Previously: Castiel meets the Angels who want to lead a revolution in Heaven and finds out that they mostly want to use him as a unifying symbol. After notifying Dean that he'll be away for a while, he joins the Angels in Heaven for a mission: destroy the rehabilitation room and send a message to all the Angels urging them to join the movement. When he comes back to Earth, a month has passed and Bobby tells him that Sam and Dean have been missing for days...

This chapter takes place in season 5 episode 8.

oOo

Kitchen nightmare

"It's not a complex question: have you received two white men as customers in the past week, one of them with long hair?"

The desk lady raises her eyebrows, chewing her strongly scented peppermint gum.

"That's a pretty generic description... Don't you have their names, or a picture to show me?"

"No."

To my frustration, I have no idea what names Sam and Dean might have chosen this time. It looks like they change names every time they spot a creature they want to hunt. And, of course, I have no photo of them in my possession.

This is the seventh hotel in Wellington I'm visiting, and so far I've been met with nothing but suspicious looks and reluctance to answer my questions. The FBI badge Dean gave me hardly helped in any way.

Sam and Dean are possibly in mortal danger right now, held captive and tortured by Angels or demons, they might already be dead, or worse, possessed by Lucifer and Michael, and there's nothing I can do. With every passing second, I lose hope of finding them safe and sound, and all those Humans I talk to are useless in helping me to figure out how and why they've been missing for almost a week now.

"They're both taller than me," I say, struggling to keep calm. "They are about thirty years old. They have green eyes and light brown hair. They drive a black car."

The woman clicks her tongue and squints at me through her half-moon glasses.

"Yes, I did have two customers like that. Two fine young men all dressed in suits picked the room with the kitchen and bathroom, the one set furthest apart from the others. They just disappeared one day, leaving behind dirty socks, toothbrushes and junk. And when I checked my bank accounts, the credit card they used was fake. Thank God my insurance covered me, but... I almost called the police, you know, because the way they took off was just fishy, but my husband told me it was useless and that I was just being paranoid."

A rush of hope runs through my wings, puffing up my feathers.

"When did they leave? Do you know where to?"

The woman shakes her head, causing her brown curls to wiggle around her round face.

"They left about a week ago. I was out smoking when I saw them hurry into their car, talking about some old paper factory. I'm not sure I heard right, but I think they were saying something about finding him quickly and convincing him, and killing him if need be."

"Who were they talking about?"

"No idea."

The receptionist props her elbows on the counter as she leans forward, an eager gleam in her eyes.

"So, tell me, what did they do to get the FBI looking for them? Are they terrorists? Serial killers? Cult fanatics? Russian spies?"

"... Russian spies, yes. Exactly. You got it right."

"I knew it!" she excitedly claps her hand to her chest. "That's what I told my husband, and he wouldn't believe me! They're everywhere! Oh, boy, when I tell him about this..."

"Thank you for your cooperation."

Having experienced how slow their car is, the Winchesters can't have gone far. Finding one of the many paper mills in the area will be easy compared to the months I've wasted searching the planet for God.

"Wait, agent Moscone!"

With my hand on the door handle as I was about to leave the hotel, I turn back to see the woman scurrying around the reception desk, notepad in hand.

"You know, I'm a patriot and I'd be more than happy to serve my country in the fight against communism. Give me your number, I'll let you know if any other Russian spies take a room in my hotel."

What's the appropriate thing to do in this kind of situation? Is it customary for FBI agents to give out their number? Perhaps it's better to give her what she wants, to ensure that my behavior passes for human and raises no suspicion.

I can only hope that Bobby won't mind too much that I gave his number instead of mine.

oOo

This is definitely Dean's car. More precisely, his gorgeous 1967 Chevrolet Impala, as he told me recently with an expression of pride I still fail to understand to this day.

The metal body is cold and sprinkled with droplets as I brush my fingertips against it and walk around the vehicle. There's no one inside, and no sign of life anywhere in the area. The old paper mill's shape stands out like a towering, dark block against the starry sky. Could they be in there? Will I get to find them alive at all?

