Previously: Dean and Castiel are in Waterville to trap and question Raphael about God. The ritual with holy oil will take place at dawn and is so risky that Castiel doubts he'll survive. Dean then decides that Castiel will not die a virgin and takes him to a brothel, but they are kicked out without a chance to get what they came for. To keep his promise, Dean gives Castiel an orgasm himself. But the clock is ticking and it's time to capture Raphael...

This chapter takes place in season 5 episode 3.

oOo

In a ring of fire

"Yeah, we'll keep you posted."

Dean takes the phone away from his ear and drops it on the table. The lantern light bathes his face and casts the towering shadow of the amphora against the walls. All around us, dust glitters in gold flecks.

"That was Bobby," Dean unnecessarily clarifies, rubbing his temple. "He wanted to know how our archangel hunt is going."

The chair I pull out to sit in front of him creaks under my weight.

"It will be dawn in a few hours," I say, resting my elbows on the wobbly table. "I guess it's time to share my strategy with you."

Dean shoots me a sharp look, a crinkle furrowing between his eyebrows. Bathed in light, his eyes display a clear shade of green.

"Yeah, about damn time. What's more, I'd like you to explain what we're going to use that thing for."

He just grabbed and uncorked the amphora, bringing the dusty neck to his nose to sniff the oil dubitatively.

"That thing, like you say, is one of the most terrifying and deadly holy weapons for a celestial being. It is highly flammable and produces a fire that, on contact, is enough to kill an Angel instantly."

Dean squints, recorking the amphora and putting it back on the table.

"Then why don't we just deep-fry some archangels with Lucifer, Raphael and Michael on a skewer? A nice celestial barbecue and we'll get rid of those feathered bastards once and for all, right?"

If only it were that easy...

I look down at my hands, joined together like for a prayer.

"No. Archangels are far more powerful than Angels. I don't know any weapon that can kill them. However, they would think twice before touching holy fire, because even if it won't kill them, it would be incredibly painful and inflict serious damage on their Grace."

The fiery look in Dean's eyes is one of a warrior, a soldier trying to understand his part in a larger strategy. Moistening his lips, he leans closer to me, resting his elbows on the table, hands clasped. With that very same primate mimetic instinct that ran through ages and that I had already noticed in my first million of years of existence.

"Okay, so I assume you mean to trap him in a ring of fire and then question him?"

I give him a nod of appreciation.

"Indeed. But the tricky part is how to achieve it."

"So basically we need to get him into his vessel's body without him knowing we've got the oil, and then trap him?"

"No, that's impossible. He'd kill us with a snap of fingers before we have a chance to open the amphora. Besides, Raphael isn't stupid and he knows me. He knows I'd never risk drawing his attention and endangering you without a strategic asset. Actually, I think we need him to see that we have the holy weapon, and to know for sure that we have no other advantage over him."

Dean blinks, then narrows his eyes.

"You lost me there. You wanna show your hand? How do you plan to trap the son of a bitch if he knows exactly what you want to trap him with?"

I lean forward and stare straight into his eyes.

"At dawn, we'll go to the hospital and I'll address Raphael directly through Donnie Finneman. We'll burn a circle of holy fire around the vessel. I know Raphael, and I can guarantee he'll send one or more of his agents to assess the situation and find out what I have in mind. The agents spying on us will inform him about the trap around his vessel, so he won't be coming down. They will also tell him that my amphora is empty, and that you, Dean Winchester, are here, which will ensure that he won't just ignore my call."

"What makes you think he won't send an army to pluck us like flowers? He wouldn't even have to bother coming down himself."

"You probably don't realize, Dean, that even stripped of some of my powers, l am a strong soldier and a skilled strategist. I already managed to outsmart the troops tracking me many times and have proved that I will kill anyone who gets in my way. Besides, Raphael killed me and I came back to life, so he'll want to handle me himself. More importantly, Raphael has been searching for you for weeks, so he can't afford to miss the opportunity to catch Michael's vessel personally."

Dean raises his eyebrows, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"So you're definitely using me as bait. A juicy worm to lure the fish to the hook."

I detect no complaint in his voice so I just nod.

"Not just as bait, Dean. I need you to play along for this to be convincing. We'll be spied on, possibly for hours, and we need to make the Angels believe that you are growing impatient and that you successfully convince me that Raphael won't be coming and that our plan has failed. Even if you can't see anyone, even if you're sure no one's watching, you must never mention our true plan. We can't take the risk."

"Okay, so we play dumb and pretend not to notice that your brothers are spying on us, I bitch 'til we pretend to give up, and then, what?"

"We go back here, to the hideout. Raphael will opt to attack us away from the general population, once he's sure we're not expecting him. At least that's what I would do if I were him. And that's why we're now going to draw a number of oil circles in strategic places, along with concealed banishing seals in case the situation gets out of hand."

And with these words, I stand up and pick up the amphora, carefully uncorking it. Dean's eyes watch me intently as I pour a thin stream of the precious liquid, drawing a perfect circle on the dusty floor. We will need to make another in the hallway, in the next room, and one more upstairs.

"If I'm right, we should have just enough oil to lay four traps in the house, leaving only what we'll need for the hospital. When Raphael appears, we'll try to lure him into one of the circles and then set it on fire."

"You're actually super smart, Cas. I'm impressed."

I can't help puffing up my feathers at the flattery.

"Thank you."

oOo

The fire's soft crackling rekindles memories I wish I could forget. Being stranded from my family, charged with treason and awaiting trial. And the conversation I had with Camael before our trial. It's only been a few thousand years since that day, a fraction of my lifetime, but it feels so long ago. I'm no longer the Angel I was then.

Though I'm standing six feet away from the danger, the very sight of the twisting, writhing flames is enough to make my Grace shudder with sheer terror. To be safe, I keep my wings carefully folded behind my back to ensure that no feather gets close to the fire.

Slouched in his wheelchair inside the burning circle, Donnie Finneman keeps staring blankly into the distance, a steady trickle of drool running down his chin and dripping onto his jacket.

