Title: Armageddon

Rating: T

Warnings: Major spoilers for "Utopia", "The Sound of Drums" and "Last of the Time Lords"; violence; mild language; allusions to rape (but I promise nothing explicit or graphic)

A/N: And voila! More quick(er) updates from me! I'm actually proud of myself. I've been gone for a week during which I wrote nothing at all on this and didn't even think about writing this chapter until I got back. I wrote this chapter in a day. A day, guys. That feels pretty awesome to me, even if the update did take a week. Still, on schedule and everything so I'm happy. And I hope y'all are happy too!

Thanks, as always, for the reviews and welcome to the new followers! And of course, thanks to everyone who favorited this as well. I hope you all enjoy this and I would really appreciate any comments and thoughts you have!

Now, onwards to the chapter!

Armageddon:

Part III: The Year of Hell

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jake was still lying on the makeshift bed where they'd left him before the video conference when John went to check on him. He'd finally fallen into a deep sleep about an hour before the conference started and no one wanted to wake him, deciding to let him get some rest for once and explain things to him later.

Now, Jake had somehow managed to curl his six foot plus frame into an awkward ball of limbs, with his head press harshly against his hands and his face screwed up in pain. For a moment, John wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or if Jake was hurting physically somehow, but he didn't seem to be injured.

"Jake," he knelt beside the man and shook his shoulder, "Jake, wake up. Jake!" He started to shake him harder and Jake's head lolled around uselessly, his rigid body going slack.

"Jake!" John used both hands to jostle the sleeping man then, frantically trying to wake him. If he hadn't seen the rising and falling of his chest, John might've assumed that Jake was dead.

"Something wrong?" Sherlock appeared behind him suddenly and John nearly jumped, spinning around to face the taller man.

"Jake isn't waking up," John said, eyes wide as he turned his attention back to his friend.

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise before stepping closer and squinting down at the sleeping man. John continued viciously shaking him, starting to worry he was going to pull a muscle if Jake didn't stir soon.

He let go of Jake's shoulder and turned his head toward his, pulling one eyelid open to peer into Jake's dark eyes. His pupil didn't react to the dim light in the room and he turned to Sherlock.

"Have you got a torch?"

Sherlock blinked and quickly offered the small light to John. John muttered his thanks and tried very hard not to think about the look of fascination on Sherlock's face. He wondered for a moment if Sherlock ever worried about anything or if he was really as cold and machine like as he seemed to be.

Shining the light in Jake's eye, he waved it back and forth several times and Jake's pupil still didn't react.

"Damn," John dropped the light and checked for a pulse. He could feel the blood rushing too fast through Jake's veins.

"Get Tosh," John said, without looking back at Sherlock, "Tell her to bring the medical supplies; something's wrong with Jake."

In spite of the growing panic, John sounded calm. It was almost easy to step into this role: the doctor, the caregiver. The lifesaver, hopefully.

He watched Jake's breathing and could feel it wafting out of his slightly parted lips. It was rough and shallow, sounding unnatural and dangerous. John's mind flitted through any possible number of things that could be wrong – and all the impossible things as well, hoping very much that this wasn't something to do with whatever was going on with Jake.

After a moment, he realized that Sherlock hadn't moved from behind him.

"Sherlock! I need Tosh, now!"

"Tosh isn't going to be able to help," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "You're the trained medical profession, after all, and you certainly seem out of your depth. It's obviously something to do with Jake's nightmares and this mysterious yellow-eyed figure of his. Normal medical science will undoubtedly prove futile."

John scowled. "That doesn't mean we don't try!" he snapped, turning to glare at Sherlock. He jumped to his feet, "I'll get Tosh. Will you at least have the decency to watch Jake while I'm gone?"

Sherlock merely raised a brow, confusion clear on his face. It was like he had no idea that he was being completely heartless. John almost felt like apologizing, but he didn't have time to sit around and explain emotions to a robot; Jake's health was a far more pressing matter.

Almost as soon as he stepped forward, Jake let out a loud, choked gasp and John turned just in time to see him jolt upwards. His chest was heaving and there was a sheen of sweat covering his face, but he was alive and aside from a terrifyingly wild look in his eyes, he seemed mostly normal.

"Jake! Oh thank god! Are you alright?"

Jake shook his head, tremors shooting through his hands. He was silent for a moment, just watching his hands tremble like he'd been shocked.

