Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the fabulous beta job. It's much appreciated. Thank you also Gredelina1 for all your help, support and encouragement.

Chapter Nineteen

They didn't speak anymore about grace or Gadreel. It felt to Sam that they were all wrung out and needed a distraction, so they told Castiel about what had been happening at the bunker, how Kevin was doing, and about Charlie's new project—cataloguing the archives on a database so they could get the information they needed when they were on the road.

When the time came around for the meeting Bartholomew had spoken about, Castiel said apologetically that he needed to leave. Sam hated that he felt he had to apologize for what he was doing, especially when he was doing it all for them anyway. Because of Sam, he had made the deal. Because of Gadreel, he was keeping it.

"No problem," Dean said easily, taking a last draw on his beer. "We'll get you back on time. I want to see what they've got on Gadreel anyway."

Looking relived, Castiel stood and they left the bar. Sam noticed that as they got closer to Bartholomew's offices, Castiel grew stiffer. It was as if he was shedding the small amount of relaxation and 'Cas' that he'd gained spending time with them and was becoming the angel Castiel again. By the time they were pushing open the double glass doors, he was straight-backed and yet he seemed somehow diminished. Sam hated that he had put his friend in this position.

His feelings must have shown on his face as Dean nudged him with his elbow and shook his head curtly. Sam quickly forced his features into something more neutral.

"We going to be able to sit in on this meeting, or is a wings only deal?" Dean asked.

"I…" Castiel looked uncertain.

"Of course you can join us," Bartholomew said, striding through a door a little ahead of them. "Excuse me, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but angel hearing doesn't miss much. You are more than welcome to come. We have things to share and things to ask you as well."

"Awesome," Dean said, his smile not meeting his eyes.

Castiel looked relieved. Sam guessed he was reluctant to refuse them and risk Dean's ire, but uncomfortable authorizing their involvement himself.

"If you would follow me, gentlemen," Bartholomew said, walking through a door at the end of the lobby and holding it open for them.

Castiel led them forward. They passed through a hall lined with doors to the end where there was a set of double doors. Bartholomew pushed them both open and said loudly, "We have guests today. Sam and Dean Winchester are joining us."

There were murmuring voices in return that fell silent when Dean and Sam entered. The room held a long table surrounded by chairs where a dozen angels already sat. Bartholomew moved quickly to the head of the table and sat down.

"Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the grouping of empty chairs at the other end of the table.

Sam and Dean sat, and Castiel glanced between them before moving along the room to take a free seat beside Bartholomew. Even with the other angels around them, quiet observers now, Sam only paid attention to Bartholomew, feeling almost as if they were being interviewed.

Dean apparently felt none of the same tension as he rocked back on the chair legs and said with perfect serenity, "So, find the vessel yet?"

"Yes," Bartholomew said. "Berieah, would you like to do the honors?"

An angel with rich mocha skin and dark eyes cleared her throat and said, "Yes, sir. We used facial recognition to search the DMV records and found this." She held up a printout of a driver's license. "The vessel is called Antony Malone. His last known address is Erie, Pennsylvania. At the moment we do not know his occupation, but we're working on it."

"Good work, Berieah," Bartholomew said approvingly, smiling at the angel who nodded solemnly.

"Can I get a look at that license?" Dean asked.

Bartholomew nodded and the printout was passed down the table to them. Sam managed only a quick glance at the paper before Dean snatched it away, scowling down at the face used by the angel he detested.

"Organ donor, huh?" Dean murmured. "More like whole body."

Dean folded the sheet of paper and tucked it in his pocket, grinning at Bartholomew as if goading him.

"You should hold onto that," Bartholomew said.

"I will," Dean said smugly. He addressed Berieah, "You got anything else that can help track him down?"

She glanced at Bartholomew as if seeking permission before answering. "Nothing yet," she said.

Dean relaxed back in his chair. "I'm sure you tried." He glanced at Sam. "Anything else you think?"

"No," Sam said, making to rise from his seat.

"If you would give us just another moment of your time," Bartholomew said, "there are a few things I would like to ask you both before you leave."

