Chapter 14: Weary Wings
Castiel sat in the armchair of the ex-god's office. Enjoying a rare break in the seemingly endless parade of requests and reports, he stared calmly into the empty fireplace opposite the grand mahogany desk.
It was a simple fireplace. Just a square-ish hole carved out of the wall with a small metal stand on which the logs could burn. There was no grill or decoration around it. It was simple. Humble. Intended to be used to keep people warm and offer comfort in the darkness of night. Of course, angels didn't get cold. Cas found it almost funny that Metatron had included it in his office-heaven. Everything else was lavish and grand. Only the fireplace remained untouched by the old scribe's splendour.
He suspected the entire room was constructed to match the description of some famous character's usual haunt, or that of one of Metatron's favourite authors. The passage in question was probably somewhere in the heap of stories in the back of Cas's mind, but he had neither the inclination nor the energy to bother looking for it. Sifting through so much information and sensations was exhausting, and he was tired enough as it was.
More than tired.
He leant back in the cushiony chair, forcing his tense muscles to relax. His body ached constantly now. He wondered if this was how old age felt, or the late stages of cancer, or if you were hit by a double decker bus, or stabbed with a Morgul blade.
They all sounded about right. He was under no illusions, though. He knew it was the Grace. Jimmy Novak's body would never age again. When Castiel died, it would die with him.
Jimmy had been gone for years now. Cas often missed the man's background thoughts and sensations. They'd never been all that noticeable, but sometimes, when he would find himself with nothing to do – which was rare – he would listen in to the whispers of his host's mind. Jimmy was rarely aware of what Castiel was doing. Instead, he relived favoured memories as though in Heaven. That had always made Cas smile. Few minds were aware enough to spend their time as vessels so wisely. Most would alternate between a nothingness like being unconscious, and the blinding terror of being possessed by an angel. Jimmy had been that way at first.
After Castiel's 're-education', when Jimmy had begged him to return to his body and leave his daughter, he had changed. Perhaps it was because he then knew what to expect, but from that night onwards, whenever he was conscious, or as conscious as a vessel's mind ever is, he spent his time remembering his family. His first date with his wife-to-be. The day she told him she was pregnant. The moment they had agreed on the name Claire in the hospital after the baby was born.
Castiel had never disturbed the mumbling memories in the back of his head. He wished he could hear them again now. But Jimmy had been gone ever since God or Lucifer or whoever the hell it was brought him back all those years ago in Stull Cemetery, in Lawrence, Kansas.
He'd visited Jimmy once or twice over the years. He'd made himself a wonderful heaven, filled with the safety and love he had lacked in his final years on Earth. There his family was forever safe and happy, and he watched his baby daughter grow up over and over again, fell in love with Amelia over and over again. It was a simple heaven, as they all were, really, but it was one of Castiel's favourites.
Frankly he was glad Jimmy hadn't been around to suffer alongside Cas. He was far better off tucked securely behind Heaven's sealed doors, and for that, Cas was grateful. Just thinking of the man gave Castiel a sense of peace.
CAS!
He jerked up as the single word thudded into his consciousness. For one bizarre moment he thought it was Jimmy Novak, but soon recognised the echoing voice of Sam Winchester. A Sam Winchester in obvious distress. Cas straightened in the armchair, his broken wings extending automatically to carry him to his friend's side. The stinging pinpricks of stretching charred, featherless skin gave the ex-angel pause. He couldn't leave Heaven, and even if he could it would take him hours to find Sam.
A sharp trio of knocks on the office door broke the silence, distracting Cas from the Winchester's call.
Gathering his thoughts, he called for the knocker to enter. The door swung inwards and Hannah stepped inside and stood dutifully in front of the large desk. Cas half-expected her to salute.
"Castiel," she greeted formally.
"Hannah," He dipped his head in greeting.
"I have the reports, if you'd like to hear them now."