As expected, there's no sign of Raphael, even though I defied and insulted him through his vessel. But more concerning is that no matter how hard I focus on this room, these corridors, and even the entire Saint Peter's Hospital building, I fail to detect even the slightest trace of a celestial aura, or even an alteration of this dimension.

Yet it's impossible that Raphael chose to ignore my provocation. He must have sent at least one of his agents to report back on the situation, or he'd have already occupied his vessel and been trapped. His absence is proof that we have his complete attention.

Then why can't I detect any celestial presence around? Zedekiel told me the Garrison would be busy with a mission this morning, so it's unlikely Raphael sent them. And even then, I've made significant progress since Uriel betrayed me. I'm now far better at mastering my vessel's abilities, and I think that not even Rachel or Htmorda would be able to conceal their aura completely from my perception.

Unless Raphael chose to use Humans to watch us? Anpiel claimed that Zachariah and Raphael were using Jehovah's Witnesses as ground networks, so it's a possibility...

A loud yawn draws me out of my musings. Sitting on the wheeled bed with his legs dangling down, Dean stares at me sourly.

"How long are we gonna wait? I've been sitting on my hands for about an hour now. I'm not saying I'm bored, but... well, yeah, I'm bored out of my freaking mind. I'd have brought a book or something if I had known."

I have to admit, Dean does an excellent job playing the role I assigned him. He perfectly faked being surprised when I explained the plan aloud before setting the oil circle on fire, acting like it was new to him, and so far he hasn't given away the slightest piece of information that could jeopardize our strategy.

"Patience is a virtue," I say, focusing my attention back on Donnie Finneman. "Raphael has no choice but to enter his vessel to walk the earth. He will come."

There's silence, then a sheet rustling and the bed creaking suggest that the weight on it shifted.

"That's one thing I don't get about you angels."

I turn my head to look at Dean. He's now lying on his back, one ankle crossed over the other and his arm folded to cradle the pillow against his neck, staring at me inquisitively.

"Why the hell do you need to possess people at all? I get it for demons, they can't do shit as black smoke. But you guys? You said you're a thousand feet tall with four arms, so why do you guys even bother possessing anyone?"

"I told you. Our appearance can be overwhelming to mortal eyes, and our voice can burst eardrums. Walking the earth in our true form would be extremely damaging to Humans, and hardly convenient for communication."

Dean dismisses my answer with a wave of his hand, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he presses his lips together.

"I'm talking about Michael and Lucifer here. They don't give a shit about human lives, they precisely want the apocalypse, right? So why would they need me and some other guy to beat the crap out of each other? Why bother hunting me down to get my consent? They could do just fine without meatsuits."

I open my mouth then shut it close, confused. I've never wondered why all celestial beings were suddenly ordered to possess vessels last year. Nor why we were denied access out of Heaven without authorization after Camael's death. I simply followed the instructions like everyone else without thinking.

I assume Archangels strive to accomplish destiny as written. It is said that all will end with the Winchester brothers, and Heaven has done everything in its power for thousands of years to ensure that everything unfolds as predicted. Sam and Dean are Michael and Lucifer's armors and weapons. But I can't tell Dean about that. He still doesn't know that his brother is involved, and that their destiny is to kill each other, as Michael and Lucifer intend to.

"Possessing a perfectly fitting human body is a major strategic asset. Perhaps Michael and Lucifer don't want to risk fighting unless they're fully powered up."

Dean squints and looks unconvinced, but doesn't insist, much to my relief. Come to think of it, I'm not quite certain about any of this myself. After all, there's nothing preventing the Archangels from fighting in their true form, as they once did, even if it means wrecking an entire continent… Is this Michael trying to spare human lives? Or just trying not to replicate the devastation caused by the last fight?

Though I've been the General of the Garrison for over two decades and a Council member for a short time, there's a lot I don't know about hierarchy's secrets, and I'm aware that there are many things I do not understand.

Dean closed his eyes, his hand resting on his chest, rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing, which grows deeper. He slept two hours at the hideout before we drove to the hospital, but clearly that wasn't enough. I watch his sleeping face for a long moment, as his expression gradually softens into serenity.

Up above in the sky which I can only see a fraction of through the window, the sun carries on its course, casting shifting shadows across the room. Once more, I focus my senses to perceive everything surrounding me hundreds of feet around. A flurry of footsteps, audio calls, squeaky wheels and beeping machines is overlaid by Dean's deep breathing and Donnie's more ragged one. The soul energy of patients and healers clarifies in my mind, mapping out their locations. There are other lives bustling about - insects scurrying on pipes hidden in the ceiling and a few cooing doves on the roof. Still no celestial aura.

Perhaps Raphael didn't hear my call. Perhaps he's busy with another mission. Or perhaps he saw right through me.

A muffled groan breaks my concentration and I look down at the bed. Dean just sat up, stretching with a vertebra crack before he runs a hand over his face, stifling a yawn.

"Crap, I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?"

"Half past noon."

Dean blinks in shock and checks the information on his phone screen.

"Already? Wow. I hadn't slept this long since… I don't know. Years." He puts his feet down and glances at Donnie Finneman. "Still no Raphael then."

"No."

"Why don't you just call him again? If you keep texting him, he'll get his butt down here in no time."

"I can't cross the circle to come closer to the vessel. Any contact with the fire would kill me."

Dean raises his eyebrows and waves his hand above the fire ring warily - the flames aren't very high, and they're harmless to mortals.

"How long before it dies out, anyway?"

"These flames can burn forever, as long as no water is poured on them."

"Yeah well, I'll be bored to death first," he says, walking to the door. "Or starved to death."

"Where are you going? You need to stay here until Raphael gets here."

"I gotta pee. You know, that thing we humans do once in a while."

"Can't it wait? It's too dangerous to be apart."

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically with his usual insolence.

"No, Cas, it can't wait. And I'll be right down the hall, so unless you want to hold it for me, I'm gonna go before my bladder explodes."