Curious, Sam sat back and Dean did the same. "What do you want to know?" Dean asked.

"Kevin Tran," Bartholomew said and they both stiffened.

"What about him?" Sam asked guardedly.

"I was wondering what progress he has made with the angel tablet."

"None," Dean said quickly and honestly.

There was a sigh around the room.

"He is still studying it though?" Bartholomew asked.

"Yes," Sam said. Which was true. Kevin had been working on the tablet for weeks now, and it seemed he'd hit a roadblock in the form of Metatron's slyness. He said it was like the tablet wasn't supposed to be readable. The words were there, but they didn't make sense—it was gibberish of symbols in the wrong order to read. The last time they'd spoken about it, Kevin had said he was going to focus on deciphering each word individually and then try to put them into something sensible as a kind of anagram puzzle.

"Hardly stops," Dean added.

"Good," Bartholomew said. "I am sure the secret to getting back to Heaven lies within that tablet." His expression softened into something Sam guessed was supposed to be friendly. "You know, if he would relocate here, we could help him."

"How?" Sam asked pointedly.

"We are angels," Bartholomew said.

Sam looked amused. "Yeah, but the tablet isn't for angels, is it? It's for the prophet. It'd make just as much sense to you as it would to us."

"Nah," Dean said easily. "Kev's just fine where he is at the moment, thanks. He's perfectly safe."

"And where might this fine and safe place be?" Bartholomew asked.

Sam glanced at Castiel who shook his head slightly to indicate he hadn't told Bartholomew where their place was.

"It's home," Dean said firmly, and got to his feet.

Reluctant to leave Castiel alone with the angels he hated, Sam stood slowly and beseeched him with his eyes to understand. Castiel nodded slightly and smiled.

"Thanks for the info," Dean said. "We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

Bartholomew scowled but his voice was mild as he answered, "And we shall do the same."

He could, Sam thought, following Dean from the room, but the only way the angels were going to get anything from them was if Castiel asked for it himself. The rest of them could wait a lifetime.

"Bow to me for I am the queen," Charlie's cheery voice came over the cell phone's speaker.

"Is this about Moondoor?" Dean asked, frowning at the phone Sam held between them as they drove along the I-70 toward Pennsylvania. "Because I thought you were hanging back on that until our latest crisis is taken care of."

"I am," Charlie replied, her smile obvious in her voice. "Doesn't mean a queen doesn't have needs. Maybe a curtsey from time to time would be nice. No, what I'm talking about this time is my regal magnificence at hacking."

"You got more on the vessel?" Sam asked, straightening in his seat.

"Yep. I got the real good stuff. We know his name is Antony Malone, right, but did you know he's usually called Tony? No. Of course you didn't, as you haven't got my mad skills. He's suitably religious for a vessel. Belongs to a local church group and a few online message boards that are all about praising the holy hide-and-seek champion."

Dean laughed.

"What else did you get?" Sam asked.

"The address on his license is valid. He's been there six years. He works in the Antler's Pub on West Fourth Street, Erie. He had a girlfriend, but that crapped out about a year ago. He still talks about her sometimes. I'm getting a slightly creepy but not stalkerish vibe about him. He has no family in his life that I can see. He likes Christian Rock—Larry Norman not Skillet—and hiking, but his guilty pleasure is Netflix. Need me to go on?"

"No," Dean said. "I was mainly looking to check the address to be honest."

Charlie scoffed. "Hours it took me to find all this out and you just wanted an address! I am so undervalued."

"You're awesome," Dean acknowledged. "And you're absolutely the queen. How did you find all this?"

"Is that the time? I better go," Charlie said quickly.

"Charlie," Sam said pointedly. "How did you find all this? You didn't get yourself in trouble with this, did you? Where are you?" A curl of worry settled in his gut. What if Charlie was in Pennsylvania already, doing her Fed impression to get what they needed? If Gadreel was still hanging around…

"Okay, maybe I'm not a queen this time," she said. "I found it all on Facebook."