He nodded for her to continue, gesturing to one of the chairs. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
"Any word from the angels in the archives?" Cas asked, hope flickering dimly in his gut.
"I'm afraid not. They've combed thousands of tomes and scrolls, but they're no closer to unsealing Heaven." Hannah's disappointment was clear and mirrored Cas's own.
"What of the spellmasters?"
"No luck reversing the spell either. We're still limited to the portal. Albus does think he might be on to something, but he says it's too soon to tell if it'll be of much help. I told them to carry on."
"Good. Anything else?"
Hannah nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "We have more and more reports coming of the Winchester demon." She paused as though expecting him to scold her. Instead he sighed and gestured for her to continue.
"There have been three more massacres we can trace directly to him, and another two we're sure were done on his command. The death toll is estimated at about three hundred and forty from these new attacks alone."
"Any link between the targets?" Cas asked with a heavy heart. He hated talking about this. It was bad enough that the man he had rebelled for was now a murderous demon, but having to unravel the meaning behind the slaughters was depressing.
"None we can see. We still haven't figured out the pattern, either. Although now there are only six states he hasn't hit yet."
"And what about the ordinary demons? Any halt in their activity?"
Hannah ran a hand through her think hair, letting out a nervous sigh. "No. In fact, it's only growing."
"Still?" Cas asked, amazed.
"Still. I can't tell how they're all getting out of Hell in such numbers, but the demon population on Earth has almost doubled this last month."
"Doubled?" he whispered, horror struck. "How many does that make it?"
Hannah considered. "Somewhere in the low hundreds, we think."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
"And you're sure Dean is behind it?"
"Who else could rally them like this?"
"Crowley maybe?"
"There's been no sign of him in weeks. The demons we've interrogated all believed him dead."
"Maybe he is," Cas allowed reluctantly. He really wanted Crowley to be alive. So he could kill him.
"Castiel," Hannah said, her tone slightly pleading. "We can't let this go on. Hundreds of humans are dying daily. We are their protectors and we're letting them be slaughtered like cattle!"
"You don't think I know that?" Cas growled, anger rising as he leant forward in the armchair. "The Veil is bursting and there's nothing we can do about it. I have angels looking for Dean, a dozen of them set with the task of killing any and every demon they find, but it hardly seems to be making a difference." Despair replaced anger and he stared morosely at the wood grain under his palms.
"Then clearly we have to try harder."
Cas looked up, incredulous. "Harder?"
Hannah nodded, her eyes guarded and professional as she elaborated. "You ordered that platoon to find Dean Winchester. They're good soldiers but they don't even know what to do if they ever do find him." She leant forward and her voice fervent. "Castiel, this is nearing par with the carnage wrought by Cain himself. Dean is younger, stronger, far more determined, and there's no sign of him slowing down. We can't sit by as he creates more Knights of Hell and consumes the human world!"
Cas closed his eyes. He was so, so tired. His shoulders and heart felt so heavy. The stolen Grace burned dully in his chest. He knew he was running out of time. A few more weeks at best. He could not leave this mess for his angels to clean up. Most of them were still acclimating to the mission of protecting humanity. Some still hadn't been home in over a year. Those who were in Heaven were effectively trapped since the portal was so small and took so long to be activated. Not to mention the damn thing kept moving. If the gatekeepers lost track of it for a moment it would be lost forever.
"Dean must be stopped," he said at last. His voice sounded dull and dead to him. Unfamiliar. "By any means necessary, he must be stopped. Tell the angels ... that if they find him, if they can't contain him ... they must kill him."
He raised his head and met Hannah's gaze. Her eyes were filled with an empathy that was rare among the angels. He was proud of how much she cared. That didn't eclipse the hollow weight of betrayal he felt in his gut at his decision. He knew Dean could never be saved, and he was certain that the old hunter would rather be dead than live and kill as a demon, but even so. He was his best friend.
But he was dead. He had been for over two months now. Ever since the moment Metatron's blade had pierced his frail, human heart. What had awoken in his body was not Dean Winchester. It merely wore his face.
"I'll give the order. And ..." Hannah hesitated, unsure. "Castiel, I know he was your friend and this must be hard for you, but ... We need to know how many Knights he's created. We must know what we're up against. And that information ... might not be freely given."
Cas stared at her wearily for a long moment. "You're asking me to authorise torturing this information out of him."
"Yes. For the greater good, yes."
Silence oozed in to fill the office as Castiel thought. Part of him found the idea as abhorrent as that of having Dean killed. A larger part wanted to make the abomination that had stolen his friend's corpse feel some small fraction of the pain he and Sam felt.
Sam. He would never forgive Cas if he allowed this to happen.
Closing his eyes against the weight of his world, he took a deep breath and answered, knowing the leaden words would need extra air to make it all the way to Hannah's ears.
"All right. I give it."
"You're doing the right thing, Castiel." She offered the words as a balm to soothe his suffering.
"Yes. I know. Thank you, Hannah." He looked up at her kind eyes. "I appreciate your companionship."
She smiled, her face lighting up. "And I yours."
They smiled at each other for a moment.
"Oh!" Hannah exclaimed suddenly, her brows pulling down in worry once more. "I almost forgot – the Reapers have been –"
A frantic rapping on the wooden doors drowned the rest of her sentence. Hannah and Castiel looked to the door, startled.
"Come in," Cas called, and before his words had faded from the air the door burst open and Ingrid almost fell into the room.
"Castiel!" she cried, panting for breath.
"What is it?" Cas asked, rising swiftly from the chair. "What's happened?" He kept his voice low and commanding, trying to break through the angel's obvious terror.
"It's Adriel," she gasped. "He's dead!"
Castiel shared a horrified glance with Hannah before turning back to Ingrid. "Show me."
O*O*O*O
Four angels had gathered around the body. Adriel lay on his back, his arms and legs sprawled. His broken wings were scorched onto the floor and walls. The reason for Ingrid's panic soon became apparent.
Adriel's eyes were burnt out of their sockets.
"It can't be," Hannah whispered, aghast. "It ... it can't be."
"It is," Ingrid retorted, unnecessarily harsh in her fear. "He was murdered for his Grace."
"But ... who would do this?"
All eyes turned to Castiel.
He suppressed a groan. "Well, don't look at me. I'm still dying, thanks."
"No," Hannah explained. "Who do you think would do this? We know you'd never kill another angel."
Oh. What a pleasant change, Cas thought.
"I have no idea," he answered honestly. "No angel needs a second Grace, I doubt they could even contain it, unless –" He stopped dead as he realized who would know just how to absorb a second Grace.
"What?" Hannah pressed, leaning forward unconsciously.
"Metatron," he growled.
Hannah and Ingrid shared a dubious glance.
"But ..." Hannah began uncertainly.
"He's locked away in the most secure place in Creation," Ingrid finished. "Or one of, anyway. How could he do this?"
"Adriel was one of his guards –"
"But we're nowhere near the prison," Kerubiel cut across him, speaking for the first time.
"I know that," Cas continued. He made an effort to keep his frustration out of his voice. "But if he had help –"
"Are you suggesting some of us are still following that traitor?" Ingrid demanded.
"Not you, Ingrid," Cas replied softly, knowing how ashamed she must feel for being the ex-god's assistant. "But who else would kill another angel? Who else would even think of absorbing another Grace? And if he's safe inside his cell – which I don't doubt – then he must have had help, which means" – he paused to meet the eyes of every angel gathered in turn – "that Metatron isn't the only traitor in Heaven."
The angels exchanged worried glances.
"But ... who?" Hannah's brow was creased in confusion.
"How will we discover them?" Kerubiel asked, worry etched in his face.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have the answers. But," he reassured them, "I know where to get them."