come and meet me for treaty reform but on the day of a potential apocalypse you conveniently show your face."
"I'm sorry, is that an accusation? By a fucking brunette? Jesus," Carmen snapped. "No, unfortunately for you, I can't take credit for this one. Maybe the next one. There is, after all, no treaty in place."
"No thanks to you," said Metatron mildly.
"I'm sorry...What was your name again? Megatron? My...You are...Heh," Carmen seemed to be unable to find words. She peeked around Metatron. "Is she a robot? No, wait. Is she a sextransformer?"
"Carmen," Michael closed his eyes as though summoning patience from the depths of the planet. He still couldn't move through the immobilization spell, but he could speak enough to address her. "Please. What are you doing here?"
"We all have some sort of intention," said Carmen vaguely. "Nice barrier, Megatron. Not very strong if I could come through it. Those things usually get breached by someone stronger. Yours is still up. Sounds to me like you're on even level with me."
Metatron too looked Michael's way before slowly looking at Carmen, a spark of amusement in her eye. "I wouldn't flatter yourself, my Queen. You've never probably stood against an Archangel."
"No, but I befriended one. Actually, two...Well...Michael, we're friends right?" She peaked behind Metatron, her eyes wide and hopeful.
"Carmen," He said yet again, this time his tone a warning. "Go back. Turn back. This is beyond your-"
"Oh, you should know better," Carmen scolded, holding up her blade level to Metatron's face. Her clothes changed, molding into the shape of black armor that covered her inch by inch and the ghost of a crown around her head as her free hand filled willed with an open flame. "You just got me all hot and bothered and excited with that kind of talk. Come on, Meggy. Let's dance."