And on these words, the door closes on him, leaving me alone with Raphael's vessel and the holy fire crackling.

Emptying a bladder is supposed to take dozens of seconds at most, according to my observations during the human species' evolution, and yet several minutes tick by before the door opens again to let Dean in. I let out a breath, relief unclenching my wings. I guess the last couple of days spent close to him might be the reason, but I really don't like not having him on sight.

He's carrying colorful packages and wrappings in his arms, and he unloads them on the bed before propping up one of his butt cheeks on it.

"I took some snacks from the vending machine at the reception hall. Not exactly the healthy kind of lunch, but still better than nothing. Want some, Cas?"

He hands me a package he's just opened invitingly, his raised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead.

My first impulse would be to refuse. My food ingestion experience has never been very satisfying, and I've never shared the interest some of my siblings show in this organic process.

But after the orgasm I felt last night from Dean's hand, I need to reconsider the whole eating process. Maybe the only reason I find the organic act of chewing so dull is because I've never really tried to make it work. Maybe I did it wrong and failed to take the time to savor the taste, as Anpiel pointed out. Maybe if I actually give it a try, it would give me as much pleasure as sex.

We're going to be confined in this room for many more hours. Why not take the time to initiate myself further into the sensual delights intrinsic to human nature?

I hesitantly reach out to slip my fingers into the half-open package. I extract some kind of small yellow disk, so thin it feels brittle and likely to shatter at the slightest pressure.

I've hardly had the opportunity to walk the earth over the last two thousand years and study the human ways and customs. Authorizations were rare and only granted to the highest ranks. I've never seen this sort of food before, not back when Jesus' apostles lived, nor in any of the countless human Paradises I've explored.

"What is this?"

"Potato chips. Cheddar and onion flavor. Come on, taste it."

I obey and open my mouth to insert the potato chip, this time taking all the time to chew and activate my taste buds instead of swallowing right away. It crumbles and crunches under my teeth, ground and stirred by my tongue as I study the variety of artificial, salt-laden flavors that invade my senses and make their way up my nose. I eventually swallow the mush of molecules mixed with my saliva, but some of it condensed and stuck in the asperities of my teeth, which, no matter how hard I try to be open-minded, is not the most pleasant sensation.

"So?"

Dean never took his eyes off me during the whole process, and he brings a handful of chips to his mouth too, starting to chew loudly.

"Chemical." I reach for the bag again. "The sensation is strange. I'm not sure if I like it."

To confirm this, I chew five more potato chips. Soon, empty wrappers pile up on the bed between us while, sitting together on the bed watching Raphael's empty vessel, we ingest a variety of sweet and salty foods, none of which looks like anything found in nature.

While the experience is not nearly as pleasing and new as being masturbated, there's something oddly satisfying about the flavors, the stimulation of taste buds, the chewing and swallowing process. Or maybe Dean's enthusiasm, the pride in his smile and the radiance of his soul in his eyes, is all it takes to make me enjoy it all.

Once all the food has been consumed, Dean wipes his hands on his jeans and takes his phone from his jacket pocket.

"I'm gonna call Bobby real quick and tell him we're alive before he grows an ulcer from worrying about us."

I nod approvingly, but Dean is already pushing buttons and bringing the device to his ear.

"Hi Bobby. Yeah it's me. No, we're still in Waterville." He frowns and stays silent for a moment. "Huh? Oklahoma? Shit… No, we tried Cas's ritual, we've been waiting for hours but still no Raphael in sight. Okay, I'll call you if anything happens."

He hangs up, and I can't help noting that Dean is not applying his own instructions on how to make a phone call. He didn't try to make small talk by referring to the weather or what Bobby had been doing today.

I think I'll never quite understand when these implicit rules do or don't apply.

With a grim look on his face, Dean keeps his eyes fixed on the phone in his hand.

"What did Bobby say?"

My voice seems to shake him out of his thoughts, and he gives me a sidelong glance before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Looks like there's a huge demon gathering in Oklahoma. Bobby sent three hunters to deal with it."

He runs a hand over his face wearily, casting a glance at Raphael's empty vessel.

"You really think the ninja turtle is gonna show up? We can't keep Donnie prisoner all day, that's not cool. He needs to eat and pee at some point, too."

Again, that cryptic reference. Under normal circumstances I'd ignore it, but now that I've got all the time to ponder on such insignificant details, I'd like to understand how Dean's mind came to make such an unexpected connection between an Archangel and a turtle.

"Why do you say Raphael is a turtle?"

I guess my frustration is obvious in my voice, since Dean turns his head to stare at me, blinking. Then his face lights up with a smile, displaying all of his soul's beauty.

"Not a turtle, Cas. A teenage mutant ninja turtle. Not the same thing." He chortles. "When we were kids, Sammy and I were obsessed with this cartoon on CBS. Whenever we were in a motel with a TV, or when our dad dropped us off at Bobby's, we never missed an episode."

His eyes grow distant, wistful, and for a few seconds, all I can hear is the holy fire's quiet crackling.

"It's about four bandana-wearing mutant turtles living in New York's sewers with a martial arts master rat who teaches them how to fight. Michelangelo always made us want to eat pizza. Sammy's favorite was Donatello, no wonder for a nerd like him. And of course I liked Raphael, for all the sarcasm."

Human imagination will never cease to amaze me. No celestial being would ever come up with stories about mutant animals eating pizza and fighting.

So Raphael's name was the only thing that led him to make this connection between the Archangel and this character from a childhood fiction. The way Dean's mind works is fascinating, and to understand it even just slightly more is an achievement.

Hours fly by as he excitedly talks about all the cartoons and films that filled his chaotic childhood on the United States highways. The sun is low in the sky when Dean's stomach starts growling and he stands up, stretching.

"I'm getting hungry. Okay, Cas, that's enough, we spent the entire day idling around, you'll have to accept it, Raphael's not coming."

I lift my chin, puffing out my feathers.

"You're probably right. He's too much of a coward to face an Angel who's been resurrected by God Himself."