It would be a disaster if they died, their souls exposed and defenseless in Heaven, at the mercy of the Angels who could reincarnate them at will and force them to allow Lucifer and Michael into their bodies. I prefer not to think about it. I don't know what I'd do if it happened, if I were to lose Dean.

I would have nothing left.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I walk to the door, flicking my wrist to open it from a distance with a rusty creak. I stride into the darkness inside. Oddly enough, it feels like I'm walking through a thick curtain of smoke, which clears in a few steps to a bluish mist revealing another door.

Again, I gesture to open it from afar, which, to my frustration, doesn't work. It's like this door weighs as much as a mountain. I have to physically force it open with progressively stronger power waves.

A racket of voices and music washes over me as I finally enter, overwhelming my senses with noise, bright colors and blinding spotlights pointed right at me. Most surprisingly, before me sit hundreds of Humans in rows, all looking at me, clapping and laughing, and a few others on the stage I'm standing on are turning cameras at me, and yet... well, I feel no living presence in the entire room. None at all.

"Is this another trick?!" Sam's voice rises.

"It's me," I say, scanning the crowd.

Naturally I can't feel Sam and Dean's presence because of the seals I've engraved on their ribs, but... these people? Why can't I feel any of them? Struggling to ignore the aberration of all those Humans devoid of any presence cheering and grinning blissfully, I focus on Dean and Sam, who have their backs to me, each standing on a pedestal and staring at me wide-eyed over their shoulders. The relief I feel at finding them alive quickly turns into confusion and annoyance.

I was prepared to find them dead, covered in blood, tortured by demons or Angels, or held captive by the Mother of All's creatures. But they both seem perfectly healthy. Why, then, have they not bothered to answer my calls and Bobby's? Why did they let me worry over them?

"What are you doing here?"

My voice clearly betrays my frustration, and Dean's reply only makes it grow:

"Us? What are you doing here?"

The crowd stops clapping, and all eyes are on me.

"Looking for you. You've been missing for days."

"So get us the hell out of here, then!" Sam yells.

"Ooooh!" the crowd protests together, smiles dropping from all faces.

They better have a very good explanation for this. Anyway, it's probably better to leave this place and stay away from this soulless crowd. Then we can talk.

"Let's go."

I spread my wings and reach out for them, but the stage, the spotlights, the crowd, it all disappears in a split second before I get to touch their foreheads. Instead of the stage with cameras and an audience with no presence, I suddenly happen to stand in what looks like a... kitchen? A kitchen bustling with agitated cooks, clattering pots and plates.

Stunned, I lower my arms, letting them drop to my sides.

What happened? Where are Sam and Dean?

There's nothing natural about this brutal change of scenery, and only when I try to fly out of here do I realize that I'm not just totally unable to locate myself, but that I can't even move my wings at all. It's like my feathers are glued together, weighing so heavily it's impossible to even lift them.

Turning around, I meet a Human's gaze - there is no soul in these eyes. Just like on the stage I was standing on earlier, there is no human presence here.

Could all of it be an illusion?

"Castiel?"

I spin around to face... Gordon Ramsay, walking briskly towards me. It's definitely him, the chef from the TV show Kitchen Nightmares that I recently watched for over an hour.

"Let's go," he says, "the first clients are here."

Clearly, this is an illusion, though a strikingly realistic one. Is this the doing of a creature of the Mother of All? This is way too elaborate to be a Djinn's work.

It doesn't matter, I need to get out of here right now and get back to Sam and Dean. They'll surely have some idea of what this is all about.

"Where are you going? Come back!"

I ignore the order and stride out of the kitchen, my trench coat flapping behind me. I walk into a dining room, drawing stares from seated customers. No matter how much I scan my surroundings and probe the reality in which I'm trapped, I can't detect a single breach - no hidden seal, no source of energy to power the illusion, no spell bag. The quality level is excessively high. Higher than even I could have infused into a human mind.

I don't understand. Even deprived of most of my powers, I'm still a celestial being. No illusion generated by the Mother of All's abominations should ever affect me, let alone hold me prisoner.