Sam laughed, relief washing through him. "You are always a queen," he said. "And we're really grateful for you looking this up for us. We'll curtsey when we get back. "

"Why thank you, kind sir," she said in modulated tones. "Seriously, though, he hasn't updated Facebook in a while, so I'm thinking he's not the one running the switches right now. If you see him, it's probably going to be the angel not the vessel. Be careful!"

"We will," Dean answered. "Don't worry. You and Kev just do what you've gotta do and we'll be home as soon as."

"Okay," she said, her voice returned to its customary brightness. "See ya."

Sam ended the call and tucked the phone back in his pocket.

"Tony, huh?" Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam wondered if Dean was thinking the same thing as him. They had a face for Gadreel, and a possible location, but what about the vessel? Sam had a face for him, too, a name, and a list of some of his likes and dislikes. It made him human, real. But if Charlie was right and Gadreel had taken him for a vessel again, he was fated to die. Sam would not pardon the angel for the sake of the vessel, and there was no other way to kill him, but he would not relish the kill the way he had anticipated before.

They stopped for the night in a motel in Indianapolis and set out early again the next morning, arriving in the city around noon.

They went straight to the address they'd pulled from the man's driver's license. Even though the evidence was pointing towards him being Gadreel's vessel again, they needed to be sure before they started to search further for the man.

The address was on the ground floor of an apartment block on the edge of the city. It was in a well kept but not affluent area, similar to the place Sam and Jess had shared in California.

Though it was very unlikely that Tony was still himself, or that Gadreel would have stayed if he had taken him over, he still felt some disappointment when their knocking went unanswered. They didn't give up straight away, though. They stayed long enough to draw attention from the resident of the apartment opposite.

An elderly woman opened her door and glared at them. "He's not home, so you can quit banging on the door and go away."

"Sorry to disturb you," Sam said smoothly. "We were looking for Mr. Malone. We had a few questions for him."

"Who are you to be looking for him?" she asked suspiciously.

"We're federal agents," Sam said, presenting his badge for her to examine.

"Oh, I didn't realize, agents," she said, her face coloring. "I'm very sorry."

"It's fine," Sam said. "We should have introduced ourselves sooner."

"Is Tony in trouble?" she asked.

"No," Sam said quickly. "We're hoping to speak to him in regards to a case, that's all. He's not in any kind of trouble."

She nodded sagely. "You're here about the robbery, aren't you?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "Yes," Dean said. "What can you tell us about it?"

"Not a lot," she said. "I wasn't there; of course you'll know that already. I only know what they told me when they came looking for him. I told them, as I'll tell you, that Tony's a good, god-fearing man. He'd have had nothing to do with that trouble. He worked in that place for five years. Why would he suddenly take up and ruin the place? And why steal so little? If he wanted money, he'd have waited until the end of the day, am I right?"

"I'm sure you are," Sam said. "Well, thank you for your help. We will report back that Mr. Malone wasn't home."

"If he comes back and you see him, please call us," Dean said, holding out a business card to her. She took it and glanced it over, looking a little surprised.

"But don't approach him," Sam added. "I am sure he wouldn't trouble you, god-fearing as he is, but we wouldn't want him to be frightened away. We really do need to speak to him."

"Of course, agent," she said, clutching the card in both hands. "I'll be sure to call you."

"Thank you," Sam said, locking eyes with Dean and nodding slightly. They were done there.

They said their farewells and then made their way out of the building and back to the car.

"Robbery?" Dean said as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe he wanted some cash to go on the run with. He must have seen enough in my head to know you don't get far in this world without it."

"Maybe," Dean said in a musing tone, directing them along the quiet street. "Bar next?"

"Yeah. Might be a waste of time, but I've got a feeling there's still something to know."

"Me too," Dean said. "Just don't know what."

By the time they got to the Antler's Pub, it was past one and there was a good crowd of people inside, drinking and talking. Sam and Dean made their way to the bar and Sam took a backseat, letting Dean employ his usual charm with the pretty bartender as he introduced them and asked if there was a manager they could speak to.