I feel no celestial aura or signs of a presence spying on us, but it is safer to stick to the plan. I assume these fifteen fruitless hours of waiting will be enough to make our departure convincing if Raphael's agents are watching us.

Dean's arm slips over my shoulders affectionately.

"Yeah, that's the spirit!"

oOo

There's a weary, frustrated sigh over the engine's rumbling. The ride from the city was devoid of music for once, and Dean has not relaxed his jaw since we got into the car, settling into stubborn silence. From the corner of my eye, I watch his profile's grim expression in the half-light, his gaze focused on the road and his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"Something's upsetting you," I say, breaking the silence. "What is it?"

Dean shoots me a sidelong glance, his lips parting before pursing, hollowing out the dimples in his cheeks.

"I keep thinking about Reggie, Steve and Tim. The hunters Bobby sent to fight the demon invasion in Oklahoma."

The tip of his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, while he frowns even more.

"I should've been there helping them. Could've done something useful and saved lives instead of just sitting on my ass watching some dude drool in his chair all day."

Trees scurry past on either side of the empty road to become a dark mass of trunks and leaves.

"Finding God is more important than fighting demons. No one but Him can stop the Apocalypse now that it's started."

Dean rolls his eyes and moves his hands over the steering wheel to exit the concrete road and drive onto the dirt path leading to the hideout.

"I know that. But I'm a man of action. I'm not meant to sit on my ass and do nothing while everyone else is out there fighting and risking their lives."

Again, he heaves a sigh when the house appears behind the trees, splashed by the headlights.

"Well, that's a day I'll never get back!"

The car stops with a tire squeal. The usual creak echoes in the night silence when we open the doors and step out, then they slam shut. Dirt and grit crunch under our feet as I walk behind Dean.

Only when he climbs the stairs and pushes open the hideout door does an overpowering presence burst into the air, ruffling my feathers and sending a wave of sheer terror through my Grace. I could identify this aura of divine power anywhere.

Raphael.

"Dean, wait!"

I rush inside to shield him with my wings. My Grace petrifies in my veins upon seeing the Archangel Raphael, radiant with lightning arcs and contained inside Donnie's body, folding his gigantic translucent wings in the center of the room. There's nothing weak now about that body I watched sitting limp in a wheelchair - every cell in it is pulsing with a level of power that dwarfs mine.

All the lanterns Dean had set up in the hideout when we came back from the den of iniquity explode one by one, until we're left in semi-darkness lit only by the moon. I can feel Raphael's wrath bending elements to his will and altering the weather. Lightning and dark clouds are already gathering in the night sky.

His eyes focus on me, and there's something different in the way he stares at me than when we last faced each other, just before he killed me.

My strategy worked. I knew Raphael would plan to catch us just when we least expected him. Now all we need to do is to find a way to get him inside the holy oil circle I've drawn on the ground a couple of steps from where he's standing.

"Castiel," he says threateningly.

Striving not to give any indication of my intentions, I hold his gaze defiantly.

"Raphael."

It all comes down to this. Any mistake could expose my strategy and let Raphael see the trap I've set for him. All he'd have to do is to look down at the ground and notice the thin trickle of holy oil there - and he'd understand. We need to maintain his attention and get him to move where we want him to without him suspecting anything.

His eyes stay locked on me as I step into the room with Dean.

"And I thought you were supposed to be impressive," Dean quips. "All you do is black out the room."

With his gaze steady and shrouded in the shadows that have invaded the house, the Archangel doesn't even bat an eyelid at this insult.

"And the Eastern Seaboard," he replies flatly.

Lightning flashes across the room. Coiled in my chest, my heart pumps the blood charged with my Grace as I struggle to repress the raw fear I feel for the man who wiped me out of existence with just a snap of fingers. I can't allow emotions to control me. Not when I'm so close to achieving my mission.

All I can do is bet my life and Dean's safety on the slim chance that Raphael won't kill me before I get a chance to trap him. This is a major risk, and it's all going to be decided in the next few seconds.

I cannot, and must not fail.

"It is a testament to my unending mercy that I do not smite you here and now."

The lightning outside is thundering and the wind whistling through the trees, their branches thumping against the windows. I stiffen, knowing he could kill me any moment and anything I could say might make him change his mind.

"Or maybe you're full of crap," Dean chimes in. " Maybe you're afraid God will bring Cas back to life again and smite you and your candy-ass skirt."

Raphael slowly shifts his gaze to Dean, who once again proves that he can face fear and powerful beings with cheekiness and insolence. I can't help reflecting on our first interactions, and my own frustration and anger at his disrespectful attitude. Watching him stand up for me to an Archangel is deeply unsettling - and if I weren't so scared that my plan would fail, I might take a closer look at this new feeling.

A flash of lightning casts light over Dean's sneer as he waves in greetings.

"By the way, hi, I'm Dean."

"I know who you are," Raphael snaps back before he lets out a short, pleased chuckle. "And now, thanks to him, I know where you are."

"You won't kill him," I hiss through my clenched teeth. "You wouldn't dare."

Thunder roars, shaking the ground and the walls. A flash of lightning illuminates Michael's flesh face, exuding cold jubilation.

"But I will take him to Michael."

"Well then," Deans says, sounding unimpressed. "Sounds terrifying. It does."

His body language and relaxed pace contradict his words as he walks across the room to the cooler placed further back. Raphael just stares at him unblinkingly.

"But I hate to tell you…" He fishes out a bottle, now standing at the opposite end of the room, forcing Raphael to turn his back on me and focus his attention on him alone. "… I'm not going anywhere with you."

He uncaps the bottle, tilts his head back and gulps it down. It's suddenly obvious to me what he's trying to do. It's brilliant. He's going to bait Raphael into the circle by provoking him, while allowing me, when the time comes, to use the lighter he gave me this morning along with the matches.

"Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer?"

The torture threat in Raphael's voice is clear, emphasized by the thunder rumbling. In a flash that floods his frame with light, Dean freezes for a fleeting second, then turns to face him again. His smile grew tense.

"Yeah, that was hilarious."

A burning wave of anger flows through my Grace. Dean was tortured in Hell for ages when we could have saved him even before the Hellhounds caught him. Raphael knew this, so did the Council, and he let it happen, commanding me to rescue him only to collect the body that Michael would use as his weapon.

Michael and Raphael planned the whole thing, they're behind all the suffering Sam and Dean have been through since they were born.

"Well, he doesn't have anything close to my imagination."

"Oh yeah?" says Dean in a provocative tone.

Eyes locked on Dean like an eagle on its prey, Raphael takes one step towards him. Then another. And one more, unaware he's crossing the trail of holy oil on the ground.

We share a glance, like a wordless signal between us.

This is it.

As stealthily as I can, I reach into my trench-coat pocket and pull out the lighter.

"I bet you didn't imagine one thing," says Dean hoarsely.

Raphael stops right in the center of the circle.

"What?" he snarls.

"We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch."

I flick open the lighter and drop it onto the trail of oil, which immediately bursts into flames, trapping the Archangel before he can react. The holy fire rises high and strong, bathing the room in a red glow.

Finally, I let my wings relax. We successfully trapped Raphael, the hard part is done and there's no more imminent threat. He can no longer kill me or hurt Dean. The righteous man walks around the flames to join me, still holding his half-empty bottle.

A mixture of panic and outraged fury flashes through Raphael's gaze, directed at Dean with powerless wrath. He probably can't fathom how a mortal and a fallen Angel could outsmart him. Were he not caged in holy fire, surely he'd have annihilated me by now, and probably the whole region along with me.

"Don't look at me, it was his idea!"

I have no idea if Dean is trying to be funny here, and quite honestly, I don't care.

I've done what no one else ever did, to my knowledge. I've lured and trapped an Archangel, one of Heaven's most deadly weapons, and now he's at my mercy.

Never in my life have I held such power over a high-ranking member of the hierarchy.

And finally, I'm going to get answers to my questions.

"Where is He?"

Surrounded by the flames bathing his dark skin in gold, Raphael holds my gaze unblinkingly. Outside, the storm is getting stronger. The pounding rain and roaring thunder cover the sound of crackling fire.

"God?"

Raphael's voice is flat, laced with contempt. I nod silently.

"Didn't you hear? He's dead, Castiel. Dead."

A flash of lightning washes across his blank face.

That's the last thing I expected to hear, and for a few seconds I remain speechless, sharing a disbelieving look with Dean.

"That's impossible," I say, glaring at Raphael. "God cannot be dead."

"But there's no other explanation. He's gone for good."

Why would he resort to such blasphemous nonsense? Is he mocking me?

"You're lying!"

"Am I? Do you remember the twentieth century? Think the twenty-first is going any better? Do you think God would have let any of that happen if He were alive?"

Though Angels have been confined in Heaven for thousands of years, no soldier in the Garrison can ignore the change Humanity has taken in the last two centuries. It's not just about wars and bloodshed, which have always occurred throughout the evolution of this aggressive species. No. The population growth has exceeded what some of us have long feared. The wildlife and plant species have been increasingly destroyed, as Hester repeatedly told me. Killing and torture tools and techniques have grown highly sophisticated in creativity and cruelty to bring mass devastation.

Why indeed would God allow His favorite species to decimate themselves and ruin the planet's natural resources? Is the vapid concept of free will really worth letting this tragedy happen?

Could it be true? It would never have occurred to me that the Almighty, the Creator of the universe, could not be everlasting and indestructible.

But if Raphael is right, when did He die? Since when? How did it happen? And why have we never heard about it?

"Oh yeah? Well then who invented the Chinese basket trick?"

Dean's voice snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn my head to see him cock his eyebrows with his trademark cheekiness. I have no idea what's so special about a basket, be it Chinese, and I don't particularly want to know.

Because if what Raphael says is true... then there's no more hope. There's no stopping the grim tide of fate that will shred everything in its path.

"Careful," Raphael retorts in a low, threatening voice. "That's my Father you're talking about, boy."

Hardly impressed, Dean speaks louder, placing his bottle on the table.

"Yeah, who would be so proud to know his sons started the frigging apocalypse!"

"Who ran off and disappeared! Who left no instructions and a world to run!"

I can barely grasp the meaning behind what they're saying. My Grace can barely move through my veins, as if jellified, and a gulf widens inside me as the shock of the information sinks in.

God, dead. Or at least, gone.

Either way, He's abandoned us. A Father I've never met, but whose approval I've always sought, and to whom I've devoted my entire life from the moment I first opened my eyes on this beach tens of millions of years ago.

I don't want to believe it, but it does make sense. It explains so many things. All these cruel orders. My prayers left unanswered. This new Apocalypse that may end in the extinction of Humanity.

But most of all, Raphael has no reason to make up such a vile lie. Not just because celestial beings very rarely lie, and when they do, it's only by omission or as part of a mission entrusted to them by a superior. But mostly because he would never blaspheme this way if it weren't the absolute, devastating truth. Not when Michael executed Siosp before our eyes for simply doubting His existence. Not when the celestial armies' obedience rests on their blind devotion to the Lord.

Dean walks through my wing as he comes back to stand by my side. His eyes are bold and fearless.

"Daddy ran away and disappeared. He didn't happen to work for the post office, did He?"

I sharply turn my head to stare at Dean, who shoots me a knowing look.

Oh.

For the first time since I dragged Dean from Hell's throes and initiated communication with him, I actually understand a reference. A reference that, to anyone who wasn't present last night to witness Karen Hammond's wrath, would make no sense at all.

In a different context, I'd certainly have enjoyed Raphael's clear frustration at not grasping the allusion, and the fact that this joke can only be understood by Dean and me alone.

"This is funny to you?" Raphael exclaims. "You're living in a godless universe!"

The pain in the Archangel's voice is very real, and echoes in my Grace, in what remains of my shattered Faith.

Dean, however, is a Human. He's not driven by the purest devotion to God that fuels all celestial beings. He has no Faith, he can't understand the anguish I now share with Raphael despite our differences and our history.

"And? What, you and the other kids just decided to throw an apocalypse while he was gone?"

"We're tired. We just want it to be over. We just want…"

Raphael turns his head to look at me, and I'm stunned to see tears in his eyes. The sorrow there is so intense, so harrowing it shakes me to the core.

"… Paradise," he finishes quietly.

For the few seconds that eye contact lasts, I realize I'm missing something fundamental. What does he mean? What else does he know that I don't?

"So, what? God dies and makes you the boss and you decide you can do whatever you want?"

Dean's angry voice breaks the moment, and Raphael squares his shoulders, the sorrow in his eyes replaced by wrath.

"Yes. And whatever we want, we get!"

The storm suddenly intensifies, and in a flash of lightning, the window behind us explodes. I immediately react by shielding Dean from the glass shards with my wing, and use my body to protect the holy fire from the wind and rain.

"Are you alright?" I shout over the rolling thunder, checking Dean's body for injuries.

Dean straightens up, shaking the broken glass from his jacket.

"Yeah I'm good, not a scratch!"

He had to shout too, to be heard over the rainstorm pouring in through the broken window and lashing at us like a thousand needles. One blinding flash of lightning follows another, and the thunder never ceases to roar, personifying Raphael's fury at being trapped in the holy fire circle that rain can't reach.

Dean's hand clasps my wrist, and he shoots me a hard stare.

"Cas, you got your answer!" he yells to my ear. "Now let's get the hell out of here!"

Dean is right. The longer Raphael stays trapped here, the greater the risk that celestial troops will come to enquire about his whereabouts. Raphael isn't stupid, he probably informed Michael or at least Zachariah of his plans.

And yet there's one more question I need to ask, so I push Dean's hand away, darting my eyes at the trapped Archangel.

"If God is dead, why have I returned?" I shout over the storm. "Who brought me back?"

Raphael stares at me coldly. He doesn't need to shout when he raises his voice, for the power of his words drowns out everything else, feeling like a punch in the face.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?"

"… No."

"Think about it. He needs all the rebellious Angels he can find."

I feel Dean's eyes on me. The rain lashes my back. And I can't think of a single argument to oppose.

I've always assumed that it's impossible to resurrect an Angel, since we have no soul. It's something unheard of. But it's true that Archangels are the most powerful beings after God Himself, they also wield the power of life, death and creation, even if I have no idea of their extent.

Raphael wouldn't suggest this if it were impossible for an Archangel to bring an Angel back to life. Believing that God raised me is the only thing that carried me and confirmed my convictions since I resurrected. If I was wrong about that too... If Lucifer was the one who did it, expecting me to help with his Apocalypse...

"You know it adds up," he points out, clearly reading in my eyes how horrified I feel at the idea.

There's nothing more for us to do here.

"Let's go," I tell Dean as I turn on my heels.

"Castiel!" Raphael utters commandingly.

I pause to face him. Standing in the ring of holy fire, the Archangel glares menacingly at me.

"I'm warning you. Do not leave me here. I will find you."

If there's no God and Lucifer is the one who's brought me back, if there's no hope, then why should I fear his threats? All is lost anyway. And I'll enjoy leaving him trapped in flames, just as he unfairly did to me before my trial.

I hope no one comes to free him for days, if not weeks.

"Maybe one day," I shout over the roar of rain and thunder. "But today, you're my little bitch."

I've never been inclined to resort to foul language like Uriel was, but I'd have tried it sooner had I known how empowering it feels to utter those words, and to see the raw humiliation in Raphael's eyes just before I turn my back on him and stride out of the house.

I step out into the fresh air and take a deep breath, looking up at the sky laden with thunderclouds flashing with lightning. The torrential rain pounds my open eyes, my nose, my cheeks and my lips pressed together.

"Cas…"

I flinch at the hand gently resting on my shoulder. I lower my head and carefully avoid Dean's gaze. His grip tightens.

"What do we do now?"

Rainwater slicks my hair to my skull, runs down my jaw, neck and soaks my clothes. The soggy ground creates puddles reflecting the sky as it hurls lightning across the coast.

There's nothing left to do. We're already doomed, just waiting to die. But saying it out loud to Dean will make it definitive, somehow. Just like I withheld the tragic role Heaven planned for him for as long as possible, I'd like to keep him ignorant and hopeful for a little while longer. If there's one thing I've learned throughout my life, it's that ignorance is an enviable thing, sometimes even the key to happiness, or at least the illusion of happiness.

"Now we're driving as far away from Waterville as we can before Raphael manages to get free."

The pressure on my shoulder withdraws and I finally turn my head to meet Dean's gaze in a series of flashes of light. He's dripping with rain too, his hair flattened on his head and his clothes plastered to his body.

"Okay," he says, swallowing hard. "Okay, sounds good to me. Come on, we'll talk on the road."

But as he turns to the car, his eyes widen and his mouth drops in surprise.

"What the… Hey Cas, why the hell is there someone on my freaking car?!"

I turn on my heels to follow his gaze. The car is exactly where we left it, bathed in the shadows of trees and night - and there's indeed a figure perched on the car's roof, crouching. A winged figure.

With a cannon-like crack of thunder, a flash of lightning hits the car and the Angel, who rises to her feet, unfolding her slender body and gracefully unfurling her wings.

I draw a sharp breath when I recognize her and realize why I didn't feel her aura and still can't feel it. Only she knows how to conceal her presence so perfectly.

"Anpiel."

My murmur is lost in another roll of thunder.

"Who's that?" Dean yells at me, wiping the water from his eyes. "You know her?"

A lightning bolt rips through the sky, casting a series of flashes across my sister's face, revealing her unblinking, fixed stare, the utter lack of expression on her face, and the ominous glow of her blade sliding into the palm of her hand.

Suddenly, with so much violence and ferocity that my Grace freezes in my veins, her aura bursts forth, crushing the air with her presence. That's all I need to know that this is no longer Anpiel. Not entirely. Not after the rehabilitation she went through, which was obviously successful.

"Dean, watch out!"

Without bothering to be gentle, I slam a hand on Dean's chest and shove him with enough force to propel him dozens of feet back, while my Grace solidifies in my forearm vein to shape my blade, which pierces the skin and falls into my hand.

I barely have time to wield my weapon before Anpiel leaps from the car and charges at me like a bird of prey, so fast that I narrowly block her attack. Our blades clash with striking force and sparks, the tip of her blade grazing the carotid artery she was aiming for.

We lock eyes in a dazzling flash, her eyes piercing through her water-dripping hair locks.

"I don't want to kill you," I hiss through my clenched teeth, "but I will if I have to."

In this stern silence so unlike her, Anpiel jumps back, and with a flap of her wings, reappears so swiftly behind me that she almost manages to startle me. I whirl around just in time to dodge a fatal blow to my back, but not fast enough to avoid her blade slashing relentlessly through the air and slicing across my forearm, cutting easily through the clothes, skin and flesh to strike my Grace by severing the veins.

The pain is sharp, intense and searing, but I clench my jaw to ignore it and focus on how to win this fight.

Anpiel is not a warrior. She's never served with the celestial troops, she's more of an infiltration specialist. Her outstanding speed and agility caught me off guard at first, but her attacks are nowhere near as strong as mine, and there's no finesse or strategy in the way she scans for openings and rushes in as soon as she sees one. To defeat me, she needed to deliver a lethal blow on the very first try, never allowing me to detect her weak points.

After blocking two more swift and brutal attacks, I can now see the flaws in her moves and anticipate what she's going to do next. She circles me, staring at me intently, her bare thighs under her suit skirt now speckled with mud.

I twirl my blade in my hand, and grossly expose to her an opening on my side. As predicted, she rushes at me like a charging bull - but this time I can anticipate her attack, which I deflect by stepping to the left, gripping her wrist in a vice-like grip.

She lets out a muffled scream when I tighten my grasp and twist her wrist until the bone snaps and her blade falls into the mud at our feet. I immediately punch her in the face, strong enough to knock the Grace out of her brain cells.

With a muddy splash, I tackle her slender vessel to the ground, holding it there with one hand at her throat, while pushing my full weight with my knee down on her stomach.

Her eyes look up at me in a thunderous flash, suddenly filled with terror as blood gushes from her nose and mouth. Her hand reaches up, shakily, to grab my sleeve. The damage to her Grace prevents her from efficiently controlling her vessel, but this won't last. I can't afford to falter now, and I can't allow Michael and Raphael to keep such a strong asset like Anpiel at their command.

She came very close to killing me and handing Dean over to the Archangels, and I won't give her a chance to do it again.

"Forgive me, sister."

As the thunder rumbles and the heavy rain lashes my back, I raise my blade, ready to strike and take another Angel's life.

"Wow wow wow wow, Cas! What the hell are you doing? You're not gonna kill her, right?!"

Dean's hand clasped mine to stop my arm, his dark figure towering over me. I look up to shoot him a frustrated glare.

"I have to!" I shout so he can hear me over the thunder. "She's dangerous, Dean!"

"She's just a teenage girl, damnit!"

"Don't be fooled by her appearance! She's older than your species!"

"She's knocked out, that's not enough for you? Come on, we're leaving, now!"

I know this is a mistake. I know I should push Dean aside and destroy the threat that Anpiel is to us, far more dangerous than most Angels because of her unique ability to conceal her presence.

Had I offered any resistance, Dean would never have managed to move me an inch by pulling on my wrist. I don't know if this is my reluctance to kill a former ally or the inherent urge to obey an order that makes me bend to Dean's will, but I rise to my feet, let myself be dragged and obediently pushed into the car. Once the door slams shut on me, I turn my head to make sure Anpiel isn't getting up. Through the rain tracing patterns on the glass, I can see my sister's frail figure curled up in a fetal position in the mud, wrapping her vaporous wings around her as she coughs and spits blood.

The car sags under Dean's weight when he sits behind the steering wheel and closes the door on his side, muting the storm's roar. In a series of bright flashes that floods us with white light, I hear him muttering to himself as he inserts the key in the ignition.

Finally, the engine starts up with a sputter. Dean drives off at top speed, sharply spinning the steering wheel to draw an arc across the soggy ground, onto the sludgy path leading out of the estate and then onto the concrete road. Lips pressed together and hands clutching the steering wheel, he accelerates and we slice through the night. Trees fly by on either side as rain whips the windshield that the wipers struggle to clear.

I'd never seen the car drive so fast, even though it still feels ridiculously slow compared to an Angel flying. We gradually leave the thunderstorm zone - the rain grows gentler, the thunder less powerful.

The car's speed decreases, returning to the medium pace I was used to on the road trip. There's a sigh, and from the corner of my eye, I see Dean running a hand over his face, still dripping with water.

"You gonna tell me who that chick was?"

I shift my attention back to the double yellow lines on the road, splashed brightly by the headlights - one continuous, the other made up of a succession of stripes. The raindrops become scarcer, until they completely stop. Dean pushes a button, and the wipers stop and stay put.

"Her name is Anpiel. She's my sister, and… she was my most trusted ally until she was sent to rehabilitation."

I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep staring at the road unblinkingly.

"You mean, Bible camp? The same thing they did to you when you wanted to help Sam and me?"

At my nod, Dean mutters a profanity.

"Your heaven is a freaking dystopia."

I look down at my knees - the black fabric of my pants is soaked and sticks to my skin, and I'm still holding my blade. I hold it up to watch its silvery glow before I let it melt back into my Grace, seeping through my skin's pores. I can feel Dean's stunned gaze watching the process, but I don't really care.

It all makes sense now. If Anpiel was the one Raphael sent to spy on us at the hospital, no wonder I couldn't detect the slightest celestial presence.

I should have killed her. Dean doesn't realize how serious a threat she is now that she's our enemy. I'll never be entirely sure that we're not being watched and followed.

"Your arm," says Dean hoarsely. "You're wounded."

I'm so overwhelmed by tonight's revelations that I almost forgot about the throbbing pain in my forearm. I slowly roll up my slashed, blood-soaked sleeve to reveal my bare forearm. The flesh is sliced deep, almost to the bone, and the wound is gorged with my light-radiating Grace - its shine bathes everything inside the car with the purest white.

"What the…" gasps Dean as he takes a bewildered look, squinting not to be dazzled. "What's that?"

"My Grace. That's what I really am underneath this organic shell."

I take a deep breath to focus, resealing the veins and restoring the bruised flesh until the skin closes, undamaged. Darkness settles back into the car, with only the outer glow of the headlights to provide some light.

Then, with a snap of my fingers, I make the water still on our skin and clothes evaporate.

I think I hear him thanking me. But with my eyes glued to the yellow lines and the skyline shrouded in night, a single haunting thought keeps circling in my head. Insistent. More harrowing with each passing minute.

God is dead, or has abandoned us. Either way, He left this world and all His creations.

We're alone, and there's nothing left to hope for. No more Divine Will to follow.

Nothing.

I have no more mission, no reason to live for.

If it's true Lucifer brought me back to life, as Raphael thinks he did, it's the most cruel thing he could ever have done to me. I'd rather have died for a righteous cause than live without a mission.

"You okay?"

Dean's voice rises above the engine's steady hum, and the answer to his question is so obvious that I won't bother saying it. How could I be okay after finding out my Father is dead, my mission is a failure, and I almost killed my sister, who's become my enemy because of the rehabilitation?

"Look," Dean says. "I'll be the first to tell you that this little crusade of yours is nuts, but I do know a little something about missing fathers."

I keep my eyes anchored to the endless yellow line and its parallel marks, following one another, always at the same intervals. Predictable. Neat.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there were times when I was looking for my dad when all logic said that he was dead, but I knew in my heart he was still alive."

Dean's voice is rough, passionate. But he's talking about two things that can't be compared.

John Winchester was a mortal, a Human stuck on this planet. Dean had a lead, and actually knew his father. I've never once met my Creator. I know nothing of His intentions, His appearance or anything about Him at all. For all I know, Siosp's blasphemy that got him killed by Michael could be the truth. Maybe God isn't even real.

I feel Dean's gaze on me again, probing.

"Who cares what some ninja turtle says, Cas, what do you believe?"

I've heard so many theories and assumptions about my Father in my lifetime that I'm starting to think that no one really knows anything about Him after all, not even the Archangels. Balthazar lost Faith and Siosp claimed God was never real. Anpiel was confident that He was on our side. Raphael says that God is dead, but like everyone else, he's merely making his own interpretation of His absence. That doesn't necessarily mean that it's true.

I don't know what the truth is either, but I can't believe that the entity who created this universe could have just died like any of His creatures.

However, one thing is clear to me now. If there is a God, He proved that He has no intention of helping us. He's abandoned us. Either way, the Winchesters, Bobby and I can't count on anyone but ourselves to save Humanity.

There will be no miracle, no savior. No one will come to help us. We need to take our destiny into our own hands, even if it means defeat.

"I believe He's out there."

And wherever He is, God doesn't care. That's why all my prayers never got answered. That's why the world is plunging into chaos and destruction.

"Good. Then go find him."

I turn my head to finally meet his gaze. There's a quiet confidence in his eyes, a kind of serenity that wasn't there before.

Should I tell him that I gave up on finding God and that I have no other strategy to save him and his brother? And then, what? Face the waves of demons that Hell keeps hurling to the surface, when it's as useless as trying to stop the tide from rising? Wait for the Archangels to catch us, for Michael to find a way to obtain Dean's consent, and then witness the end of time?

Perhaps it's preferable to let him think that I'm still on my quest, and leave him with some hope to hold on to, that we might have a chance of coming out victorious from this Apocalypse. The kind of hope I've lost.

"What about you?" I say in a voice I manage to keep neutral.

"What about me?"

With his attention back on the road, Dean smiles bitterly.

"I don't know. Honestly, I'm good. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I am, I'm really good."

I may not always grasp the complexities of human emotion, but the way he insists on this makes me think he's just trying to convince himself. Family bonds are extremely important for Humans, and this is all the more true for Dean, whose fierce affection for his brother is documented at length in the Winchester Gospel.

Angels are different. For all the millions of years I've spent with my family, only when they banished me did I realize how vital they are to me. It is not Heaven I miss but the voices of my brothers in my head, the collective Faith, the group drive centered on the Mission and the obedience to the Almighty.

Sam is a vital part of Dean's life. If the world is to end soon, and they are doomed to die at each other's hands, surely they should spend these last moments together rather than apart.

"Even without your brother?"

Dean remains silent for a moment, his hand tightening on the steering wheel.

"Especially without my brother."

For a second, I believe I've misheard, or that this is just another example of Dean's questionable humor. But looking at his profile, there's nothing to suggest that he doesn't mean what he just said - quite the contrary.

"I mean, I spent so much time worrying about the son of a bitch. I mean, I've had more fun with you in the past twenty-four hours than I've had with Sam in years, and you're not that much fun."

Suddenly, I can't hold his gaze any longer. I really don't want to listen to him belittle Sam and this sibling love, the Lord's most beautiful creation, that made his soul so pure and beautiful despite Hell's tortures. How can he choose to deny this bond, to push away his only family, when I would give everything to be able to have mine back?

"It's funny, you know, I've been so chained to my family…"

I spread my wings and with a strong flap, propel myself out of the car and out of this part of the world, letting Dean's rough voice and the engine's purr fade into the whistling air through my feathers.

Now I understand how Raphael feels.

Whatever the outcome, I just want it to be over.

I'm tired of it all.

oOo

In the next chapter

"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. But I can help you."

"Great. Just what we needed, a rookie."