Previously: Having lost all hope of finding God, Castiel helps Bobby by assisting hunters in trouble. Joining Ellen and Jo on a demon hunt, Castiel comes up with a new idea for a plan to kill Lucifer, finding the Colt. He's been told a demon named Crowley has it...

oOo

Into a burning church

"Yeah, okay. Well, keep me posted if you find anything."

Frowning, Bobby hangs up, his skin furrowing between his eyebrows. His beard crisps when he runs a hand over his face and looks sullenly up at me.

"That was the last one on my active hunter list. Rufus has no more intel on the Colt's location than we do, and he's never heard of a demon named Crowley either."

His phone drops on the desk with a thud among the books and parchments, and Bobby heaves a sigh as he takes off his cap. The hair on the top of his head is thinning.

Those fifty or so phone calls certainly highlighted two things. First, none of the monster hunters in Bobby Singer's network will be of much use in our mission. Second, Bobby applies none of the phone conversation rules Dean taught me.

"You sure he even exists? Maybe your demon was lying."

Leaning against the hearth frame, I cross my arms over my chest in what, I think, generally conveys impatience or disagreement.

"He wasn't lying. Believe me."

Rolling his eyes with the kind of insolence Dean always displays, Bobby brushes his hair back and pulls his cap over his head again, veiling his gaze in shadow.

"Tell me again why we can't just summon and interrogate that Crowley demon? I got entire books on summoning rituals. Just last year, I was summoning you, so I know my stuff."

"That's different."

"How?"

Shadows grow darker now that the sun has set, bathing the living room in shades of gray.

"The only reason you were able to invoke me was because I made the mistake of revealing my name. To summon a celestial or occult being, requires a part of its essence, or at least its name."

With a click, the light from the lamp sitting unsteadily on the desk splashes us with a yellow glow. With his finger still on the light switch and an elbow resting on a stack of books, Bobby stares at me, squinting - his pupils have shrunk to a black dot in reaction to the light.

"Do I look like a newbie to you? I know all that. And we do have a name, right? Crowley. So what's the problem?"

I slowly uncross my arms and step from the hearth frame to walk up to the window. Through the glass, the yard filled with car wrecks extends for a hundred yards, painting a grim landscape in the dusk. I see my reflection overlapping there, ghostly and feeling just as alien to me as it did when I first invested this body last year.

"Demons rarely go by their actual birth names, the ones they had when they were alive and still owned their souls. They'd rather reject their past, forget that they once were human."

I hear a groan behind my back, then the now-familiar squeak of Bobby's wheelchair wheels.

"So this is a fucking dead end," says his voice coming closer.

I nod, looking away from the pale moon filtering through a cloud. I can't see his eyes, hidden by his cap visor, but his jaw is tight and his fingers clenched on the wheels.

"We gotta find that goddamn Colt, you hear me? Sam and Dean are good boys, they don't deserve this shit storm. First hell, now the freakin' apocalypse?"

His chest heaves as he takes a breath. I can hear his heart pounding as he struggles to swallow.

"They…" His voice is barely above a whisper and he lowers his head. "They don't deserve this."

"I know."

Only when he wipes his cheek with his sleeve and fails to utter a sound do I realize he's crying. Or at least, struggling to stop more tears from falling like the one now lost in his beard.

I've rarely witnessed such emotion so close up, at human height. Watching from above Mary and Magdalene shed tears over Jesus' martyred body hadn't been as striking, since they were then just tiny specks at my feet.

Slowly, hesitantly, I extend my wing to wrap it around him, and my hand to squeeze his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. At that touch, his entire body tenses.

"I won't let Michael and Lucifer use them to solve their quarrel. You have my word, Bobby."

His body heat radiates through his clothes.

"I need a drink," He grunts and jerks his wheelchair back, disengaging himself from my hand and wing.

My arm drops back to my side as the wheels squeak away to the kitchen and the residual warmth fades from my palm. A tinkling lets me know he's pouring the liquid into a glass, when suddenly there's a piercing sound in the living room - next to the phones hung on the wall, a red light is flashing furiously.

"Balls!" comes Bobby's voice from the kitchen. "Can't get a moment's peace in this goddamn house!"

Grumbling, he storms back into the living room, spinning the wheels in nervous, erratic gestures.

"What's that?" I say, walking up to the tiny light bulb and touching it with the tip of my finger.

"That's the alarm that woke me up last night when you showed up in my yard. I laid traps and motion detectors all over the place so I won't be taken by surprise again. You can never be too careful these days, with all the demons using earth as their new playground."

Bobby grabs his shotgun from the desk and reloads it with a metallic sliding sound, glancing at the window. Indeed, among the car wrecks in the distance, there's a winged figure emerging from the shadows and striding towards the house, preceded by his aura's radiations.

I've known that aura for thousands of years.

"Stay back, Bobby, this is not a demon!"

My voice is drowned out by the explosion, which pulverizes the window into countless shards that strike like daggers into the floor and walls. Had it not been for the wing I unfurled to shield him, Bobby would surely have been gravely wounded, if not killed. My vessel's nerves inform me that my shoulder is slashed to the bone and that a glass shard is lodged in my abdomen. I ignore the signals and the blood gushing from the wounds to stand up before Bobby and face the enemy who just pushed himself up onto the windowsill. His polished shoes make the glass clink when they drop to the couch, then to the floor.

My Grace is bubbling in my veins, gathering in the thickest vein of my forearm, ready to forge my blade.

"Who's the son of a bitch?!"

Bobby's voice cuts through the silence, tense and aggressive. I can feel the fear in his racing heartbeat, and the frustration in the way he struggles to maneuver his wheelchair with one hand, glass crunching under the wheels.

"Virgil, one of my former soldiers."

"An angel?"

As I nod, Bobby lets out a profanity that perfectly sums up our current situation. He wisely back up to the wall, aware that this enemy is out of his league.

"I didn't expect to find you in this dump, Castiel."

Virgil's vessel face is locked in a perpetual disgruntled expression, eyebrows furrowed and lips tight.

"What are you doing here?" I say, intensifying my aura.

Virgil glances at Bobby, who is uselessly pointing his weapon at him.

"Let's call it taking the lead. I found the solution while reading the Winchester Gospel, it was right there for all to see. Why waste time on sending troops to find Michael's sword when we could just bait him by catching his foster father?"

With a tinkle, the celestial blade slides from his sleeve into his hand. He tightens his grip on it and holds it up, the sharp point catching a sliver of light as his cold eyes rest on me again.

"Enough is enough, Castiel. I've waited and hoped for this day for too long. The Apocalypse should already have started, and the final battle between Lucifer and Michael will decide our fate."

I let my Grace shape my blade that pierces the skin and falls into my hand. I no longer try to restrain my aura, which now radiates throughout the room, mingling with my former soldier's hostile one.

"You won't have Bobby. I won't let you lay a single finger on him."

A hint of a smirk creeps across his lips, mirrored in his blade's silvery sheen.

"You know, I should thank you for finally giving me the chance to avenge Uriel's death. I've been aching for this for months."

Before I can react, a rush of air combines with a fist crashing into my temple with the brutal strength of a meteorite. The sheer power of the impact hurls me against the wall with such violence that my Grace is partly yanked from my vessel's neurons. Everything turns black and the world around tumbles down.

A figure with outspread wings forms in the darkness. A strong hand lifts me by the collar like I weigh nothing. My Grace churns in my veins, struggling to take back control of my senses, molecules and the organic body containing me that is now like a prison. I think I feel some pressure against my neck - my perception sharpens just enough for me to realize that I'm pushed up against the wall and that the tip of a celestial blade against my throat has me completely at Virgil's mercy. The coppery taste of blood invades my mouth.

My vision clears, infusing color into Virgil's face as he stares at me with cold hatred.

"I've never understood what Uriel saw in you…" The sound of his voice is muffled, as if the words were submerged under a large volume of water. "… and how you could defeat him, when he was so strong."

I'm unarmed - my blade probably fell off when I lost control of my vessel. Two fingers, three ribs, two vertebrae and my skull's entire left side are fractured. Blood streams down my neck. Virgil's facial features gradually become clearer as my Grace rewires the synapses and fluidifies.

"But it doesn't matter." I can clearly hear his voice now. "I'll achieve what Uriel and Raphael failed to do. Farewell, Castiel."