While they waited for her to retrieve the owner for them, Sam looked around the bar, taking in the decorations that had given the place their name. There were many antlered trophies on the wall—stag, caribou and even a massive set from a moose.

A woman came from a door at the end of the bar and saw where Sam's attention was. "Handsome, aren't they."

"Uh, sure," Sam said.

"Evelyn Tranmere," she introduced herself. "Owner and manager."

"Agents Smith and Jones," Dean said, holding out his badge.

"Ah, you're here about Tony, aren't you?" She sighed. "Bad business all round."

"What can you tell us about what happened?" Sam asked.

"Not a lot," she said. "No one was here when it happened. Tony was supposed to be setting up—stocking fridges and snacks—before opening for me. I'd let him in and then gone to the store for supplies. I have no idea what got into his head, but when I got back, the bar was trashed and he was nowhere to be seen. The cash in the register was gone, too, not that it amounted to much. The real kicker was the damage. He must have gone at the place with a baseball bat. The windows, the bottles behind the bar, hell, even the light bulbs were broken. I have no idea what got to him, he seemed fine, but something must have pissed him off, as the place was trashed and he was nowhere in sight. No one has seen him since either. Probably for the best. I don't know that I could see him without trashing him." She cut off suddenly and bit her lip. "Figuratively, I mean. I wouldn't really hurt him, agents."

Dean grinned. "We understand what you mean. It's a terrible thing he's done to you."

"He's cost me thousands," she said. "The windows alone cost a fortune, and that's nothing to the lost business. I tell ya, if you boys catch him, you'll never need pay for another drink here."

"We'll do our best," Sam said.

"Can I get you anything now?" she asked. "I know you can't drink on duty, but I make a mean coffee."

"Coffee would be great," Dean said.

"You take a seat and I'll bring some over," she said.

They walked over to a table by the window and sat down, feeling eyes on them. The jukebox was playing though, and Sam thought it was safe to talk.

"Glass," he said. "Didn't Cas smash the light bulbs when you first met him?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Not sure what that was about, apart from showing off, but it's definitely an angel marker. I think Tony was here when Gadreel came calling, and he rolled out the welcome mat for him."

Sam was pretty sure he was right. Gadreel had a vessel again.

A shadow fell over their table and Sam looked up with a smile and thanks on his lips only to scowl instead. It wasn't Evelyn delivering their coffee, but Crowley and he was smiling wickedly.

"Budge up, Moose," he said, shoving into Sam's space.

He moved along so there was a seat free for Crowley, though he wasn't exactly eager for his company. He thought it was better to go with it than risk Crowley making a scene and outing them as fakes.

Crowley slid into the seat next to him and said, "What do you think of the décor, Moose? Is it making you uncomfortable?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Crowley?"

"A chat," Crowley said. "Thought we should catch up."

Dean sighed. "Fine. Say what you've got to say and leave."

"There was a time when you wanted me around so much you chained me up."

"Times change," Dean said shortly. "What do you really want, Crowley?"

"Hang on a sec," he said as Evelyn came over with their coffees and a look of confusion on her face.

"Well, who's this lovely lady?" Crowley asked.

"This is Ms. Tranmere," Sam said stiffly. "This is… Fergus Crowley. He's an associate of ours."

"Interpol, love," Crowley said. "And you can call me Crowley. As you can tell from my name, my parents hated me."

Evelyn laughed softly. "Very well, Crowley, can I get you anything?"

"Thank you, but no. I'm on duty and need to keep a clear head. I'll just take one of these delicious smelling coffees and let you be on your way."

She looked like she wanted to protest for a moment, but at Sam's apologetic look, she nodded, set the coffees down and walked away.

"Like I'd take a proper drink in a place like this," Crowley growled quietly. "Even the beer smells like turpentine." He took a sip of Sam's coffee and smiled. "This, on the other hand, isn't bad."

"What do you want, Crowley?" Dean asked again.

"First off, we need to get something out in the open," he replied. "See the lumberjack over there with the expensive haircut? Angel."

The man he was pointing quickly averted his eyes and took awkward sip on the bottle of beer in front of him.