Perhaps if I walk away for a while, the illusion will start showing weaknesses. It's simply impossible for this high level of skill to be achieved over an extended area.

A hand slams down on my shoulder, halting me abruptly as I head for the restaurant exit, and forcibly swings me around. I end up face to face with Gordon, whose face is distorted with anger.

"Where do you think you're going? BEEEEP Timbuktu?!"

Just like on TV, his mouth blurred and a high-pitched tone came out of nowhere to cover his voice.

I have no time for this nonsense. I seize Gordon's hand on my shoulder with the intention of breaking the bones so that he'll let go, but... To my utter shock, not only do I fail to do so, but Gordon squints and grabs me by the collar, lifting me at arm's length until my feet no longer touch the ground, without the slightest apparent effort.

"You stay here," he hisses authoritatively. "You're the co-owner, Castiel, it's your job to run the kitchen, so get on with it! Tonight, I want you to do everything you can to succeed. You can't afford to make mistakes."

No matter how much I fight, no matter how hard I try to loosen his grip on my collar, nothing works. I'm totally helpless as he drags me back to the kitchen under the inquiring gaze of the customers.

"UnBEEEEEPbelievable," he grumbles. "If it was my restaurant, I'd fire your ass in a second."

With brute force far surpassing my own, he throws me into the kitchen so hard that I crash into a pile of plates, which shatter with me to the ground. I scramble to my feet amid the clattering fragments under my shoes, and face Gordon with clenched fists, ready to fight.

"What are you waiting for?" he raises his voice. "Don't let the BEEEEP incoming orders pile up, and send them on to your team!"

I expand my aura and gather the power of my Grace into my fist, before punching him in the face with all my might. That would be enough to instantly burst open a mortal's skull like an overripe watermelon or shatter a granite block like glass.

And yet, he barely flinched and the impact left him unfazed. Pain radiates from my fist to my shoulder as I gape at Gordon, who frowns.

"I work my BEEEEP off to help you save your BEEEEEP restaurant and this is how you thank me?! You've got to be BEEEEEP kidding me!"

Before I can react, he grabs the back of my neck and smashes my head against the metal counter with a bang, shattering the delicate cartilage of my nose, before forcibly lifting me upright.

"What do you read on the order? A BEEEEP fish n' chips and three shepherd's pies! It's not that BEEEEP complicated!"

He waves a piece of paper covered in messy handwriting in front of my bleeding nose before angrily throwing it to the ground. Blood flows down my throat and fills my mouth with a coppery taste. The grip on the back of my neck finally loosens, and I take a wobbly step backwards, blood streaming from my nose down to my chin.

"What are you?" I ask hoarsely, turning to face Gordon. "How can you be so powerful?"

Last time I got into such an uneven fight, it was against Uriel. And Uriel was the absolute deadliest Angel in Heaven, to my knowledge. What kind of creature could match or even surpass the strength of a celestial warrior?

Could it be a demon? But demons never resort to illusions, do they? Let alone such sophisticated ones?

Gordon raises his eyebrows and points at me disgruntledly.

"So, are you ready to do your BEEEEP job now, Castiel?"

"No," I hiss, tightening my wings behind my back. "Where are Sam and Dean? What did you do to them?"

My Grace starts boiling, gathering in my forearm to shape my blade. But... I fail to do so.

Bewildered, I roll up my sleeve - the skin on my forearm is swollen over the vein, but no matter how hard I focus, I just can't forge my weapon. As though gelified, my Grace can't get solid enough to pierce the vein and the skin.

Gordon's angry sigh makes me look up, and for the first time, a shiver of terror runs through my entire Grace.

I'm disarmed and grounded like a bird with oil-slicked wings.

"This is unacceptable!"

The first punch takes me by surprise, smashing into my temple with the sheer power of a comet, shattering blood vessels and fracturing bone.

"And you get paid for that?" he shouts as I stumble back. "You don't seem to mind! You can't even transmit simple orders to your team! If you were an air traffic controller, you'd be landing planes off to a BEEEEP cliff!"

I bump into one of the cooks to dodge just shy of another punch, when a calm voice rises inside my head:

It looks like Castiel and his cooks are having trouble working together. And that's just when orders are piling up and customers losing patience...

I need to find a way out of this illusion at all costs and rescue Sam and Dean. They've probably been trapped here ever since they stopped answering the phone.

A swish in my ear sends a shiver through my feathers. Gordon picked up large meat-cutting knives and threw one at me, missing by a whisker - the blade is now deeply lodged into the wall just behind me.

"What about HYGIENE, for BEEEEP's sake!" he roars, aiming at me. "Your role is to check quality before you send the dishes out!"

I jump to the side to dodge the knife, which slices through the air and right into the forehead of one of the cooks, who collapses to the ground, killed instantly.

Service began two hours ago. In the kitchen, all hell broke loose...

Ignoring the patronizing voice in my head, I wipe the warm blood trickling down my chin with the back of my sleeve and grab a saucepan to use as a shield, deflecting the next projectile mid-air.

"This is outrageous!" Gordon roars, brandishing a new knife. "What's the point of working hard and building a reputation if you're just going to send uncooked steaks to the clients?!"

I need to try something. A seal, an incantation, anything that would open a way out of any kind of universe or dimension. I have to think. There has to be a way!

Suddenly, Gordon notices a serious problem...

"You don't have duplicates for the tickets?" he chokes in rage. "You don't even have a reliable order system! You BEEEEP incompetents!"

I think I know how. It's risky and I'll need a few long seconds to execute my plan, but I can't see any other solution for getting away from this evil illusion. I grab the nearest cook and throw him brutally at Gordon, allowing me just enough time to run out of the kitchen.

All heads in the restaurant immediately turn to me. About thirty customers are staring at me, following my every move as I stumble forward, my Grace weakened by the severity of the injuries I've sustained. There's no time to lose. I snatch a bowl of onion soup from a woman's hands and stand, panting, in front of the wall near the exit. Swallowing the blood filling my mouth, I dip two fingers into the lukewarm liquid to use it as paint.

I should be able to replicate the seal that opened portals in Heaven's Archives. I've looked at it enough to memorize every sigil. No guarantee that it will work, but I'm starting to suspect that this sophisticated setting, these soulless Humans, Gordon Ramsay's extraordinary strength, all of this is on a far superior level, infinitely superior to what I could possibly achieve myself. And yet, there's something about this energy, this power restraining me, something familiar, unfathomable. Something that feels almost... celestial.

If I'm right, it could be a combination of temporary dimensions existing simultaneously in a single place and endlessly changing, just like the Archives. Opening a portal could allow me to pass from one dimension to another.

The situation is tense at the Grasshopper. Castiel's sloppy performance has caused discord. Gordon Ramsay decides to speak out.

The voice echoes in my head as I draw the last sigils on the wall, now dripping with soup. And behind me, I can already hear Gordon's furious footsteps approaching. I glance over my shoulder in panic as I complete my seal. Gordon is seething with rage, a knife in each hand.

"It can't go on like this, Castiel!" he shouts, swinging the razor-sharp blades. "We're all waiting for you in the kitchen to tell us what's been ordered!"

Praying to a God I no longer believe in that this will work, I activate the seal by sliding my finger over the right sigil and push open the materializing door, fleeing Gordon and his wrath.

The door opens to a brightly colored stage and I'm greeted by a thunderous applause. A different dimension from Gordon Ramsay's. So I was right, these illusions really are rooted in a layered reality system very similar to the Archives. The crowd in the audience is different from before - they're not all Asian this time, and all faces are laughing.

"You okay?"

That was Dean's voice. Both he and Sam are here, unharmed. But there's no reason to rejoice, because if this creature pretending to be Gordon Ramsay is as powerful as I suspect, fighting is pointless and we must all escape as quickly and as far away from it as we can.

"I don't have much time," I say as I walk over to them.

"What happened?" Sam asks, staring at me.

"I got out."

"From where?"

How long are they going to question me when time is running out and Gordon Ramsay could track me down any second? Don't they see how critical the situation is?

"Listen to me! Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

"What thing—the Trickster?"

A trickster? Tricksters are creatures of the Mother of Monsters who wield illusions, just like Djinns. At best, they hold the power of a pagan god. If it were a trickster, I'd have obliterated it with a snap of my fingers and pierced the veil of its illusions effortlessly. No monster, not even a pagan god, could stand up to an Angel, even a weakened and fallen one like me. And certainly not stop an Angel from flying or shaping blades.

"If it is a trickster," I say, tightening my glued wings.

I can see worry and confusion growing in their eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Before I can reply to Sam, I'm thrown backwards so violently that my Grace nearly gets ripped from my vessel's neural connections, and my back crashes into the wall. I slump to the ground, my Grace radiating pain, hearing the public's cheering and clapping as through a thick veil. I realize that my mouth is now sealed by what may look like a strip of tape but is actually made of raw power. But more importantly... an overwhelming aura just flooded the place. I can feel it electrifying my skin and ruffling the feathers on my wings. A familiar, ancient aura I haven't felt for hundreds, thousands of years.

"Hello!" cheers a voice I've never heard before.

Struggling to fluidify my Grace in my veins, I turn my head to stare in shock as the Archangel Gabriel enters the stage, grinning from ear to ear.

"Thank you!" he waves at the soulless public. "Thank you, ladies!"

Even contained inside this human body, there's no doubt about it. Those majestic wings unfurling at his back. That celestial face floating translucently, revealing the amber shade of his three eyes. And most of all, the fake playfulness in his eyes as I scramble to my feet.

It really is the Archangel Gabriel, who disappeared never to return after Camael's death, after slaughtering rebel Angels right in front of me.

What is he doing here?

"Hi, Castiel!"

I share a look with the Winchesters, unable to utter a single word to warn them. If only I could telepathically talk to them the way I do with Angels!

Suddenly, the tape rips off my mouth while Dean, Sam and Gabriel vaporize like smoke in the wind, taking with them the bright colors and the audience's laughing faces.

In an instant, everything turned into shades of plain gray. With my feet immersed in about four inches of water, I take a look around.

Clearly, Gabriel propelled me into yet another of his worlds, where, in this instance, basic rules of physics don't seem to apply. This sewer scenery only exists in a two-dimensional plane according to all my sensory perception signals, and yet depth still applies to it. Reaching out, I press my hand flat against the gray stone wall to my left. It's perfectly smooth and solid against my palm, but all my instincts warn me that it can't be real. It's almost as disturbing as being in the solitary confinement room where time is fluid and unpredictable.

I take my fingers off this non-existent wall, letting my arm drop to my side. The silence is complete, except for the distant, steady echo of water droplets.

"Gabriel!"

My voice echoes three times before it fades away. No matter how hard I focus, the Archangel's aura, so overwhelming before, is absolutely impossible to detect now.

"I know it's you!" I call out as I wade through the shallow water. "Enough of your foolish tricks! Show yourself!"

A distant metallic screech and the echo of muffled voices and laughter immediately have me on my guard. No matter how hard I push my Grace into my forearm vein, I still can't forge my blade. Voices become more distinct, as do the lapping sounds of a group walking towards me.

"Don't worry about it, April!" says one of the voices. "I'm sure you'll find a fantastic scoop, we'll help you!"

"Thank you, Donatello," replies a female voice. "My only lead is a pet shop that's been robbed. I don't know if this is really breaking news, but I'm going to lose my job if I don't come up with something for the front page tonight!"

"Hey! Can we get a proper breakfast first?"

"Really, all you think about is your stomach, Michelangelo!"

Only when the group appears at the end of the tunnel and stops dead in their tracks when they see me, do I realize why those names sounded so familiar. Even though I've never actually seen them, I do know these four green-skinned creatures, who can be told apart by the color of the bands around their arms, legs and eyes. Dean spent long hours in Waterville talking to me about this cartoon he watched with his brother when they were kids. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Gordon Ramsay, and now a cartoon? Gabriel seems fixated on the human TV programs, but why? What is he trying to achieve?

"Hey!" shouts the creature with the red headband, pointing at me. "Who are you?! What are you doing in our sewers?"

I won't waste my time arguing with soulless puppets. I need to quickly open a new portal to get back to Sam and Dean. I don't know what Gabriel wants from them, but it can't be good. He wouldn't have locked us up in these violent dimensions if his intentions were to help us stop the Apocalypse. Could he be on the Council's and Archangels' side even after having disappeared for two thousand years?

But then, why waste so much time and energy keeping us trapped in such sophisticated universes? It makes no sense! All he'd have to do is hand us over to Michael or Raphael!

"Don't you think he looks a bit suspicious?" April comments, crossing her arms. "And that he's acting weird? Plus, look, he's got wings!"

They all open their eyes wide and gasp, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see that not only are my wings material and visible, but they look nothing like they're supposed to. Instead of being infused with light and dazzling white, my wings look like ordinary swan wings, though with a larger wingspan and roughly drawn.

"He's got to be one of Shredder's new creatures!"

"We're not out of the woods if he starts making bird minions now!"

With a metallic sound, the four mutant turtles draw their swords and push their journalist friend aside. Their stance and gaze turn openly hostile.

"Gabriel!" I hiss through my teeth, bracing myself in a defensive posture. "What are you trying to do?! I know you can hear me, so stop this nonsense and face me yourself!"

The ninja turtles swing their swords aggressively.

"What are you saying, pigeon guy? We can't hear you!"

"Hey, why don't we throw breadcrumbs at him to lure him over here?"

I have no chance of escaping if I try to run. Now that he's seen me perform the portal seal, Gabriel won't let me replicate it so easily. I have no choice but to fight and try to defeat them. As far as I know about creating dimensions and illusions of this scale, only a part of the creator's power is actually instilled in them. Even if, like with Gordon Ramsay, the Ninja Turtles' strength outweighs mine considerably, it can only be a fraction of Gabriel's own.

There's a chance, however small, that I can beat them. At least, I hope so.

"KOWABUNGA!" the creatures roar, charging at me.

Unlike Gordon Ramsay, their movements lack fluidity. Easy to predict. Jumping to the side, I dodge their blunt attack in a splattering confusion, losing only the tips of two of my feathers, sliced clean off by a sword. Exploiting their unsteady stance and the openings they provide, I deliver the closest of them a kick to the gut, propelling him backwards and sending him crashing into the wall. Rushing forward, I punch a second one, sending him tumbling into the water.

"Donatello!" April shrieks in horror, plastering her hands to her cheeks. "Michelangelo!"

"Let's give the fried chicken hell!" Raphael echoes, sending sparks flying as he clashes his blades.

Leonardo and Raphael both attack me and I fight them off before unleashing a wave of energy to propel them backwards so hard that a whole section of wall collapses into roughly drawn rubble.

Meanwhile, Donatello and Michaelangelo rose back to their feet, in no way hurt or even breathless despite how hard I struck them.

"Time to apply Master Splinter's teachings! We've been training for this, guys!"

A circular kick almost hits me in the jaw, and I duck back just barely enough not to get hit full force. Again, I punch and kick my enemies back, instilling a wave of Grace into each impact to cause maximum damage. But no matter how hard I beat them up, throwing them against the wall to the point where the tunnel partly collapses in on itself, nothing works. They always rise back up after just a few seconds, unscathed, in full possession of their abilities and not even out of breath.

Hours tick by with no sign of them weakening, while my Grace slowly but surely drains away.

"Tired already?" Raphael boasts, swinging his swords. "We're just getting started!"

I stagger back, breathing heavily and clenching my fists. My Grace is burning through my veins, running out of energy, and my vision is starting to blur. Does Gabriel intend for me to die in this dimension under his control? That's a possibility. He's already annihilated hundreds, thousands of Angels without the slightest hesitation during the celestial rebellion after Camael's death, so why should my life matter to him? I hardly know anything about the Archangel, after all, and I already didn't quite understand him the couple of occasions I've talked to him in the past.

So be it. If I have to die again at the hands of an Archangel for trying to protect Sam and Dean I'll fight with dignity to the end. Like the celestial warrior I am and always have been.

I won't give in to his games and tricks.

"Let's end this, Gabriel," I pant. "If you want me dead, go ahead now. I don't fear death. I'm ready."

Just as I say these words, the sewers, the sword-wielding mutant turtles, the whole two-dimensional universe disappears. Suddenly, I'm back in the real world, on Earth. More precisely, in the abandoned warehouse. It's a relief to switch from nuanceless cartoons to this abundance of very real details. My wings feel light and free again, no longer constricted, and I can finally locate myself in space and feel the planet's orbital trajectory in the void of the solar system.

"Cas, you okay?"

That's Dean's worried voice. He and Sam are both standing in front of me, very real, and so is Gabriel. And Gabriel, in his flesh and blood form, is trapped inside a ring of holy fire.

I see. So it wasn't his decision to release me from this never-ending fight with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"I'm fine," I say, trying to catch my breath, my Grace bubbling with exhaustion.

Gabriel clearly regrets nothing he's done to me. Had the Winchesters not intervened, would he have left me to die, ignoring my calls? Or was he just going to torture me like this for all eternity, leaving me alone in a fictional dimension, never to see Dean again?

"Hello, Gabriel."

He flashes a smile, though his eyes are cold and angry.

"Hey, bro! How's the search for Daddy going? Let me guess... Awful!"

To add further insult to the humiliation of reminding me of my utter failure, Gabriel directs a sarcastic pout at me. Has he been watching me while I was looking for our Father, just to taunt and demean me? How long has he been spying on us without ever offering to help? Has he sabotaged my quest? Has he been working in the shadows all this time to ensure that we can never stop the Apocalypse?

"Okay, we're out of here."

That was Dean's voice, hoarse and unforgiving. Gabriel won't even meet my eyes anymore. Two thousand years of unexplained absence, and he only reappears to drive Humanity to annihilation? It would have been better if he'd never come back at all. This is just one more betrayal that adds to all the other ones I've endured from my family.

"Come on, Sam," Dean orders.

He turns around, glancing at me briefly before heading to the exit.

"Uh. Okay. Guys?"

Ignoring Gabriel, the Winchester brothers just keep walking. With a last glance at my elder brother, I follow suit.

"So… so what?" Gabriel insists, raising his voice. "Huh? You're just gonna leave me here forever?"

In other circumstances, I would have sympathized. I know how terrifying it is to be trapped in a holy ring of fire, the sheer horror that the flames might brush against your feathers, and the inability to get free without outside help.

But for Gabriel, after what he's put us through, I find the irony quite satisfying. His turn now to fear he'll be forsaken and tortured forever.

Dean pauses before the exit door, then turns to face the Archangel.

"No. We're not, 'cause we don't screw with people the way you do."

Dean steps forward, radiating a kind of wrath he can barely contain. I have no idea what he went through with Sam in Gabriel's televised dimensions, but I haven't seen him this angry since the day he shook my convictions and drove me to rebellion.

"And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped! This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!"

Gabriel froze as if slapped in the face by these words, his wings bristling with pure rage.

And yet Dean triggers the fire-safety system with a confidence that inspires respect, although releasing an Archangel just after insulting him may seem reckless. That's a trait I've always admired in Dean, even when it was directed at me and irritated me to the core.

The alarm bell rings loudly and water showers down on Gabriel from the ceiling, gradually dimming the flames generated by the holy oil.

"Don't say I never did anything for you!" Dean snarls before walking out, followed by Sam.

I stay a few seconds longer, sharing one final look with Gabriel as the flames recede completely. He doesn't make a move to attack, as I'd feared, but instead remains frozen like a statue, his eyes still vibrant with rage.

But in the end, this rage might not be directed at us, but at himself.

I leave the building and close the door behind me. Sam and Dean are already standing by their car.

There's still no living soul or celestial aura in the area. In fact, Gabriel's just vanished. He surely flew away.

"So what do we do?" Dean asks as I join them.

Sam rests his hands on the rain-sodden car body, glancing at me briefly before shrugging defeatedly.

"I don't know."

"Well I'll tell you one thing. Right about now I wish I was back in a TV show."

"Yeah, me too," Sam sighs.

The doors open with their familiar creaking sound and I slide into the back seat, the car sagging under our combined weight. As Dean turns the key on, making the engine rumble, I lean forward so that I can peer at his profile, not just the back of his neck.

"I don't think Gabriel will follow us, but it would be wiser to leave the area right now."

Dean glances at me sideways, running his hands over the steering wheel.

"So you know the son of a bitch?"

"I wouldn't say I know him, but I did have a brief conversation with him a few thousand years ago. I never thought I would ever see him again."

"Why?" Sam asks.

I lean back - the young Winchester brother turns his head to look at me over his shoulder. Through the window, the deserted warehouse recedes into the distance, until it's nothing but a dot behind us.

Only then I decide to answer, carefully choosing my words.

"He disappeared when Jesus Christ died on the cross, after he destroyed the Angels' rebellion through terror and death."

There's a silence, only filled with the engine's hum and the rattling of a fragment of plastic stuck in the air vent. The Winchesters share a glance and Dean clears his throat.

"The rebellion?"

There's a considerate, gentle note in the tone of his voice. And that, more than the memory of that fateful day, unleashes something painful in my Grace, something that's been buried and repressed for too long.

I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath to keep myself under control. Two millennia have passed since Camael's death. Sam and Dean deserve to know.

"Some of us…"

My voice is gravelly, more so than usual. I open my eyes again, keeping them fixed on the buildings passing by through the glass.

"Some of us didn't approve the order to have our fallen brother crucified by the Humans after his Grace had been ripped from him. Jesus, whose real name was Camael, was still one of us, regardless of the mistakes he committed. Factions rose up to rescue him, but Gabriel, Michael and Raphael crushed them all."

There's something surreal yet liberating about saying Camael's name out loud, especially in front of Humans.

Dean lets out a muffled curse, and I risk a glance at him to see that his hands are clenched on the steering wheel. As for Sam, he's staring at me in bewilderment.

"Wait, you mean Jesus was originally an angel?" he asks, blinking. "What did he do to deserve to be crucified?"

"Worst crime an Angel can possibly commit. Disobedience."

"How?"

"He was assigned to watch over a Human who, like you, Dean, was destined to receive the Archangel Michael into his body to fight Lucifer. He became so... committed to him that he defied Heaven to protect him."

That's a pretty blunt summary of what actually happened, but it would be too long and tedious to explain all the different variables involved. Besides, mentioning the forbidden seal Camael used on Cain would require me to confess that I also tried, and failed, to use it on them before getting sent to rehabilitation.

Sam heaves a sigh, his face darkening.

"I never thought I could possibly be more disappointed with heaven, god and the angels. And to think I used to pray every day, before finding out about all this."

He leans back on the seat, allowing me to only see his long hair.

"Hey," says Dean cheerfully, gently tapping the steering wheel, "at least we've got the only good angel in all of heaven on our team! That counts for something, if you ask me. Right, Cas?"

Our eyes meet for a few seconds as he glances over his shoulder, and I hesitantly nod at his bright smile. Would he think so highly of me if he knew about the atrocities I've perpetrated in the past under orders?

A buzz in my pocket draws my attention, and I pull out my phone - on the screen flash notifications of missed calls and new messages on the voicemail. All from Bobby.

"Oh crap, Bobby."

I look up to see that Sam and Dean have also pulled out their phones. It seems that they have received missed calls too.

"We better call him right now before he sends the FBI and every hunter in the country after us."

The two brothers share a look and wince.

"Huh… You think he'll take we were stuck in the TV as an excuse?"

oOo

In the next chapter

"Then you should stop whining. It won't fix anything."

"Let me whine, that's all I've got left. And give me back my candy."

"You two sound like a bickering married couple, you do know that?"