"Hey, greaseball!"

That was Bobby's voice, quickly joined by a thunderous shotgun blast, then a second, then a third. Judging by the muted sound of impacts on flesh and shredded fabric, I guess the bullets all hit Virgil straight in the back. He stands unaffected, only narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Over his shoulder, I can see Bobby aggressively recharging his shotgun, glowering.

"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!"

I wonder if it's the bullets, the slurs, his lifelong loathing for Humans, or a combination of all three that gets to him, but Virgil eases his grip on my collar, taking his eyes off me to turn his head to Bobby.

"Quiet, you maggot," he orders, holding out his open hand in his direction.

He's distracted. I need to act now, before he hurts Bobby. Disregarding the fractures in my bones, I grab Virgil's wrist and brutally twist it. I feel the tendons and articulations snapping, the broken mechanics forcing the fingers open. I catch his blade before it falls to the ground and stab him with it, thrusting it between two ribs under his armpit.

He snaps his head back to me, wide-eyed with shock and rage, soon flooded by his Grace's blazing pure white.

"SHUT YOUR EYES, BOBBY!" I manage to yell over Virgil's agonizing scream, despite my broken jaw.

The hunter drops his weapon and quickly obeys, shielding his eyes with his forearms. Radiant light bursts from all the Angel's orifices now, including the gaping wounds in his back, flooding the entire living room with the brightest white in all Creation.

Finally, the scream fades into echoes and the vessel's lifeless body collapses onto the glass shards, its charred wings drawing their shadow all over the place.

In the silence now blanketing the wrecked living room, Bobby's racing heartbeat thumps loudly. After the light blast, a rare and horrendous vision of an Angel's death, the yellowish glow of the overturned lamp on the desk looks dull.

"Holy shit…" Bobby lowers his forearms to stare in shock at my former soldier's dead vessel. "We got him. We got the son of a bitch."

I try to nod, but my Grace can barely keep my wounded vessel on its feet as I strive to repair the two broken vertebrae. My hand slams down on the desk to steady myself as I clench my bloodstained fingers on Virgil's blade. The glass-littered carpet clinks when the wheelchair rolls closer and Bobby peers up at me.

"You're lookin' like shit, son. You ain't gonna die on me, huh?"

This time I shake my head slightly more easily and take a deep breath. The smell of burnt ozone, along with scents of blood, gunpowder, sour sweat and whisky, fills my nostrils.

"I've had worse," I say hoarsely. "These are only superficial wounds. Only my organic shell has been damaged, my Grace is not."

To prove it, I focus my Grace on the fractured part of my skull to heal the bones and restore the split skin, before I make the blood evaporate from my neck and shirt. My phalanges and rib bones snap back into place. There's still some minor damage to heal, but my Grace now flows much more smoothly. Bobby seems satisfied with the demonstration as he puts the lamp back on the desk.

"Good. Would be nice to fix my window too."

It's rare for one of my charges to make a request I can actually grant. For the year I've been spending with the Winchester brothers and Bobby, they've constantly asked me to do things that are beyond my skill or control. So I'm quite pleased to make the glass shards float above the ground, before sending them back to their original place with a snap of my fingers. The window is as good as new, without the slightest crack.

"If Virgil tried to kidnap you, it could happen again. Other Angels might come here sooner or later. You're not safe here, Bobby."

"No shit. But I ain't moving out of here, if that's what you're suggesting. Demons, vampires and ghosts never drove me out, ain't no damn angels gonna do it. I was born here, I lived here with my wife, and I'll die here."

His voice is fierce and defensive.

"I'm not suggesting that you move out."

"Then what?"

I look down at my former soldier's dead body. Ashes outline every detail of his wings and feathers. This is the fourth Angel I slay to protect Humans. Had Dean not stopped my arm, I would have killed Anpiel too without hesitation. In a way, I became what would have appalled and disgusted me not so long ago.

Killing my own kind is much easier than I would ever have imagined.

"You Humans have learned over the centuries to defend yourselves against demons and children of the Mother of All. But there are ways to protect yourselves from celestial beings too..."

I can feel the hunter's gaze following my every move as I step over the imprint of Virgil's left wing and crouch to pick up my blade, that had rolled all the way there.