"It's not the angel that was in me, is it?" Sam asked intensely.

"Nope. I've never seen this one before. Just need to be careful what we say as those formerly-flying monkeys have hearing like bats," Crowley said.

"Okay," Dean said. "How are things working out for you?"

"I'm not here to collect yet, don't worry," Crowley said.

Sam stiffened at the mention of the deal Dean had made for him. While it had been better than some things Crowley could have demanded, the fact they were set to support him taking out Abaddon worried him. He knew Crowley wouldn't hesitate to throw the pair of them at her like chew toys if he thought it would serve him in some way.

"Unbunch your underoos, Moose. I said I'm not ready to collect. I just wanted to fill you in on what's been going on. That minx Abaddon is in the air at the moment. No one has seen her for weeks. She's working, though, building up a team to come after me with. I'm doing the same, which is hard since most demons think the fact I let myself be held prisoner by you two dumbasses means I'm not up to task. I've had to fire a few mouthy ones to prove my point, which I'm not complaining about, as holy fire is always beautiful to watch burning."

"So, basically, you've got nothing to tell us that we actually need to know," Sam said.

Crowley leered at him. "I've got one thing, actually, but I don't know if I'll bother now you two are being so unaccommodating."

"You obviously want to tell us, or you wouldn't be here," Dean said. "So get it over with and leave us in peace."

"Fine," Crowley said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "Obviously, you're on the trail of the angel that stuffed Sam down deep like the last lucky dip prize, but I know something that could help your other big problem."

Sam stiffened and reached for Crowley's phone. He pulled it back though, and said, "No touching without invitation. It's rude." He tapped at the screen and held the phone against his chest. "It just so happened that I spotted a different pesky parakeet lately, and I think you might be looking for him, too."

He turned the phone so they could see the screen and Sam sucked in a breath. "No!"

"Yep," Crowley said cheerfully. "I don't know where he is now, but I spotted him in New Orleans a week ago. I understand the little short-arse goes by the name Marv when he's earthen, but you know him as something different."

"Yes," Dean said darkly. "Metatron."

"That's the one," Crowley said, clicking his fingers. "I knew it was something suitably stupid. Mind you, I've yet to meet an angel yet that didn't have a ridiculous name."

"Really, Fergus?" Dean said scathingly. "You think you've got the right to talk about names?"

"At least I'm not named for my grandma," he replied, his eyes hard.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut across him. "Stick with what matters. Metatron is back on Earth?"

"Duh." Crowley rolled his eyes. "Didn't I just show you as much?"

"You saw him and didn't think maybe you should do something about it? You're the King of Hell. Surely you're strong enough to take him out."

"I am king, and obviously I'm strong enough to take him out, but why would I bother? Maybe it's slipped your mind, boys, but I'm a demon. The angels can flap around looking for him if they like, but I'm not bothered about him. He's no threat to me and mine, so I live and let live."

"He cast the angels out. He stole Castiel's grace!" Sam snapped.

"Which obviously affected me. No, wait, it didn't because I am king and angels are pissants. He's your problem, not mine. I just figured you'd like the heads up. Call it me doing you a solid."

"Thanks so much," Dean said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," Crowley said cheerfully. "Now, I think that's me for now. I'll be in touch if anything changes on the Abaddon score. Make sure you do the same."

Dean scowled at him, but Sam nodded. "We will on the proviso that you tell us if you see Metatron again."

"Will do." He drained the last of Sam's coffee and disappeared.

Dean looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed, but the only one paying them any attention was the angel across the room who was scowling. Dean raised his coffee cup to the angel in a toast and the angel turned away.

"What do you think?" Sam asked.

"I think our plates just took an extra heaping of crap," Dean said. "Metatron wasn't an immediate problem while he was flapping around upstairs, but now he's back… who knows what the little shit is capable of doing next?"

"You think he can do worse than he already has?" Sam asked.

"Put it this way, I don't want to find out."

So… Metatron is back in the mix, Gadreel has a vessel and Bartholomew is a prime dick. Talk about angel issues…

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx