Previously: Castiel travels the world in search of God using Dean's pendant. His search leads him to cross paths with Anna who escaped from Heaven. She reveals to Castiel her plan to stop the Apocalypse by undoing Sam and Dean's existence. Castiel kills her to prevent her from carrying out her plan. Dean and Sam have parted ways, and Castiel reaches out to Bobby hoping to find the Archangel Raphael, who according to Anna has descended to Earth to hunt down Sam and Dean.

oOo

A deceitful alliance

The water pressure weighs down my wings. At this depth, I am deprived of most senses I acquired by taking a vessel. My movements are slowed down, the sounds muffled, and the rare rays of light piercing through the water mass above me have been filtered of some colors.

Still, the coral structures below my feet display a range of colors that would make even the most beautiful sunset look bleak. There is a school of fish swirling in the currents, scales glistening like liquid silver. The massive shape of a whale is moving closer, opening its mouth, holding something ancient and peaceful in its eyes.

In other circumstances, I would have enjoyed exploring the deep seas and oceans I never tried to enter before. These silent and dark sceneries hold more beauty than I could have imagined.

But the leather cord tied around my wrist and the amulet floating in my palm constantly remind me of the mission's purpose and what is at stake.

I shift my wings to look around, the cold water gliding through my feathers, deploying my trench coat and making my hair wave like seaweed. And as I hold the pendant up and it remains unlit, my last hopes die within me. It took me about fifty hours, but I managed to scour all the planet's underwater areas with my eyes locked on this roughly carved silver face. I've looked for God everywhere, literally everywhere, and couldn't find Him. He is either deliberately avoiding me or He has left the Earth. But none of these explanations make sense. Why would He resurrect me and place the Winchester brothers on that plane and then deny us His help? Why intervene only to leave us in a situation just as critical, if not worse than before, with no way to fight against the Archangels and the Council?

The whale continues its path, wrapping me in its shadow before fading into the ocean's blue darkness. I close my eyes and clutch the amulet to my heart. The salt water in my lungs doesn't allow me to use my voice, but I fervently pray to my Father again.

Lord Almighty…

Do not allow the miracle You accomplished with my resurrection to be vain. I only wish to do Your will, which is what I have always aspired to since the day You created me.

But without Your help, I will never be able to defeat the Archangels or unite the heavenly armies at my side. I am only an Angel, a fallen one, I cannot stop the Apocalypse and protect the Winchesters on my own.

You saved my life, so You wanted to help me.

So help me again. Appear before me.

Or at least give me a sign. Just a sign…

My eyes snap open as an icy sensation surges through my Grace's deepest core. Something is coming, I can feel it, and since the amulet remains unlit, it's definitely not God answering my plea.

It's too late to flee when I recognize the celestial auras - I'm already surrounded from all sides by five Angels. And not just any Angels.

Ah, so this is where our wonder boy was hiding!

Zachariah's voice echoes right into my head without his lips moving. A few air bubbles slip out of his nostrils, wing feathers and clothes. He looks like his usual smug self, and the confidence in his smile shows that the fear he felt the last time we met is long gone.

Here he is, making friends with fishes, while the Council feared he might lead a celestial uprising. Do you expect them to tell you where God is?

Instinctively, my Grace solidifies to forge my blade into a forearm vein, and I strain to keep it from breaking through the skin just now. I take a look at the Angels surrounding me, assessing the situation and my options for either flight or fight.

Zachariah has long since retired as a warrior, so I don't have much to fear from him physically. Rachel holds her blade and blocks any escape with her wings, but I know that our history together will hinder her actions if she has to fight me, considering that she didn't expose me when she had the occasion at the cathedral. I have no idea why Leoc is here, he is neither Zachariah's subordinate nor a warrior, he is the commander of the Plankton division, and I doubt that he could beat me in strength or speed. Which only leaves me with two serious opponents. Htmorda and Virgil.

Htmorda proved when he attacked me in the Prophet of the Lord's house that he has no intention of disobeying the hierarchy's orders and that our history in the Garrison won't stop him from taking me to my execution. As for Virgil, he is a tough and efficient soldier whom I have no affinity with and he shares with Hester her hatred for Humans.

With the water pressure slowing my movements and weighing down my wings, I'll probably have to rely on Rachel's lingering respect and friendship for me as a weakness to ease my escape.

How come you know I'm looking for God?

I sent my voice into their heads, more to buy time and build a strategy than out of genuine curiosity.

Zachariah rolls his eyes.

Having Anpiel recruit rebels for you right under my nose was a mistake, Castiel. I greatly enjoyed throwing this freak out into rehabilitation.

My wings twitch behind my back. Anpiel, in rehabilitation? I know what rehabilitations do, and I know what this means. I've just lost my most trusted ally. The only one still on my side now is Balthazar - I'm sure he's proceeding more cautiously with his recruiting, or he too would have been arrested, and I have no doubt that Zachariah would have been only too happy to tell me the news. However, Balthazar has yet to answer my prayers since we last spoke in Galilee. I received no news from him and I have no idea how he's doing on the mission I gave him.

No. I need to stay focused and stall until I come up with a solid plan.

How did you find me?

This time, Virgil is the one who replies.

Izraz suggested that we plant spies on Earth just like his toads, so that through their eyes we could track you and your little human pets. All sections cooperated, including the Plankton Division.

I think I never heard Virgil speak so many words consecutively in all the years I've known him. There's a dark kind of satisfaction in his eyes.

Zachariah straightens his tie and adjusts his collar, which is a quite useless thing to do since we are deep underwater, hundreds of meters below the surface.

I have to admit I had my doubts, but it all paid off in the end.

His vessel's pale lips stretch with a smirk.

And now that we have you, Castiel, we can finally resume the Apocalypse schedule. The Council is growing impatient, you know. Demons and Horsemen are having a blast while we're sitting on our asses. So now be a good boy and take us to the Winchester brothers. We've wasted enough time as it is with your stupidity.

This time, I don't hold back my Grace's impulse and let my blade pierce the skin and slip into my hand.

I'll never let you have Sam and Dean.

I hold my blade up threateningly.

I've killed to protect them before, as you know, and I will do it again in a heartbeat. This is the last time I'm warning you: leave the Winchesters alone. They are under my protection.

Zachariah's smile drops and his eyes darken with cold anger.

I used to see so much potential in you. I gave you all the cards to have a brilliant career in the highest ranks of the hierarchy, and this is how you thank me? And for what, two sassy little monkeys?

These last words have barely gotten into my head that I'm already rushing forward, straight at Zachariah. His eyes open wide as I strike with my blade, his face crumbling as he realizes he's too slow to stop me.

Even deep down in the ocean, Htmorda's blade clashing with mine sounds like thunder. My former soldier is glaring at me with his jaw clenched, his wings acting as a shield to protect our superior. His thick beard waves like seaweed as he casts his voice right into my head.

Don't make things any harder, Castiel! Have the decency to surrender and face the consequences of your actions, like Camael once did!

I clench my fist on my blade, my feathers fluffing up indignantly.

To end up nailed on a cross like him?

There's something impossible to describe flashing across his eyes, but I have no time to study it - I can feel the group closing in around me, and Virgil moving to attack me from the other side. I gather my power in my fist and punch Htmorda brutally in the gut, so hard that he is propelled far back.

Seize him! Zachariah shouts from a safe distance. Raphael will take great pleasure in executing him, permanently so!

Leoc's speed catches me by surprise and a searing pain slashes deep into my wing base near my shoulder blades. Had I not moved at that precise second, my left wing would have been chopped off entirely. I whirl around and slash blindly but fail to hit my target, in agony from the excruciating pain igniting my Grace. I can feel it draining out of my body and dissolving into the water.

Virgil joins the fight by driving his fist against my head with the sheer force of a meteorite, causing my Grace to get cut off from the neurons. And for two terrifying seconds, I lose sight, hearing and all sensation from this organic body. When I manage to reconnect the synapses to take back control of my vessel, my arms have been restrained with a firm grip.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rachel hanging back, her suit swaying in the current. Our eyes meet, and she stares at me in silent, helpless misery.

With a swish of his wings, Zachariah moves closer until he is right in front of me.

See, Castiel, we wouldn't be here today if you had listened to me. You chose your side, and it's the losers' one.

My Grace is draining out of my flesh and blood body, weakening me with each passing second. I feel dizzy and the pain burns in me like fire. There are black spots clouding the edges of my vision.

In this state, not only am I unable to fight, but I'm going to die very soon if I can't find a way to stop my life essence from leaking out of me. Right now.

Ignoring the intense pain radiating from my wounded wing, I cast an icy glare at Zachariah. He thinks he has won already. Has he forgotten that after Anna, I've always been the Garrison's finest strategist?

I can't lose, Zachariah. I serve God.

Watching his grin fade from his face is most satisfying when with a thought I solidify the droplets of Grace that have flown out of my vessel. It only takes me a second to shape them into hundreds of silvery needles that I aim at the Angels. And with a snap of my fingers I shoot them like arrows, riddling their organic vessels with fine needles of lethal Grace.

The grip on my arms instantly loosens as screams of pain echo through my skull. I waste no time observing how much damage I've caused and charge at Rachel, shoving her with my shoulder to break the circle around me and soar away from there as fast as my half-torn wing can carry me.

oOo

It was a rough landing.

A cloud of gray dust slowly rises from the crash and I curl up in pain as I spit out the salt water from my lungs. The lack of atmosphere makes it impossible to breathe and slows down my body's organic functions.

The Grace streaming down my lacerated back haloes me with light, casting my winged shadow on the ground. But I can hardly see anymore, my vision is blurred, flooded with darkness. Wincing and with my face pressed into the cold dust, I reach a shaking hand over my shoulder to feel the damage.

Warm blood laced with my celestial essence stains my fingers, and I use all the strength I have left to increase the temperature on my raw flesh. Pain is merely a background information through my nerves when the temperature under my fingers becomes high enough to melt steel.

Had my situation not been so critical, I would have reassembled the vein pattern and put back together every fiber of flesh and skin. The method I just used is rough, sloppy work but good enough to cauterize the wound and stop the bleeding. All that matters is that my Grace is contained in these veins again.

In my true form, a wound like this would have killed me without an Archangel to cure it. In battle, having an organic vessel has its advantages.

Exhausted, I let my body collapse into the thick layer of dust with my wings spread wide.

Through my eyelashes, the horizon is painted in black and grey shades, crowned by a sky full of stars where shines a bright blue orb. Earth, in all its glory, glowing in the firmament as the finest gem of all Creation.

The Garrison won't come looking for me on the moon. They won't even think I might be here. That should buy me enough time to recover from my injury.

I've been repeatedly urging Dean to be careful, and in the end I let my guard down enough myself to be spotted and cornered. This quest for God has lasted for too long. With every day that goes by, there is a greater risk that Angels or demons might find Sam and Dean.

My hands clench into the ground, gray dust digging under my nails. Earth is glowing in the infinite expanse of space, lone and quiet. I gaze at it while my Grace slowly heals in my veins and thoughts race through my mind.

I lost Anpiel, God is nowhere to be found and time is running out.

I have no other choice left.

I need to find Raphael.

oOo

Looking up to the sky, the hail beats down on my face in a way that brings back distant memories of the Flood. Dark clouds are belching out blinding bolts of lightning.

The hailstones keep growing bigger, pounding the ground so hard there are craters all over the pavement. Some are fist-sized and would easily smash open a human skull.

I lower my head slowly and gaze at the city of Hawley in the throes of a storm that can't be natural. Only an Archangel or a Horseman could unleash such destructive forces of nature. There is something biblical about this that strikes a chord deep within my Grace.

Hail and fire. The Prophets' holy scriptures foretold this more than two thousand years ago. This is what the Council aimed for, what the Garrison unknowingly worked to orchestrate.

With my hands in my drenched trench coat pockets, I step over one of the many corpses littering the pavement, all senses on guard. Chances are low that Raphael caused this, but I need to be thorough and leave no stone unturned.

The rattle of hail crashing to the ground coupled with the roaring thunder grows louder as the hurricane sends my tie flying over my shoulder and my clothes flapping against my body. The muffled sound of my phone ringing signals an incoming call. I pull it out of my pocket and flip it open - the screen displays Bobby's name. As the hailstones keep crashing down on my skull like cannon balls, I push the green button and press the device against my soaked ear.

"Hello, Bobby."

« …m'here…ound som…sting…d'be what…skin… »

I squint and hold the phone harder, but his voice still sounds jagged and impossible to understand.

"I can't hear what you're saying!" I yell into the hurricane's howling. "Say it again!"

« …ter… »

Bobby's gruff voice fades into crackling and then is replaced by the long phone dial tone indicating that the conversation has ended. As I flip the phone shut, watching the fire rage through the city and a massive wind gust knock down a power pole, my rough knowledge of the human communication system through airwaves makes me realize that the hurricane must have destroyed the devices powering the line.

With a strong wingbeat, I leave Oklahoma's vast plains and the hurricane raining fire and hail. Within a split second, I fly over the states of Kansas, Nebraska, until I dive to South Dakota.

I appear in Bobby Singer's shadow-bathed living room, right in front of him.

"Balls!" He almost drops his phone. "What the hell is wrong with you, poppin' up right in my face? You tryin' to give me a heart attack?!"

I fold my wings with a silky swish. His other hand clenches on the shotgun resting on his limp lap.

"Hello, Bobby," I say, looking down at him. "I had no signal. What did you want to tell me?"

He narrows his eyes, frowning, and slips his phone back into his jacket's inside pocket - he's wearing his clothes again instead of the pale tunic from the hospital. He scrutinizes me from head to toe.

"You went for a dip in a pool or something?"he says, gesturing at my entire body.

I glance down at my soaked clothes dripping with water on his carpet - there's a puddle growing around my shoes.

"I was in a storm." I make it all evaporate with a thought. "Looking for Raphael."

"Yeah, 'bout that," he mumbles, "I think I've got somethin' for you."

Bobby motions for me to follow him as he rolls his wheelchair around, pushing the wheels over to his desk cluttered with paperwork. I oblige and follow him close, leaning over his shoulder as he stops in front of what I guess is a laptop computer, a very useful research tool according to the Winchester Gospel. Bobby exudes a sour smell of alcohol and dust. He tilts the glowing screen up to me and it displays a picture of a wrecked building with thick smoke rising from it, surrounded by police cars and ambulances.

"Check it out. That was this morning at dawn. Gas station explosion in Maine. Ain't nothing special 'bout this you'd think, but the interesting part that the article won't say is that I've been told there's been a bunch of dead people, and it wasn't just from the explosion. They were killing each other before it even exploded. At six AM, in some godforsaken dump. Reeks of supernatural, if you ask me."

I skim through the article which isn't very detailed. The only things mentioned are the location and the main witness - a sheriff's deputy named Walter Framingham.

"There's no indication that Raphael has anything to do with it." I frown. "This could be the work of a Horseman of the Apocalypse or demons."

"That's what I would've said if I hadn't found this video. Tell me what you see."

Bobby makes the cursor move and hits a key. A video fills the screen and Bobby leans back in his wheelchair, bringing a beer to his lips.

A black and white scene shows what I guess is the gas station's interior. There is no sound, but I can see an employee gasping, and two men rushing inside to violently attack him. It's hard to tell if they are demons or not with such low image quality, but...

I open my eyes wide when the windows split and shatter, electric arcs vibrating across the room, and then a pure white explosion blows everything away and throws the Humans to the ground like wisps of straw - the video stops there.

Having fought at Raphael's side in the past, I know those electric arcs are characteristic of his Grace. As for this display of overpowering energy blasting everything in its path...

This is the exact same kind of deadly light that annihilated so many of my brothers in the celestial rebellion at Jesus Christ's death. Only an Archangel can achieve such purity in destruction.

"Well?" Bobby peers at me from the corner of his eye. "That what you're lookin' for?"

I slowly nod and square my shoulders.

"This is definitely Raphael. No doubt about it."

Beer in hand, Bobby looks up at me, frowning.

"Okay, so now what's your plan? Go fight him directly?"

A shiver runs through my wings just imagining myself standing face to face with the Archangel who killed me with a snap of his fingers. But prying information about the Lord from Raphael is the only viable strategy left now that I've rejected Anna's idea.

"No. That would be committing suicide. I need to capture and interrogate him."

Bobby's skeptical look burns the back of my neck as I walk around his desk.

"And how do you plan to do that, smartass?"

My fingers skim over some old manuscripts lying open on the desk.

I have no idea if Baradiel's seal will work on an Archangel as well as it did on a powerful and ancient demon, but I must take the risk, I have no other choice.

"The same way I trapped and captured Alastair," I say resolutely. "And for that, I will need my brothers' help. I'm going to call them right now."

"What, here? In my fucking living room?!"

I disregard Bobby's protestation and step to the center of the room, focusing.

Without Anpiel to lend me a hand, I can only count on Balthazar, and I hope he managed to recruit enough of our brothers to our cause, since it requires several Angels to achieve this seal. He never answered my last prayers in which I requested information about the situation in Heaven. But if it sounds urgent enough, I trust him to do whatever it takes to reply.

So I close my eyes and focus all my Grace on my prayer. The celestial communication channels have been cut off for me, but I can still connect by praying like Humans would.

Balthazar,

I have a plan to find where our Father is hiding.

I'm going to trap and interrogate Raphael.

I know where he is, but I need your help.

Come to me as soon as you can.

Just as I open my eyes again, there is a clap of wings right in front of me.

"Trap Raphael? Please tell me you're joking, Cassy."

Relief washes over me when I see my brother standing there staring at me in disbelief, his white wings gracefully folding behind his back. Not hearing from him since our last encounter on the Mount of Beatitudes made me fear he might have been arrested for accomplishing the mission I gave him, or worse.

"Balthazar. It's good to see you."

Hands deep in his pants pockets, Balthazar arches an eyebrow.

"Missed me? You know, the Garrison just isn't the same without you. They're all brooding and Zachariah is pestering us. I've requested a transfer to a new service, but you know how it is, I could be waiting for ages. Literally."

I glance at Bobby who is watching us from under his cap while taking a sip of beer.

"Balthazar," I say sternly. "It will require a lot of power to trap and contain Raphael. How many Angels did you successfully convert to our cause?"

Balthazar tilts his chin up.

"None."

I stare in disbelief.

"None?" I take a step closer. "You're the most persuasive Angel I know. How come you failed to convince even a single Angel?"

Balthazar rolls his eyes, sighing.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Cassy. With my wit and my charm I would've talked a whole regiment of brave little sheep into running straight to the slaughterhouse if that's what I wanted."

I scan his true face showing through over his vessel's. His three tourmaline-colored eyes hold my gaze unblinkingly.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I never even tried to convert anyone. Why? You know, your plan to start a celestial revolution, to fight the Council and the Archangels? That's suicide. And I have no intention of helping my favorite little brother get foolishly killed and drag other idiots with him."

I stare in shock at the one I believed to be my best ally in this war.

"Yet you encouraged me. You're the one who suggested that I should go find our Father to win this war."

"That was me trying to waste your time!" snaps Balthazar, his aura intensifying around him. "I was hoping that while you would be gallivanting around the Earth chasing a non-existent God, the Apocalypse would start and end by itself and you'd not lose a single feather!"

At my stunned silence, he heaves a sigh and calms down again, inspecting his fingernails with faked nonchalance.

"I was trying to protect you from your own stupidity, Cassy. And I'm telling you that with all the affection in the world."

I feel empty. As empty and cold as when I found out that Uriel was a traitor and a murderer. Am I doomed to be betrayed by the ones I trust the most?

"So… Dean's amulet…"

"That wasn't entirely a lie, if it's any consolation. It was indeed forged in Heaven by an Angel, but never to detect Daddy's presence. It's a trinket crafted by Samandriel to boost the fertility of anyone who has it around their neck. He created a whole batch of them after the Flood when we needed the planet to be repopulated."

I clench my fists, my Grace starting to seethe in my veins and solidify in my forearm.

Balthazar betrayed me. I should kill him like I killed Anna, but I can't bring myself to let my blade pierce my skin and slide into my hand.

"You lied to me. You betrayed me."

My brother raises his eyebrows high on his forehead, and a bitter smile curls his lips up.

"Since we're washing our dirty linen in public, let's get it all out, shall we? Do you even realize how much I've risked to protect you? I worked hard every day to keep the celestial troops away from your path. I got rid of many human spies before they had a chance to report your presence. I even managed to set Anael free and gave her the bright idea of traveling back in time to destroy the Archangels' vessels before they were born! And believe me, that was no easy task."

I widen my eyes in horror.

"That was you."

Balthazar gestures with his hand in an elegant and annoyed way.

"She was the only one who could do it, since all the other Angels are closely supervised, and no one else could have gone back in time without the Council being instantly alerted. And my plan would have worked if Anael had not been stupid enough to tell you about it. I never thought you'd actually kill her, though. And now that you've robbed us of that solution, I will do everything I can to help the Garrison and the Archangels find your two little human pets. Once Sam and Dean are dead, you will finally come to your senses."

"Balthazar!"

My voice sounds like a harsh hiss, filled with wrath. All around us, the house's walls are starting to shake and items to float in the static charged air.

"I thought you were on my side!" I snarl as I let my blade form and slide into my hand with a sinister clink. "I thought we were friends!"

Balthazar spreads his hands with angry sarcasm, his wings snapping open behind his back, bright and white.

"And now what? You're going to kill me like you killed Mgam, Eboza and Anael? You've gone way too far with your fixation on these two Humans, you should thank me that I stopped you from causing a complete bloodbath in Heaven! And now you'd like to go after an Archangel? You've lost your mind, Castiel!"

This is the first time in thousands of years that Balthazar actually calls me by my real name. I slowly lower my hand clenched around my blade, my anger giving way to a feeling of emptiness.

I'm alone, now. Truly alone.

No one will help me.

"Go away," I say in a hoarse voice that breaks on the last word.

The house stops trembling and all the things fall down with thuds around me. My wings sag down as my blade dissolves into my skin to reintegrate my Grace.

Eyes fixed on my brother's shoes, I hear him sigh.

"There are more than six billion Humans on this planet, why did you have to get attached to these two?"

I look up silently to see his wing extend and the tip of his white feathers graze my shoulder with fondness.

"Listen, Cassy. Whatever happens, you'll always be my favorite little brother. But I won't join you on this path, because it's a dead end. When you grow out of this whimsy, when this Apocalypse is just one more memory behind us, when the Winchesters have died a long, long time ago... We can all laugh about it, and everything will be back to the way it was."

I shake my head, allowing the pain of betrayal and resentment to seep into my voice.

"No, Balthazar. Nothing will ever be the same again. If you don't help me today, right now, I will face Raphael by myself and this will be our last conversation."

Balthazar holds my gaze unblinkingly and withdraws his wing - the contact leaves a warm spot on my shoulder.

"No need to be so dramatic. If you insist on trapping and interrogating Raphael, I will place a jar of holy oil in Jerusalem for you. You'll need it. And who knows, maybe this time you won't get blasted away. But I won't be part of this."

And with these words, my brother vanishes in a flap of wings, leaving me alone with the Human in his living room. Bobby Singer's stare is on the back of my neck, and the squeak of his wheels signals that he is rolling his wheelchair closer.

"Well then," he says in a gruff tone. "Guess you couldn't have asked him to fix my legs, huh?"

I glare at him in a way that would have made any mortal recoil. Any mortal but Bobby Singer. A faint, sympathetic smile tugs at his lips, and he reaches up to pat me on the shoulder.

"Looks like family relations are tough for angels, too. I know the feeling, my poor boy. C'mon, I'll fix you a drink."

I avert my eyes and force all my misery back into the deepest part of my Grace.

"Yes, please."

oOo

In the next chapter

"Two men asking for a room with only one bed is kinda weird."

" Why?"

"Forget it. I'm way too tired to explain to you how to shake the sheets."

"The sheets? Why would I be shaking the sheets? And what does it have to do with a hotel with one room?"

"Cas, damn it, I'm trying to sleep!"