"You mean the banishing seal? Dean told me about it and sent me a picture of the thing. I can replicate it if I need to."

My blade's silver hilt grows warmer as it touches my palm, dissolving and returning to my Grace, seeping into my skin's pores. In my other hand, Virgil's metal blade feels cold, like a lingering echo of his faded Grace.

"The seal of banishment won't protect you if they come to take you when you're sleeping."

I rise to my feet and hand him Virgil's blade, hilt towards him. Bobby squints at it and raises his eyebrows, peering suspiciously at me.

"Take this, Bobby. Only a celestial blade can kill an Angel. I'll also show you the seals and sigils you need to draw to block all Angels from entering your house."

Bobby takes the blade, weighing it in his hand before narrowing his eyes.

"Thanks, I guess… But hold on a minute. If my house turns into a no-go zone for angels, how are you gonna get in?"

"The seals won't be affecting me in the version I'm going to teach you. Still, it would be wise for me not to come back here again unless it's absolutely necessary. The celestial armies are hunting me, and my siblings wouldn't think twice about destroying your house to get to me if they found out that I'm here."

Bobby nods, tucking the blade into his jacket pocket.

"So this is goodbye?" he grumbles.

"We can still talk on the phone. I'll keep you informed about the Apocalypse's latest developments."

He lets out a weird, hoarse chuckle, with a hint of fondness in his eyes.

"You know what? Never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm gonna miss you, son. The place felt more like home with you around."

oOo

It's been a couple thousand years since I've been on guard duty on Earth, alone and standing still as hours go by with no other purpose than to wait for instructions. Of course, back then, I towered over the land from above, and the constant flow of my siblings' voices filled my loneliness. Today, it's only me with silence in my head, all of me contained in Jimmy Novak's small body - so low at ground level that I can barely see the skyline through the wheat stalks glowing gold with dawn's first rays.

About a hundred feet overhead, the cables hanging between two poles buzz with the electric current flowing through them.

My phone's battery is at 67%, so I still have a few dozen hours before I need to leave this place to recharge it. I wonder if the Garrison worries about Virgil's disappearance, and if he tried to contact them before I struck the fatal blow. Still, it's safer to keep a low profile and stay away from crowded areas where Zachariah and Raphael are likely to have spies lurking around.

But while I'm quite safe in this deserted Colorado field, Sam and Dean are not. With every passing second, they could be captured by celestial or demonic armies. And that's assuming they don't get killed by a creature of the Mother of All, or die from some accident or bacterial infection. I'd never quite realized how fragile Humans are and how easily they can die from something so insignificant.

I have no idea where Sam is or if he's alright, but I can phone Dean. It's been days since we trapped and interrogated Raphael, and I'm starting to feel the need to hear his voice to make sure he's alive and safe.

The now-familiar dial tone rings in my ear, once, twice, three times, while a sunbeam bathes my cheek in summery warmth.

« … Cas? »

A raspy throat-clearing.

« Hey, what's up, buddy? »

"Hello, Dean. I wanted to make sure you're safe. How are you?"

The long silence I get for an answer has me doubting, but when I check my phone screen, I can see that the call is still ongoing, counting down seconds as always.

"Dean?" I insist, pressing the phone against my ear again, more firmly.

The sound of an exhaled breath makes the call sizzle, and in the background I can hear fabric rustling.

« Yeah, I'm not too bad considering the world is ending, but it's way too early for small talk. Do you even know what time it is? »

Questions about the time again. I wonder why Dean is so concerned about this when Bobby never once mentioned it to me on the phone.

"It's 5:43 AM in Colorado where I am. Where are you?"

A warm breeze sways the wheat spikes, one of them brushing across my forehead.

« Somewhere on Missouri's highways. »

I can hear the characteristic creak of the Impala's door, then a muffled slam behind Dean's voice.

« I might have a lead on a good old salt & burn. Something nice and easy to take my mind off all that apocalypse shitload. »

I received a rough location for Dean and reassurance that he's still alive. I should hang up now not to waste my minutes, but oddly enough, I feel reluctant to end the conversation.

« So, what have you been up to these last few days? I haven't heard from you since you disappeared on me while we were talking. »

There's a faraway, wistful and lonely bird cry. The rising sun shines through the wheat ears. Everything is so peaceful I could almost forget that the Apocalypse started and that soon, it will all turn to rivers of fire and blood.

"I was at Bobby's," I say, following with my eyes a Colorado beetle striving to climb a stem. "He's helping me find a new plan to stop the Apocalypse."

« A new plan? »

The intonation of his voice suggests disapproval, or possibly just surprise. Once again, I'm frustrated at these phone conversation's limitations. I often struggle to read Dean's emotions and innuendos by studying the soul glinting in his eyes, and it's practically impossible to do so just by listening to his voice.

« What about finding God? Didn't you say you think He's alive? »

The beetle slips and tumbles all the way down, then rolls at my feet and starts climbing up again.

"I do think He's alive, somewhere. But I also think that for some reason, He doesn't want to be found. We can't rely on His help, and I've already wasted way too much time looking for Him."

« Okay... »

The wind fuses with Dean's voice, drowning out the sound.

« Okay, yeah, that makes sense. So what's your new plan? »

Should I share with him my plan based solely on what some scared demon told me in a desperate attempt to save his life? My only lead is this Crowley demon allegedly holding the Colt... From a strategic point of view, none of this is reliable. There's no evidence that this Colt can kill an Archangel, fallen or not, or even that there actually is a demon named Crowley who has it. But there's nothing else to hold on to, so I have to believe.

"I'll tell you more once I've confirmed my information. I'll be in touch."

When I hang up and remove the phone from my ear, the screen informs me that our conversation was precisely two minutes and four seconds long, and that three minutes will therefore be taken from my call time.

oOo

The air is heavy with the smell of sulfur and fire. The thick, swirling smoke and soaring temperature would instantly kill any mortal inside the burning church. But I'm not mortal, nor is the demon wincing under my blade.

"Answer me!" I shout over the roaring fire and the grim crackling of the wooden structure above us. "Where is Crowley?"

Tied to the pillar and held there by the pentagram traced on the floor and the various seals I've applied to strengthen it, the demon bares its bloodstained teeth, locking black eyes with mine.

"Why would I tell you, when you're just going to kill me anyway like you killed all the others?"

He motions with his chin to the piled-up corpses littering the church floor, all limp and burned from the inside out. The stench of roasting flesh starts rising as the fire reaches them.

He clearly intended his voice to sound daring and hateful, but he exudes fear through every pore.

"Because…" I push my blade a touch closer to his chest, just enough to nick the skin. "You're the last one I'm questioning. And if I don't get what I want from you, I'll draw out your agony and make it more painful than you could ever imagine. You'll beg for a quick death, and I will deny it to you."

I don't like resorting to torture or threats, and the way the demon flinches brings me no satisfaction whatsoever, but I have no choice if I want to find the Colt, get the chance to kill Lucifer and put an end to the Apocalypse.

And that's something I have to do alone. I won't include Dean in my quest, and I won't put him in a situation where he has to interrogate demons. I don't want him to use torture ever again.

I can't protect him like I'd like to, but I can at least spare him this.

"What kind of an angel are you," the demon splutters, "to wreck a church, torture and kill in a holy place, and set it on fire? You think your god would approve?"

I squint and tilt my head to the side.

"If the Lord disagrees with my actions, may He come and tell me so Himself. I'm looking forward to it. Now, I've been patient enough. I will give you one last chance to answer my question. Where is Crowley?"

"I don't know where he is."

True to my word, I draw my blade down just enough to cut through the skin and open the wound - a crimson crackling instantly runs through the demon's skin and he shrieks in pain. Blood soaks his shirt, a dark stain growing larger by the second.

"Wait, wait!" he begs, his hideous face bathed in the red glow of the fire engulfing the ceiling. "I don't know where he is, but I know things about him!"

I stop moving and raise an eyebrow. Blood trickles down my blade, staining my fingers.

"I'm listening."

Panting and shaking in his fifty-year-old man's appearance, the demon grits his teeth.

"Crowley used to be a crossroad demon. A sly, power-hungry, opportunistic salesman. Since Azazel's death, it's been clear he aimed for higher ranks. After Lilith's death, he saw an opportunity and used the chaos to extend his influence. By the time Alastair was killed, he'd pulled enough strings, conspired and betrayed enough to take over the throne and become King of Hell."

"This information is useless to me."

"There's more!" the demon yelps, interrupting me as I was about to resume the torture. "I know he left hell when word spread that Lucifer had finally found a meat suit. He took off like a sewer rat and rumors say he's hiding somewhere on earth with a dozen of his minions, hoping Lucifer won't find them."

I carefully remove my blade from the bloodied flesh, wringing a choked sob from the demon. The church cracks in flames, the crucifix behind the altar igniting instantly. The fire reaches the benches now.

"Why would a demon hide from Lucifer, his master and creator?"

A smirk twists the demon's ugly face.

"Crowley tried to stop the destruction of the 66 seals that kept Lucifer locked in the Cage. Everyone knows he's anti-Lucifer, and it's only a matter of time before the Dark Lord makes him pay for his treachery."

The sudden crash of a structural section onto the altar interrupts him, raising a cloud of glowing embers. The oxygen rush from outside fuel the raging fire and increase the flames' intensity tenfold. Any second now, the church might collapse on us and, in the process, break the pentagram and seals I've carefully traced.

There's no more time to lose.

"That was a useful information. Thank you."

The demon only has time to widen his black eyes, before I'm driving my blade through his heart. He stiffens and the purifying burst of light burns him from the inside out. Only supported by the ties binding him, he slumps down as I pull out my blade and wipe it on my trench-coat sleeve.

As I stride out of the blazing furnace the church has become, the brutal temperature difference strikes me. Without my aura to protect them, my clothes, hair, skin and phone would have burned to ashes.

The sun is declining, veiled by a vaporous cloud darkening the valley. I can see a village from here, just a few miles away, and no doubt the villagers have noticed the thick smoke rising in a swirling mass above me.

Walking away, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. And with growing ease with this very special technology, I think, I press the buttons and select Bobby's name.

The tone only rings twice before I hear the hunter's growling voice in my ear.

« Yeah? »

"Your information was correct: demons were indeed gathering in this church, pretending to be priests. I trapped them and interrogated them one by one."

« Good job, kiddo. So? Any of them spit it out about the Colt? »

"Not quite."

Behind me, the church collapses in a cloud of smoke, fire and embers. I turn my head just enough to watch the smoking ruins of this profaned place, now cleansed of all demonic taint.

"But I did find out more about the demon called Crowley. It seems he doesn't want to see Lucifer win. That's something we can use, he could be on our side."

« If you say so. Still gotta find where he is first. »

"I heard he's hiding on Earth. With your contacts, you might be able to find where."

« Yeah, maybe. I'll see what I can do. Hey, you heard of Dean lately? »

Hearing Dean's name, I square my shoulders and frown.

"I talked to him on the phone yesterday morning. He was in Missouri and had a lead on a hunt."

I hear Bobby sigh. I can picture him in his wheelchair, alone in his living room, one hand on his rifle and the phone to his ear.

« Yeah he told me about it too, but he was supposed to call me back last night and he never did. He ain't answering his goddamn phone since yesterday. »

"This is alarming."

Since I got his number and started checking on his safety almost daily, Dean has always returned my calls. His silence can only mean that something bad happened to him, whether it was the creature he was hunting, or Angels or demons.

« Yeah no shit. Go check on him for me, will you? You got wings and ain't strapped on a fucking wheelchair. »

"I'm going immediately."

Without bothering with politeness, I push the red button and spread my wings with a soft rustle of feathers. A strong wing beat brings me right to the heart of Missouri, alongside a concrete road, a gas station, a shopping mall and a hotel complex.

Dean only said he was on some Missouri highway. I quickly estimate how many miles I'll need to search to check them all out, and had I not already had to do much more extensive and complex research to find my Father, I'd have felt disheartened by such a huge task. I'll also try to call Dean on the phone and hope he answers, and question all Humans I meet on the road until I find a clue.

If Dean is in danger, I'll do everything in my power to come to his rescue.

oOo

In the next chapter

"What happened?"

"Let's just say I've seen how the future turns out if Biff gets the Almanac."