Previously: Dean and Castiel trap and interrogate Raphael, who tells them that God is dead, or at least that He left without instructions. Castiel fights Anpiel who went through rehabilitation and, had Dean not stopped him, would have killed her. Castiel lost all hope of finding God, but he lets Dean believe he's still searching for Him.

oOo

In nomine dei

I don't know what drew me back here of all places.

Over the last decades, human activity has dimmed the starlight that Neanderthals once so beautifully praised in their poetry. Nowadays, there are only a few pale glimmers of light in the vast, dark night over South Dakota.

Stacked old car wrecks obstruct the skyline. The silence is all the more daunting after the last few days and nights spent at Dean's side. Only now that I can no longer hear them do I realize how soothing the sound of his voice, the thudding of his heart, the blood rushing through his veins and the rhythm of his breathing were to me.

Head tilted back, I inhale deeply. It smells of gasoline and charred tires. When I close my eyes, I feel more vividly the planet's massive rotation, the dizzying speed at which we are all hurled into the void, endlessly falling to the sun. So insignificant on the universe's scale, hanging in a delicate, miraculous balance that enables life and conscience. Truly the Creation's gem.

I have nowhere to go. No mission left to fulfill. I have nothing left to long or hope for, except for this world to end along with my failures, my regrets and my existence.

"Hey, you there! Where d'you think you are? This is a private property!"

I open my eyes at Bobby Singer's familiar grumbling voice. I was so caught up in the universe's cold infinity that I didn't even hear his wheelchair approaching.

I hear a metallic clink followed by a clicking tongue behind me as I shake myself out of my night sky contemplation.

"No sudden move. Turn around slowly, with your hands where I can see them, or I'll stuff you from head to toe with lead."

While the threat of a human-designed weapon is laughable, I obey, holding up my hands and turning on my heels to face him. The shotgun barrel aimed at me catches a moonlight sheen when Bobby recognizes me and lowers it, scowling in his cap's shadow.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I lower my hands too, letting my arms fall to my sides.

"Hello, Bobby."

I step out of the wreckage's shadow as he stares at me warily, placing his weapon back across his knees.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he grumbles, narrowing his eyes. "No news from either of you since this afternoon, and I find you idling around in my front yard? Where's Dean, by the way?"

"I left him in Maine," I say, stopping right in front of him. "Don't worry, he's unharmed."

Bobby mumbles something in his beard and vigorously turns his wheelchair jerkily, almost rolling over my foot in the process.

"So I reckon Raphael never showed up."

And now he's rolling away, pushing his wheels with a gravel crunching sound as he heads for his house without a backward glance, giving me no choice but to follow him.

"He came. We trapped him and interrogated him."

Bobby gives me a sidelong glance as he reaches up to open the door and painfully hauls himself inside using the ramp he obviously built since last time.

"And? Spill it, what he said?"

I close the door behind me, joining him in the living room's warm half-light. The dusty lampshade casts a dim glow over the desk cluttered with parchments and a pile of books, on top of which lies a laptop.

"Nothing useful," I shrug off the question, examining the room like I'm visiting it for the first time.

The wallpaper is covered with pinned pages and photos. On a piece of the wall behind the desk, there are about fifteen phones, each bearing a distinctive sign. A layer of dust dulls the carpet colors on the floor and coats the shelves packed with antique-bound books.

When my gaze inevitably falls back on Bobby, I realize he hasn't taken his eyes off me for a second, eyeing me inquisitively. My elusive answer clearly fails to satisfy him, and he expects me to develop it further.

Alright. He deserves to know, considering that I'd never have managed to track down Raphael's vessel so efficiently without his help.

"According to Raphael, God is dead. Or gone, never to return, which would be the exact same thing."

Saying it out loud and watching the shock in his eyes only makes it all the more real.

"Balls. Talk about a shitty day."

I can only agree with a solemn nod.

"Okay, so what's the plan?" he sighs, resting his rifle against the desk.

The now-familiar tinkle of a bottle against glass and the sound of liquid pouring out tell me that Bobby is getting himself a drink. The patterns on the rug at my feet are quite unusual - looking closely, they reveal a series of protection seals against the Mother of All's creatures, woven into a remarkable but discreet work. The untrained eye wouldn't even notice.

"There is no plan," I finally admit wearily. "We lost. It's over."

"… Say that again?"

Quick wheel squeaks. A hand clutching my trench coat turns me around to meet Bobby's stormy gaze. He frowns, downs his glass in one gulp and snarls:

"Come on. Tell that to my face, like a man."

I'm not a man, I restrain myself from clarifying. There's no point. After all, Humans barely see beyond what the shell I inhabit looks like.

While the power balance between us is similar to a caterpillar attacking a rhinoceros, there's something in Bobby's eyes that stirs shame in me and makes my wings droop in contrition.

"I will no longer be looking for God," I explain as dispassionately as I can. "It's obvious now that He's either dead or doesn't want to be found. And He alone has the power to defeat Michael, Raphael, Lucifer, the Knights of the Apocalypse and Heaven's and Hell's armies."

Bobby narrows his eyes.

"So what? You're giving up that easily? You gonna watch us all burn and do nothing?"

The accusing tone in his voice is offensive. Yes, I failed my mission, but I did my best, I'm the only Angel to have fought to save his species, and lost everything in the process!

"I have no choice!" I say, raising my voice. "My Father abandoned this world! He won't answer my prayers, He doesn't care about us, so there's no hope!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, no one gives a shit about your pathetic existential crisis!" he spits, his face turning red. "Boo-hoo, Daddy doesn't love me, Daddy's gone! You think you're the only one who's got a crappy dad, idjit? Stop whining for a second and get your ass down here before I get a crick in my neck!"

The hand pushing against my stomach wouldn't have moved me an inch under normal circumstances, but this sudden and unexpected outburst of rage directed at me threw me off guard. I stagger and fall into a sitting position on the dusty couch, bringing me down to the same level as the furious hunter.

"And now listen carefully boy," he says, jabbing his finger into my chest. "You and your feathered crew brought this shit on us, and now you're gonna get us out of it. You better pull a goddamn plan out of your ass right now, 'cause you know what? Ain't no way in hell you're giving up on us too! So this lil' depression of yours? You can stick it where the sun never shines, you get that?"

Speechless, I feel myself nodding helplessly while my Grace churns in my veins. I wish I had Bobby's unwavering determination and relentless survival instinct, a trait his species has developed over millions of years of evolution. I would like to believe we can still win, but there is no hope now that my only viable strategy has been ruined by Raphael's revelations.

"I… don't know what to do. Finding God was my only strategy."

My voice sounds like a gravelly whisper. Clasped together on my knees, my hands look more alien than ever with their bones, joints, flesh and skin.

"You talked to Dean about it?"

I look up when I hear his gruff voice and risk a glance at him. He's scowling, but his anger seems somewhat faded. There's a weary look on his face that shows how tired he's been since he lost his mobility.

"No. I let him think I'm still looking for God. Why?"

Grasping the wheels, Bobby moves his chair backwards and then swivels it towards the desk.

"Cause he told me about his plan to kill Lucifer with the Colt when I was in the hospital."

The Colt.

The mythical weapon mentioned many times in Chuck Shurley's writings. The one Dean used to kill Azazel.

Bobby grabs his bottle to refill his glass and shoots me a sharp look from under his cap visor.

"It's a legendary weapon that's supposed to kill anythin'. Dean says we could kill Lucifer if we get our hands on it. Kind of a half-baked, suicidal plan if you ask me, but still better than nothing, I guess. He didn't tell you?"

I silently shake my head, trying to soothe my swirling Grace in my veins.

Did Dean not tell me because I said in the hospital room that attacking Lucifer is impossible? Have I wasted all this time looking for God, blinded by my vanity and arrogance, when the solution was right in front of me, and all I had to do was listen to Dean Winchester and adopt his strategy? Have I failed to read the signs? Was this what my Father intended me to discover for myself?

"Do you think it could work, killing Lucifer with the Colt?"

Bobby's gruff voice draws me out of my troubled thoughts. His fingers are clenched around his glass as he brings it to his lips, tilting it just enough to take a sip.

If the Colt legend turns out to be true, it would be possible to end this Apocalypse by shooting Lucifer. And maybe Michael and Raphael too.

It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating to imagine Heaven freed from the Archangels' and the Council's tyranny. There would be no more executions. No rehabilitations. No more wars. No more lies or despicable machinations from the hierarchy. My brothers and sisters could discover for themselves free will and how beautiful Creation is.

Would such a world be achievable? After millions of years of blind obedience, would we have the freedom God gave to Humans?

It's overwhelming.

"I don't know," I genuinely say. "Maybe."

Balthazar would know. He knows more about Heaven's weapons and secrets than anyone else. But I refuse to ask for his help. There is no reason to believe he wouldn't lie again to set me off on a wild goose chase and ensure the Winchester brothers' demise. I can no longer trust him after his betrayal.

Bobby raises his eyebrows, vaguely gesturing with his hand holding the glass.

"See? You got your new plan. S'not so hard. Now all we have to do is look for the Colt. And while you're here, you can help out with monster and demon hunting. They're popping out all over the states, and we're short of good hunters since the slaughter of the Witnesses."

Bobby Singer may be a weak mortal, but there's something about his inherent authority that relieves me of a burden. It's been so long since any decision was made for me that doesn't conflict with my deepest convictions.

I'm only just beginning to realize how eager I was to follow instructions again without feeling torn by self-doubt and impossible choices. I want to feel useful again. On the right path.

"Tell me what to do."

I didn't even try to conceal the haste in my voice.

oOo

Car doors slamming shut. Boots thudding on the pavement, two sets of eyes darting at me with a hint of wariness.

"That you, Castiel ?"

The two women are dressed in jeans and shirts, carrying man-made firearms slung over their shoulders. Both have blonde hair and similar features that give away their genetic connection, and were it not for their age difference I'd probably have a hard time differentiating them.

The oldest one holds out a hand to me, which I shake after a moment's hesitation. She has a firm grasp and a direct, strong gaze.

"Funny name." She lets go of my hand. "I'm Ellen. And this," she gestures with her thumb at the young woman, who looks like she's barely two decades old, "is Jo, my daughter."

Jo flashes me a brief smile with a nod as she pulls a metal chest from the back of the vehicle and drops it loudly at our feet.

"Thanks for coming to help," Ellen continues, clicking in her gun's charger. "There was no one else around to join us on the raid. I guess Bobby filled you in on what's going on here?"

I nod, looking up at the tall building that partly obstructs the skyline, standing lonely in the middle of the parking lot. The warm August sun shines high in the sky, its rays flooding light through the parked cars. There's a faint stench of sulfur wafting through the air.

"According to Bobby, about a hundred demons have infiltrated the mall to perform human sacrifices and other satanic rites."

An unexpected splash of liquid on my cheek and neck interrupts me. Slowly, I reach up to touch my wet skin and take a look at my fingers. Holy water.

Holding her flask, Jo raises her eyebrows at me while her mother nudges her in the ribs with her elbow.

"Jo!"

"What, mom?" she says defensively as she closes her flask. "Can't be too cautious. Isn't it weird that he has no weapons? And have you ever seen a hunter dressed in a suit and tie?"

Ellen lets out a sigh, squinting before she looks at me.

"Alright, Castiel, I'm gonna be honest with you. Bobby vouched for you and I trust him. But please tell me you have hunting experience. I've never seen you around."

"No, I'm not a hunter." I wipe my face with my trench coat sleeve. "But I can help you."

The two Humans share a dismayed look.

"Great." Jo sighs as she straps her flask to her belt. "Just what we needed, a rookie."

Ellen squats down to draw what seems to be a rifle from the metal chest.

"That's the best we can hope for these days, I guess. Olivia and Jed are dead, along with many others. We've been losing dozens of hunters over the last few months, and demons keep popping up. Not so long ago, it was extremely rare to run into a single demon, and now they're swarming all over the place..."

She stands up, expertly handling the item before shoving it into my arms.

"You'll have to learn on the job, Castiel. Just follow our lead and cover us, okay? I loaded this beauty with salt bullets, one of the demons' weak points with holy water and Latin prayers."

The weapon feels hard and solid in my hands. With my thumb, I trace the two letters carved into the wooden stock. B, and H. Surely, they mean something I can't quite grasp.

This is the first time I get to touch and hold a human firearm, a very recent invention in the species' evolution. I'd previously been impressed by Humans' creativity and engineering in the warfare arts when they invented bows and catapults to hit opponents from afar, but this is a whole new level.

"We're gonna go in through the service door," Ellen says in a low voice, motioning for us to follow her. "We'll have to be quiet. No playing hero, you hear me? There's too many of them, they're too powerful and impossible to kill. Our priority is to rescue the victims and, if we can, grab a few demons to exorcise them."

Together, we silently make our way between rows of parked cars. The two hunters' hands are clenched on their weapons, and they're hunched over, knees bent - only when they gesture frantically at me do I consider mimicking them.

Ellen unlocks the door and pushes it open with her shoulder, swiftly brandishing the barrel of her gun inside before signaling that it's clear. I enter the building after them, instantly engulfed by the stench of sulfur and blood. The electric torches strapped to the two women's weapons slice through the darkness with two light rays, but I don't need them to see in the dark, my Grace enhances my vessel's senses exponentially. I've counted four corpses leaning against the wall between a metal shelf and a pile of empty cardboards even before Jo stifles a muffled curse as she sheds light on their hanging entrails and enucleated eyes.

Finger tense on the trigger, Ellen opens the door just enough to peer through. Then she gestures to us, holding up one finger and pressing it against her lips, then two, before tracing a circle in the air and pointing to the door. I have no idea what this means, but it seems clear to Jo who nods, clenching her jaw resolutely. I stay behind, puzzled and unsure of what I should do with my rifle.

The two women crouch down to slip through the doorway into what seems to be a clothing store, judging by the racks of hangers and the anatomically incorrect plastic mannequins.

There are two demons there - one standing behind the cash register, the other between two rows of coats. Their human features are overlaid like a mask by a hideous face with necrotic skin oozing with pus, the physical manifestation of their degenerate nature.

"Christo," Jo whispers.

Oh. It's true that human senses are generally unable to see demons' true faces or smell their foul, rotting souls. They have no other way to reveal them than to invoke the name of God or Jesus Christ.

Indeed, both demons' eyes turned ink black and they snapped their heads up, alert. Then it all happens very quickly: the two hunters spring off in opposite directions, their blond hair flying in the air. Jo jumps on the demon's back behind the cash register, wrapping her legs and arms around him, and holding on tenaciously as he tries to get rid of her by slamming her against every solid surface around. Meanwhile, Ellen throws a handful of salt in the other demon's face, then punches him so hard he falls to the ground.

Stepping out from behind the mannequin that was hiding me, I assess the situation, adjusting the rifle in my arms and feeling indecisive. Which one of them should I help? What is expected of me?

Jo grabs her demon's hair to force his head back and pours the contents of her flask into his mouth, which then starts fuming with a bloody gurgle.

Ellen looks like she's struggling a bit more - disheveled, she scrambles back to duck a blow that would have been enough to smash her skull. The demon is sneering as he strides towards her. Without further hesitation, I aim the barrel of my rifle at him and press the trigger.

More than the unexpected recoil, it's the deafening detonation that startles me. My eardrums are ringing and the demon barely even flinched, turning to me with a furious scowl. Pressing the trigger a second time, I can only confirm that the salt bullets are even less efficient than I'd expected - the demon winces as his shirt is torn open by bloody holes, but he doesn't retreat at all.

"Castiel, what the hell are you doing!?" Ellen hisses through her gritted teeth, glaring at me. "Are you trying to get us all killed? I said not to make a sound until I give the order!"

Out of breath, Jo casts a frantic glance at her demon, who is coughing up blood but already recovering from the attack. She promptly joins us, adjusting her weapon by wedging the stock under her armpit.

"Crap! Maybe if we hurry, we could at least exorcise these two before more come in?"

A new bang rings out when Ellen shoots at the two cackling demons, even louder than mine. Suddenly, the glass door leading to the rest of the mall bursts into a thousand shards, and around twenty demons storm into the store.

"No time, they're already here!" Ellen fiercely snarls. "We gotta get the hell out of here right now, or we're all gonna die!"

"Castiel, get out of here if you want to live! We gotta go, now!"

It's nonsense to order a retreat against such a weak enemy. I have no intention to obey. My Grace instinctively bubbles up into a vein in my forearm as I drop the rifle, forging my blade that pierces through the skin and slides into my hand. I swiftly move into action, putting aside human hunter strategies that don't suit my abilities. My blade rams into a demon's black eye, piercing through his brain and annihilating his decayed soul with a grim crackling sound. Then, with enough force to hurl the demons backwards and secure the two Humans under my protection, I snap my wings open.

Charred from the inside out, the lifeless body collapses when I yank out my blade, twirling it between my fingers as I face my enemies, who rise to their feet among the shards of glass and piles of clothes on the ground.

Now that my wings fill half the store's space and I no longer restrain my aura's radiance, the demons finally seem to realize they're fighting a celestial warrior - their grins are gone, replaced by heinous scowls.

I have the upper hand. Though there are many of them, these vile demons have no idea that I'm one of the fastest, most efficient and experienced Angels in the field, despite my young age and exiled situation.

"He's alone!" one of them barks, clenching his fists. "Together, we can beat him! He'll pay for all–"

I've already thrown my blade through the air like an arrow and into his throat, shutting him up permanently. His body had not yet touched the ground when I leap forward and slam my hands into the viscous faces of two more demons, igniting them from within with a pulse of my Grace. Three down.

My deployed trench coat hasn't even had a chance to fall back down my body before I grab my blade, drawing an arc of blood out of the demon's throat, and whirl around, slicing through flesh and bone like it's water. Four empty bodies crumble at my feet like puppets with severed strings.

A fist collides against my temple with a crack of bone followed by a yelp of pain - it's the demon's metatarsals that snapped apart like dried wood sticks. The blow feels insignificant compared to the massive strength Alastair punched me with, my head hardly moved an inch.

With a strong kick to the abdomen, I fling the broken-handed demon out of the store. That was the last one, the others have already retreated, realizing how uneven the balance of power is. I step over the corpses and broken window to get into the mall.

It's chaos here. Driven by a wave of panic probably due to the shots fired, dozens of unpossessed Humans scream and rush for the exits - running among the demons, unaware of where the real danger lies. In the long, three-storey shopping arcade, the shouting echoes out like a riot.

"Take one more step and I'll cut the little bitch's head off!"

A demon about thirty feet to my left just barked this threat at me. His eyes are filled with black, his face oozes, crawling with maggots. He is clutching to his chest a ten-year-old girl who is sobbing uncontrollably, terrified as she feels the blade of the knife touch the skin of her neck.

This kind of tactic might work on a Human, as I've often observed in the Winchester Gospel. But I'm not human. And never has a hostage situation stopped an Angel on a mission.

With a flap of my wings, I fly right up behind the demon in less than a fraction of a second and plant my hand on the back of his skull. I can't repress a feeling of satisfaction and righteousness as I pulse a fraction of my Grace into this sullied body, deliberately extending and intensifying the demon's agony as much as I can. A pure white light erupts from his eye sockets, nose and mouth, while his harrowing shriek grows louder and louder, echoing through the mall until the body turns to ash and charred flesh and falls to the ground. Released, the little girl turns to look at me with wide, terrified eyes, before she hastily retreats, her face white with sheer horror.

There's no time to waste. In any confrontation between Angels and demons, there's inevitably a point at which the enemy comes to realize that they're no match for us, and decides to flee. I've already spotted a few demons vacating their vessels and diving into the ground, so I need to kill as many as I can before they manage to escape.

I leap over the railing and drop to the floor below without even bothering to use my wings to slow my fall. I land right on top of two demons, grasping their faces with both my hands and slamming them to the ground. A pulse of Grace, and they both die instantly. A snarling demon tries to run away, but I dash over and snatch her by the hair before dunking her head straight into the fountain in the middle of the mall. I keep her firmly immersed despite her furious flailing and splashing around, and of course there's no way a demon can drown, but... I might be fallen but I'm still a celestial being. All I need to do is bless it and the water from this fountain will become more sacred than any of the holy water fonts on Earth.

"In nomine dei," I murmur, holding out my hand above the rippled surface, "patris omnipotentis et in virtute spiritus sancti."

The water starts bubbling up around the demon's immersed head, turning red while her skin blisters before splitting off into boiled strips. She thrashes about and I tighten my grip to hold her underwater until her scalp peels away, the bones melting like sugar, and then all that's left between my fingers is brain sludge, quickly dissolving in the holy water, which gradually returns to its clear, translucent purity.

The headless body slumps at my feet as I rise to my feet, wiping my hand on my trench coat.

Interesting. I'd never before killed a demon solely with holy water.

Panic spreads through the enemy ranks, judging by the black smoke rising from dozens of bodies and billowing into the air and into the ground. I won't let them go back to Hell. Not all of them at least. Had I been in charge of the strategy from the start, I would have placed seals around the mall to lock them in and leave them with no escape. For lack of alternatives, I'll simply try to catch as many of them as I can.

I stride straight towards the nearest demon. When he sees me coming, he opens his eyes wide and throws his head back, surging out of his vessel's mouth in his true form, desperate to escape the punishment I'm bringing him.

I swiftly grab the condensed mass of black smoke, forcing it back into the body. Coughing and spluttering, the demon clutches my wrist with both hands as I seize the back of his skull, ready to deliver the death blow.

"Wait!" he chokes, staring at me with his wide, soulless, pitch-black eyes. "Wait, don't kill me! I have information your employers will be very interested in!"

I stop my movement, the sharp end of my blade pausing at his heart, brushing against the fabric of his clothes. The vessel is a young man with long, curly brown hair, wearing a T-shirt with torn sleeves exposing intricate tattoos on his arms. The demon's hideous, grimacing features exude fear and cowardice.

This is most likely a ploy to stall for time and try to escape. What could a common, lower-level demon possibly know that would interest the high celestial hierarchy?

The other demons are escaping while I'm losing precious seconds listening to this vermin from Hell.

With that decision made, I tighten my fist around my blade and prepare to strike again.

"It's about Lucifer!" he yelps, casting a frantic glance at the blade stained with impure blood. "He's taken a short-term host until he can get his hands on Sam Winchester!"

Whether this information is correct or not, it's useless to me. I already knew Lucifer was looking for a host to replace Sam and I suspected he'd succeed sooner or later, this is nothing new.

"You're wasting my time," I say, narrowing my eyes.

All the other demons are gone now. I could have caught at least five of them had I not foolishly listened to that one.

"There's more!" he adds hastily. "I know how to kill him. I know how to kill Lucifer."

"Only God or an Archangel can."

"That's what they want you to believe. But there is a weapon, a secret and powerful one that can kill anything, including Lucifer or Michael."

I clutch harder at the brown curls at the back of his neck, almost ripping the hair off, and move my head forward to speak right into his face.

"You've taught me nothing. I already know about the Colt."

"But do you know where to find it?"

The demon surely spots some hesitation in my silence, given that a grin twists his mouth and he lets out a snicker. His breath reeks of sulfur and death.

"A demon named Crowley has it. He's Hell's most cunning and sly demon. You'll need me to find him, angel. I'll take you to him. All I ask in exchange is you let me live after this."

The patronizing tone this vermin uses is getting on my nerves. Judging by the victorious gleam in his black eyes, he already thinks he's been granted my protection. He might have received it were I still a soldier in the celestial armies, bound to my mission and to the Council's will.

But now I'm free to make my own decisions.

"I don't need you," I say in a low tone.

Leaving him no time to reply, I shove my blade deep into his heart. His hands twitch in spasms around my wrist, his body flashing and crackling in his agony until his eyes burst into flame in their sockets. The lifeless fingers slide from my wrist and the body sinks to my feet.

"You're not human."

The voice echoing through the mall silence is Jo's. In the action, I'd almost forgotten about the two female hunters. I turn around, allowing the blade to dissolve and reintegrate my Grace, seeping through the pores of my skin.

They're standing about sixty feet away, striding purposefully towards me, stepping over the corpses littering the ground. There's suspicion and disbelief in their eyes, and the way they're clutching their weapons suggests some kind of apprehension.

"Care to tell us who you are, exactly?"

"Or should we say," Ellen adds, squinting, "what you are?"

Fighting demons somewhat eased some of the frustration and anger that had been building up inside me over the last few months. With restored serenity, I hold my head high, holding their gaze.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord."

For the first time since my rebellion and exile, I feel like one. Invested with a mission and bound to fulfill it by all means necessary.

I need to report to Bobby what the demon told me. Immediately.

Both hunters' eyebrows arch and their mouths part open, but with a powerful flap of my wings, I've already flown out of Iowa and dived straight into South Dakota.

With a messy wingbeat and what might be the worst landing of my life, I burst into Bobby Singer's living room. The sudden air shift flips a pile of paper sheets from the desk, sending them flying back and forth. A muffled curse greets me, along with a glare over the glasses perched at the tip of the hunter's nose.

"I'm really gonna hang a bell around your neck if you keep showing up out of nowhere any time of the day or night. Ain't you supposed to be in Iowa with Ellen and Jo?"

He's already looking back at his book - which, from the looks of it, appears to be an early illustrated translation of Saint John's Apocalypse.

"The demon problem is fixed, the mall is secured. Ellen and Jo are unharmed."

With a flick of my wrist, I make all the fallen documents float back to the desk, replacing them in a neat pile.

"Well done, son," he mutters as he keeps taking notes. "I got a bunch of other hunters who could use some help in Delaware or California."

I step forward, folding my wings behind my back and struggling to hold back my excitement.

"I have a lead on the Colt. I know the name of the demon who has it."

That gets his attention. Bobby's pen stops scratching at his notebook, and he looks up sharply.

"Okay, that should be interesting." Removing his glasses, he leans against the back of his wheelchair, scrutinizing me. "Tell me everything."

oOo

In the next chapter

"Don't ignore me in my own house, you winged son of a bitch! Turn around and face me, or believe me, I'll shoot your ass so full you'll be pooping bullets for weeks!"