John knelt back down in front of him, cautiously putting a hand on his shoulder, "Jake?" he asked gently, "Jake what happened?"

Swallowing, Jake met John's eyes and finally spoke.

"He's got plans for us," he whispered, his voice rough, like he'd been screaming. "Big plans. B-but only one of us can survive. He needs a champion. He said – he said…" he trailed off and John's brows knitted together.

"He said what? Who said what? What was he talking about? Jake are you with me?"

Jake looked away from John's eyes, back down at his hands, "He said we'd have to fight to the death. He said it would be soon."

"Who? Who's got to fight to the death? Who said it? Jake? Jake?! Jake?!"

Jake didn't answer, or even make any indication that he'd heard John's questions at all. He took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes tightly and clenched his still trembling hands into fists, shaking his head over and over again desperately.

John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes wide and horrified, and for once he thought Sherlock had a mildly appropriate reaction with his eyes popped open in surprise and utter confusion written all over his face.

That did nothing at all to assuage John's fear.

~/.\~

"I see it!" Grace was the first to spot the old church as they approached it from the lonely country road. The mid-afternoon sun was like a spotlight, shining down on the rickety looking building. Its light reflected off of the airships that were still sitting there in the dirt, collecting dust and taking up space.

"They definitely made it back," Morgan said, staring at the ship.

"But it's quiet," Garth said, frowning as they approached the church. He put one hand on the metal of one of the ships and stared ahead. "They're gone."

"Think something happened to 'em?" Sam asked quietly. They'd all come to a stop a few feet from the door, none of them sure if they really wanted to go inside and see if their friends and allies were in bloody piles.

"If it was the Master he'd have taken the ships back, right?" Lisbon asked, glancing around the small group. They nodded, not saying anything and Lisbon squinted at the church, thinking about Jane and the fact that she had left him in there. Her gut twisted as her mind was again assaulted with images of him dead or bleeding.

"Toclafane still coulda found them," Dean pointed out. He was scowling at the church, trying to muster up the courage to go inside himself. He wasn't a coward, but damn it, hadn't he seen enough death? Hadn't he already lost enough? What did these people do to deserve this anyway?

"No cars," Sam pointed out, "Maybe they took off."

"Maybe…" Morgan agreed.

Dean bit his lip hard, "Only one way to find out," he said. He stepped forward and then made himself keep going. He only hesitated a second at the door, thinking hopefully of the fact that there was no smell of rotting flesh and blood inside. He'd walked up upon enough scenes of carnage to know that smell.

He could feel the others behind him as he shoved the door open and stepped inside, stopping short as he stared around the place.

"It's empty!" Garth was the first to speak, walking past Dean and going further into the room. The boards creaked loudly under his steps.

It was empty. Their guns, their bags of supplies, their computer. It was all gone, cleared away with barely a trace that anything had been there except impressions in the dust – impressions that were already starting to collect dust themselves.

"This wasn't Toclafane," Lisbon said, "No way."

"And the Master would've definitely taken the ships," Grace agreed.

"Probably set up a trap, too…" Morgan added.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing out the window suspiciously, "Unless leaving the ships here was part of the plan…"

They were quiet for a long moment, listening for the sounds of running feet or the buzzing of the Toclafane. Nothing except their own breathing reached their ears. Sam broke the silence.

"If this was a trap, we'd already be surrounded," he said, sounding only half-convinced. "I think we're safe for now."

"Well, something made them up and leave," Garth said, "It's probably a bad idea to stick around here too long."

Lisbon nodded, "Probably."

"It's getting late, though," Morgan pointed out, "Maybe we should crash here for the night. We can move out early in the morning, try and figure out what happened and why everyone left."

"We're gonna need a computer," Sam said, "That's not going to be easy to come by."

"We'll manage," Lisbon said. "Morgan's right; it's late and we're tired. We can sleep here and head out at daylight. Our first priority will be finding a computer. Let's just get some rest for now."

~/.\~

Screams echoed off the metal walls on the Valiant and the Master stepped back, a wide grin on his face as he stared at his captives. Lassiter and Rossi had drawn the short stick for the day and both were chained to their seats, breathing heavily. Blood ran from Lassiter's nose and dripped from his chin, but he stared up at the Master defiantly. Rossi's breathing was ragged and there was a small knife sticking out of his thigh where the Master had shoved it in, but he was remarkably calm for a man being tortured.

The Doctor was watching the entire thing, biting down on his lips to keep himself from telling the Master to stop; he'd learned long ago that that only resulted in more brutal torture and so he kept quiet.

"I'm almost impressed," the Master said, shaking his head and readjusting his sleeves. He was wearing the stark, clean-cut suit he always wore, minus the jacket, and had his sleeves rolled up carefully. There were spots of blood dotting the white fabric, but he appeared otherwise normal. His dark shoes shone brightly and his trousers were clear of stains or tears.

"You are holding up so well," he continued, "but you will break. You'll break and you'll tell me everything I want to know and you'll beg me to kill you before this is over."

Lassiter's laugh was more a puff of shaky air than anything, but his lips twisted into a sneer and he met the Master's eyes.

"You keep going on about us like we're just animals to you," he said tiredly, "and maybe we don't have your magic mind powers or your fancy technology, but we're a hell of a lot more resilient than you think." His eyes flickered toward the Doctor for just a second before going back to the Master.

"And no matter what other faults we might have, we're loyal. We don't betray the people we care about."

The Master's smile softened and he shook his head, "Oh, sweet. I love it when you talk about your cute little emotions. It's adorable that you think you can outlast me, you know. I will win."

"Famous last words," Rossi said, lifting his chin with some effort to stare at the Master. His hair was plastered down flat to his head with sweat and what was very likely blood. "I've known a lot of bad guys who say the same things you just did and the one thing they all have in common is that they die. Read a history book and you can find dozens of examples." His breath wheezed and he smiled, revealing teeth stained with blood. The Doctor winced from his corner, but couldn't help but smile at their bravery.

"Sooner or later, tyrants always fall. People get tired of being treated like cattle, they arm themselves, they rebel and they win. You're no better than any of those other soulless dictators."

The Master cocked a brow, picking up his screwdriver and toying with it lovingly.

"Aren't I?" he asked softly, a smirk playing on his lips. "There's one very big difference between me and all of those little tyrants you're talking about, Agent. All of those men were human. I am not."

"Doesn't make you better," Lassiter said.

The Master smiled and aimed the screwdriver at him, the red beam hitting him square in the chest. The bloodcurdling scream was enough to make the Doctor want to tell the Master to stop, to want to beg him to end their torture, but he didn't. That would not end well for anyone involved.

Grinning, the Master's eyes were glowing with the red light from his weapon and he looked so gleeful that it turned the Doctor's stomach. After nearly a full minute, Lassiter wasn't even screaming anymore, he was making horrible choking sounds and his fingernails were bloody from digging into his palms too hard. And then finally, mercifully, the doors to the conference room opened and the Master lowered the screwdriver, turning to face the intruder with a vicious scowl.

Lucy Saxon stood timidly in the doorway, her eyes as vacant as ever and she barely even flinched when the Master snapped at her, "What now!?"

"One of the search parties reported in," she said, her airy voice carrying oddly in the room. "They believe they may have found one of the assassins' hideouts."

~/.\~

Gibbs was just standing up to take Ducky and go check in on Tobias and see how his head injury was coming along when the faintest sound met his ears – like softly fluttering wings. He dismissed it at first because it was so quiet it was barely audible at all, but when he turned to find Ducky he was met with three men standing in front of him – one he recognized quickly as the so-called god, Loki.

Immediately, his hand went for his gun and judging from the sounds of clicking safeties and cocking weapons, he wasn't the only one. Immediately, Loki held his hands up, gold eyes wide as he took a step back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, fellas, come on," he smiled a crooked smile and raised a brow. "Why so hostile all of a sudden? It's not like those weapons'll hurt me?" He snapped his fingers and suddenly Gibbs' gun was gone and in his hand was a water pistol. Scowling, he tossed it to the ground. From the corner of his eye he saw Rufus do the same with what appeared to be a rubber snake.

"There," Loki nodded, "Now we can have a calm, civilized conversation,"

"Civilized?" Rufus snorted. "There's nothing civilized about a Trickster god who gets his rocks off killin' folks just because he's bored."

"Hey," Loki frowned, "I'm doling out justice. And they don't all end up dead. Some of them just need a lesson in humility."

Rufus snorted, "That's rich,"

Loki frowned, "And aside from that, I may have misled you all about who I am."

"Who you are?" Jane's voice was somewhere directly behind Gibbs, but he didn't turn around to see. He was weaponless and not about to trust this gun and his new friends, especially not when the apparent experts didn't.

Loki took a breath and glanced to the two newcomers, giving Gibbs a chance to really study them as well. The one on his right was a white man, his hair messy and dark. He was wearing a suit and tie and tan overcoat. The tie was crooked. He was staring at the room with unblinking blue eyes. The man on Loki's left was African American, slightly taller than Loki himself and wearing a dark blue suit. He was bald and the oldest of the trio, slightly overweight with tired, dark eyes and a scowl that seemed permanently sketched on his face. None of them had any visible weapons and none of them appeared anywhere near physically threatening.

"I'm not Loki," Loki said. "I'm not even a Trickster and pretty far from a god too, if you get right down to it."

"Not a god?" Jack spoke then, his voice incredulous. "If you're not a god, what the hell are you?"

"And why'd you lie about it?" Hotchner demanded. He sounded closer than Jane had, somewhere off to Gibbs' left. He turned his head slightly, enough to see him standing beside Tony and Prentiss.

"That is a very long and potentially boring story," Not-Loki said, "and we don't have time for that. I'm here with the same offer I had last time, only better. I want to help and these are my brothers," he waved his hand to the two men with him, "They're here to help too."

"Why do you want to help then?" Tony asked, "If you're not Loki, what is your real reason?"

"Real reason?" Not-Loki smirked a little and shook his head, "Because I want to help. I'm on your side here, alright? That's what's important, isn't it? We can help you with the Toclafane."

"What are you?" Shawn spoke up and Gibbs could hear his feet shuffling forward. He remembered how the kid had been pretty eager to trust the guy before and wanted to spin around and tell him to stay put; getting to close could be dangerous.

Not-Loki seemed to consider that, looking extremely reluctant to answer, which is when the blue eyed guy in the tan coat spoke up for him, his voice gruff and monotone.

"We are angels," he said.

Rufus snorted in the background and Gibbs was pretty sure he was fighting back laughter.

"Angels?" he said, "How stupid do you think we are?! Angels aren't real. They're myths."

"Angels," the scowling man snapped, "are very real. And you would be wise to show some respect." His dark eyes blazed fiercely and Gibbs felt a wave of nausea wash over him, like fear searing through his veins.

"Uriel," Not-Loki frowned and shook his head admonishingly before turning back to face the room. "Angels are real. Haven't you ever heard the expression 'believing is seeing'?"

Rufus snorted again, "Boy, I've been doing this for a long time. I've seen gods and werewolves and skinwalkers and vampires. I've seen vengeful spirits and demons and monsters that would haunt the devil's worst nightmares. In all that time do you know what I've never seen? Never even heard a whisper of? Angels. Because angels ain't real."

Not-Loki's lips twisted into a smile, "Boy? I'm older than this planet," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm older than humanity and old than the Doctor, too."

"Older than the planet?" Dr. Reid sounded interested then, his voice eager. "But that's –"

"Millennia?" Not-Loki cut him off, nodding. "Yes. I was there when the dinosaurs died, I was there when evolutions began, when the first spark of humanity began to develop. I was there when the waters receded and the land immerged. My father did all of that."

"Wait," Abby jumped in then and Gibbs recognized the excited, fascinated tone in her voice as well. "You're telling us that there's a God – like with Heaven and Hell and all of that – and that evolution is real? What about the whole seven days of creation thing? Adam and Eve?"

Uriel was still frowning as he addressed them, "Your Bible isn't entirely accurate. It says seven days, but days to God aren't the twenty-four hours that it takes this rock to spin around itself. A day to God is thousands – millions even – of years. It's immeasurable by your standards."

"He's right," Not-Loki said, "There's a lot humans don't understand and haven't figured out about angels and God and creation…"

"Not that the Bible Study isn't fascinating," Prentiss said, "but this isn't exactly answering our questions."

"Like who are you?" Juliet jumped in.

"Bigger question: why haven't you offered to help before?" Gus demanded.

"And if God wants to help us fix this, why did he let the Master take over in the first place, anyway?" McGee asked.

Not-Loki opened his mouth to answer, but Blue Eyes answered before he could.

"Heaven is preparing for something much bigger than this event. The garrisons have been ordered not to interfere. We haven't offered to help because we are not supposed to be helping at all. We come here at great risk to ourselves.

"To answer your other question, I am Castiel, this is my brother Uriel. And he," he nodded slightly toward Not-Loki without taking his unblinking eyes off of everyone else, "is the archangel Gabriel."

There was a lull in the conversation before Garcia sudden spoke, "Gabriel…" she said reverently, "The Gabriel? Herald of God? The angel who told the shepherds about Jesus? That Gabriel?"

Not-Loki – or, apparently Gabriel – nodded, an odd look on his face, like the fact that he was an archangel was something he should be ashamed of or embarrassed about.

"Don't get too excited," he said, "I'm not as special as you think."

Uriel made a sound in agreement, "Cowards and runaways are typically frowned upon in Heaven."

"Runaways?" Dr. Holloway sounded curious. "You ran away?"

Gabriel's lips pressed together, "War does awful things to families," he said somberly. "And that's not what we're here to talk about. So, do you want to talk about the Toclafane and how we want to help, or are you still gung-ho with the whole 'Kill the Master' plan?"

There was a beat of silence and then Gibbs, seeing no one else was going to speak up, answered.

"Let's hear it then," he said, "What's your angle?"

~/.\~

Azazel was studying the Colt, turning it over in his hands with a curious expression in his yellow eyes. He ran a finger over the Pentagram that was carved into the butt of the weapon, smiling faintly. His eyes darted up to the demons in front of him and his smile vanished, expression turning serious.

"You recognize this gun, right? Heard whispers about it? Samuel Colt's gun – the one weapon a human ever made that can kill a demon…"

Calmly, he aimed the barrel at the crossroads demon in front of him. Crowley was relatively small fish compared to the two demons on either side of him, but he was good at what he did and he kept his head down when he needed to. He didn't flinch from the gun.

"That was quick thinking," he said, "With the Winchester boy. Bringing little Sammy back to us and getting us Dean Winchester in the process. You should get a gold star, Crowley. We can put in a good word for you when the boss returns."

Crowley's eye twitched a bit, but he smiled and nodded, "Marvelous," he said, "I'd be so honored."

Azazel smiled and nodded in dismissal. In the blink of an eye, Crowley was gone, probably thankful the be free of him. Talented he may be, but Crowley was just a salesman. Nothing special and rarely worth the time of the company heads.

Smiling again, he turned the gun toward Meg, his daughter. His second in command. One of his favorites. She flinched, but was quick to school her expression again. Her new vessel was blond – like the one the Winchesters had smoked her out of the year before – and tall.

He touched her jaw with the gun and slid it down her neck, pressing the barrel harshly into her skin and grinning wider when she fought back a whimper.

"I like the new vessel," he said, "Older than the last one, but still pretty…"

Meg said nothing and just waited.

"I've heard some interesting stories," he said, "About you trying to kill the Winchesters." His voice suddenly raised several octaves and Meg closed her eyes, her lips trembling faintly. "Now why would you do that? You know we need them. You know how important they are."

Biting her lip, Meg opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I was angry; I acted… irrationally. They sent me back to Hell. I – I lost sight of the plan. It won't happen again."

Azazel pulled the hammer back on the Colt and she flinched, eyes shutting again. Slowly, he lowered the weapon and nodded.

"It had better not," he said, "Because if it does death will not be what you've got to worry about." His yellow eyes flashed, "You'll have to worry about the fact that I wouldn't let you die even if you begged."

She nodded quickly and then was gone, leaving him alone with the third and final demon in the room. His vessel was a retired high school Trigonometry teacher with long limbs, greying hair and bespectacled eyes. As Azazel turned to face him, slipping the Colt into his jacket, the demon's eyes flashed from the host's natural green to pitch black and he nodded genially.

Azazel was no fool, of course. Alistair didn't want to be here – he wanted to be at his post, in Hell. He hated earth, he hated interacting with humans and he despised being asked to leave for any reason. It was difficult enough just having to claw his way topside, even worse having to spend extended periods of time there when there were souls to be tortured.

"Alistair," Azazel smiled at him, "It's so good to see you. I know how you hate it here. If all goes well this will only last a few months, and what I want you to do is important. Now… How familiar are you with Sam Winchester?"

~/.\~

Gabriel was a bit more optimistic about meeting with the Torchwood Three members and their guests than he had been meeting the Americans and particularly the hunters. They had already met Castiel and already believed his story, not to mention that they were certainly more receptive of helpful offers than the others were and had been. This talk should be relatively easy. Of course, he was saving the Winchesters for last; that should be fun.

The space where Toshiko, Ianto, Sherlock, John and Jake were staying was even smaller than the self-made bomb shelter that the Americans had hid themselves away in. The dining area appeared to serve as their communications and common area as well and the sleeping arrangements were all hidden away in a tiny hole-in-the-wall room with no beds whatsoever.

It was depressing, when Gabriel thought about it, but he was certain his brothers had no idea why these living quarters were so squalid and uncomfortable. They had no need for rest or eating or sleeping and comfort was a concept foreign to them entirely.

Behind him, a female let out a faint squeak and something tumbled to the floor loudly. Toshiko Sato was standing there, wide-eyed, as she stared at them.

"Castiel?" her voice was faint for a moment before she called out, a bit louder, "Ianto! Castiel's here!"

Gabriel watched as her eyes scanned him and Uriel curiously before turning back to Castiel.

Sherlock and John were the first to arrive at Toshiko's call, John with eager, excitement in his eyes and Sherlock with the calculated, cold sort of curiosity that ironically reminded Gabriel of some of his brothers.

Ianto and Jake Talley were right around the corner on their heels, Ianto half-smiling, but with a worried look in his eyes. Jake looked tired and scared and wasn't exactly stable on his feet. Gabriel could smell the demon blood in him and he saw Uriel curl his nose – the sneer on his face making his opinion clearly known. Jake was an abomination as far as Uriel was concerned.

Abomination seemed harsh, though. Freak, sure. Gabriel could get behind that word; he'd met a lot of freaks and most were harmless – Jake was one of them, no doubt. Abomination was a cruel word for it.

"This is Castiel?" Sherlock questioned, raising a brow. "The one who claims to be an angel?"

Toshiko frowned at him, "He is an angel, Sherlock," she corrected, "You might not believe it, but he's proven it."

"He's proven that he isn't human, I'll grant you that," Sherlock said, "but as I told you before, that doesn't necessarily mean that he's an angel."

Uriel snorted loudly and Gabriel could sense another one of his annoyances flaring up so he quickly jumped in.

"We're Castiel's brothers," he said, "This is Uriel and I'm Gabriel. You can believe we're angels if you want, or you can believe we're some form of highly evolved aliens. Either way, we're still here to help you."

Jake was staring at them with wide eyes, focusing on Gabriel specifically. "The archangel?" he asked, his voice shaking.

Gabriel was starting to hate that reaction. He tells people he's Gabriel and they act like it's some sort of beautiful, amazing thing. They had no idea what it was like to be the archangel Gabriel; no clue what it felt like to be the youngest archangel, to watch your older brothers rip each other apart and then watch your Father leave in disgust at the end of it all. Being Gabriel was no wonderful, blessed thing. That was why he chose to be Loki.

"Yes," he sighed, "The archangel. Look, can we skip the formalities here? You two know Castiel and we're his brothers. We're here to help you. We've already talk to your other rebellious friends and Martha Jones. Now we're here to talk to you. We want to help you fight the Toclafane…"

~/.\~

Dean was just starting to doze off in the cold church. They were all lying on the pews – the hard, uncomfortable and rotting pews. Garth and Lisbon were on guard duty at the moment and Dean was hoping that he might actually manage to sleep without nightmares for once. Ever since he'd made the deal with Crowley his mind seemed intent on playing up his fears and worries. Images of Hell and monsters and all the demons he'd fought – images of his dad, blood and broken and chained up in a rank little cell. And the worst of it all: images of Sam, dead as dead could get, just staring up at him with accusing eyes, his zombiefied mouth telling him that he'd wasted his soul, that he was supposed to die and he was still going to die.

If the nightmares had just been about him, Dean might've been able to handle it, but seeing Sam and his dad, tortured and bloody and dead… it was too much. He put on the brave face and acted like he was fine, but Sam saw through him anyway. Any day now Dean expected Sam to pull him aside and have A Talk, capital letters and all. He was not looking forward to that.

It was a new, but somewhat familiar voice that jolted him entirely from his half-sleep.

"Well, don't you look cozy?"

Six guns were suddenly aimed at the three intruders and Dean heard Loki sigh loudly.

"Oh, come on. Not this again."

He snapped his fingers and Dean's gun was a rubber duck. In the darkness he couldn't tell what everyone else's weapons had been turned into, but he would be they were equally ridiculous and annoying things. He threw the duck down and stood from where he was laying.

"Look, douche bag, we already said we didn't want your help. What part of no don't you understand?"

Loki snapped his fingers again and the church was filled with flickering candles, light reflecting off of some of the bits of glass that still clung to their shattered frames.

"The 'no' part is what's confusing," Loki said, sitting down at the altar, his two companions remaining standing. Dean studied the newcomers with a frown.

"What, did you decide to pick up a tax accountant and his grumpy boss on the way over?"

Loki raised a brow, "These guys?" he asked, glancing at them. "Oh, no, they're my brothers. They're helping me help you."

"So you're still on that helping us fight the Master deal?"

Loki smiled, "I never stopped wanting to help," he said. "I figured I'd let you guys fail at it your way, and then maybe you'd listen to me."

"What makes you think we'd listen to some Trickster god and his brothers?" Garth asked.

Loki dropped his head a bit and frowned, "Let me level with you boys for a second, alright? I'm not really a Trickster. I'm not a god at all."

Grace frowned, "Why would you lie about that then?"

Loki's lips twitched, "Because I'm something that these hunters here don't believe in," he said. "I'm an angel."

Lisbon's hand went to a gold cross that dangled around her throat and Grace's eyes were round and wide. Morgan scoffed – Dean thought it sounded oddly bitter, especially coming from a man who had practically zero experience with the supernatural. Sam made a noise that was half-way between a gasp and a choke and for a second Dean wanted to laugh, but everyone else seemed so serious.

"An angel?" Grace asked, her voice quiet. "Like the angel Tosh and Ianto said saved them after the Decimation?"

"Castiel?" the apparent angel asked, smiling. "I'm a little above his pay grade, actually. But he's right here…" he nodded toward the tax accountant – or rather, Dean corrected himself, the holy tax accountant.

"You're Castiel?" Lisbon asked.

"I am," Castiel nodded. Dean wanted to shoot him on principal, but he didn't have a gun so he settled for finally letting out that laugh he'd held back.

Dean could just see Morgan narrowing his eyes from his periphrial, "Angels?" His throat moved oddly, like something was stuck in it. "From the Bible? With God and Jesus and Noah's Ark? Angels?" He still sounded incredibly bitter and the way he said 'God' reminded Dean of the way he had said the name when he and Sam were dealing with Roy, the blind 'faith healer' and his insane wife.

Loki didn't seem bothered by Morgan's bitterness; he nodded slowly, staring the agent in the eye. "The very same," he said.

Dean's lip curled into a sneer, "Angels aren't real, morons."

Holy Tax Accountant's boss frowned at him. Well, frowned deeper. He apparently didn't know what a smile was.

"You're talking to three angels right now. Three angels offering to help you, Boy. Maybe it's time to consider that you were wrong." There was a distinctly angry, hate-filled vibe rolling off of that one.

Dean snorted, "What crawled up your ass and died?"

For a second, the church shook and the so-called angel's eyes glowed brilliantly; Dean swallowed hard, but held his ground.

"Dean," Sam turned toward him, his eyes too wide and shining with that same naïve hope Dean recognized too well. "Maybe they're telling the truth. I mean, just because we've never met any angels doesn't mean they're not real."

"Yeah, Sam, it does," he said, "We've fought freakin' demons and hellhounds and weird curses and all kinds of messed up crap. We've talked to a lot of hunters out there. Hell, we've went up against things that said they were angels before, remember? And let's not forget that faith healer whose wife was using some serious dark magic to make him a man of God. Angels don't exist. No one's ever seen one. Ever. Period."

"Well don't you have everything all figured out, Dean Winchester," the angry one said. "You think you know everything and anything that doesn't fit into that nice, comfortable little bubble of what you know can't possibly be real." He laughed and Dean got chills. "If you only knew how big the big picture really is…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped.

"Nothing you need to worry about right now," Loki hurried cut in. "What you need to worry about now is the fact that we want to help you."

"What angels are you?" Grace asked, "I mean, there are a lot of angels out there…"

"You know Castiel," he nodded toward the Holy Tax Accountant again, "This is Uriel," he nodded at Grumpy and then motioned to himself, "I'm Gabriel."

Sam laughed, "The Gabriel?" he asked, "The archangel?"

"Yes," Gabriel sighed heavily, "I've done this too many times today, people. Let's skip that part and get right on to the part where you might want to trust me if you're going to die in about an hour."

"We're what?" Lisbon demanded, "What do you mean we're going to die?"

"The Master has found the ships your friends so kindly left parked outside," Gabriel explained. "He'll be sending men here any moment to raid the place. If you're still here when he does, you're going to die."

"And you can help us?" Sam asked.

"Sam, come on!" Dean stared at his brother, "You can't seriously trust them?"

"Of course we can help," Castiel said, "We can transport you to your friends. They are hiding in Rufus Turner's safe house in South Dakota at the moment. Your brother is there."

"What about…" Grace stopped herself and then started again, "What about the others? Wayne and – and Jane?"

"They're all there," Gabriel said. "And you can talk to them about the plan they're making to stop the Toclafane when you get there."

He looked around at them, "So, do you trust us enough to let us take you to them? Or are you going to wait for the Master's men to kill you?"

Sam, Grace and Lisbon seemed ready enough to believe them. Dean's gust twisted at the thought of doing anything these guys wanted to do, but Garth seemed lenient enough to listen to what they were saying. Even Morgan, who had that odd look of bitterness and anger, seemed to believe them, even though he didn't like it.

They were all staring at him, waiting for his answer. He knew Sam was going no matter what and where Sam went, he went.

"Fine," he said, "But you zap me somewhere I don't wanna be and I'll make you wish you were dead."

~/.\~

The Master was gone for barely half an hour. The Doctor talked to them while he was gone, but they said little in return, both exhausted and tired. He told them that he was going to stop the Master; he told them that he was going to do everything he could to save them and that they just had to keep fighting him.

Lassiter finally spoke, "Don't worry, Doctor," he said. "None of us are planning to bow down to him any time soon. We're going to fight him every step of the way."

Rossi nodded, "I'm too old and I've come too far to surrender to a man like the Master," he said calmly. "You do what you've got to do, Doctor. We'll do what we've got to."

The doors suddenly burst open, slamming loudly as the Master returned. He was scowling as he stalked into the room and threw his jacket off, glaring at Lassiter and Rossi as if they had somehow personally caused the problem he was having.

"I was having such a good day," he mused, pulling out his screwdriver and turning it over thoughtfully in his hands. "I just got a call from my foot soldiers in the United States… They found an old church in Oklahoma with some of the missing airships your friends stole in their escape…"

Rossi and Lassiter fought not to react, but their sharp gasps gave them away anyway. The Master's scowl deepened.

"So I do what any sensible leader would do: I sent my men to search the premises and find anyone they could. What do they tell me? Apparently your friends cleared out a long time ago, leaving behind an empty church and no clues as to where they're going…

"I just don't understand it," he flicked something on the screwdriver, squinting at it like a child might look at a shiny new toy. "Why must you people make things so difficult? If you'd all just fall in line, I wouldn't have to resort to things like this…"

He aimed the screwdriver at Rossi, his eyes dark and furious. One small flick of his thumb and a laser shot out, buzzing loudly in the suddenly silent room. Rossi didn't even scream when the light hit him, he merely slump over, still as a stone.

Lips tightening, the Master put the screwdriver in his pocket, slipped his coat back on and turned to the guards.

"Take this one back to the cells," he motioned to the stricken-silent Lassiter, "and throw the body over the edge. Then summon my darling wife. It's been too long since I've spent quality time with her."

With that, he strode stiffly out of the room, the doors once more slamming loudly behind him.

~/.\~

A/N: Funny, the first chapter I write with my self-imposed schedule and it's over 6000 words. Which I think is pretty good, especially given how I've been writing lately.

So, I hope you all enjoyed. I'm starting to get caught up in everything now that I'm back home and feeling better so that's a good thing.

Please don't forget to review! I'd love to hear your thoughts! More fun next chapter! Or, well, not really "fun", but still.

Small warning: next chapter is possibly/probably going to be a bit triggering for some people and maybe a bit more graphic than usual – so if miscarriages, suicidal ideation, talk of rape and/or sexual assault or torture are uncomfortable, consider yourself warned. It's not going to be terribly graphic or descriptive, but it's still a more touchy subject and so I felt like you should all be warned.

But anyway, again, hope you enjoyed! Please review!