Chapter Thirty
Deja Eff You!
TW/CW: Azrial thinks about when she fell (she views it a suicde), unwanted sexual advance (a kiss later in the chapter), sexism inline with the century
Scotland: July 1719
Azrial ducked under a branch and glanced back to make sure Sam was still with her. Gabriel had really botched this up. She understood not wanting to be found, but weaving a time trap into his dimension was reckless. She only knew where they were because some of her last memories had been in this area. She hoped they'd been dropped at a point well before or after she'd ripped out her grace. Running into a former version of herself on a bender wasn't high on her to do list.
"What should we do?" Sam asked from behind her. "If we're seen, I doubt we'll get a warm welcome."
"That's an understatement. We'll have to steal some clothing to blend in."
"Let's not get caught doing that either," Sam joked.
"Yeah, would hate to lose my hands."
He snorted at her joke and she smiled. This wasn't the worst situation, and hopefully they'd find a way back quickly. Her biggest concern was where the others had ended up and with who. Sam grabbed her arm, pointing toward a clearing with a house in it. Azrial grinned when she noticed some clothing hanging on a rope.
"Hey, think that would work?" Sam asked.
"Definitely," she said. "We gotta be quick though."
"Want me to grab them?"
Azrial shook her head. "I think I may be faster. Just stay here."
She glanced around the clearing, angled herself toward the rope, and took a steadying breath. She bolted forward and ran past the rope, grabbing clothing as she went. She made it back to Sam and the two took off deeper into the woods. They were panting by the time they stopped. After shifting through the clothing they quickly got changed. By some miracle the clothing she'd grabbed was nondescript, so they shouldn't stand out at all.
"Hey, do you think we could find Crowley?"
Azrial snorted as she finished tying the skirt around her waist. "Maybe? I don't know when he died, and according to Rowena he was kind of a dick."
"And that's different from today - how?" Sam pointedly asked.
Azrial threw her t-shirt at Sam's head and he laughed. They neatly bundled their clothing up into a large cloth she'd snagged and wrapped it so Sam could carry it on his shoulders. At least they could keep their more comfortable shoes without much risk since the clothing mostly covered them.
"Sam, even if we found Crowley - Fergus - I may not even recognize him." He hummed, but Azrial could see the thoughtful look on his face. "I'm not against trying, but don't get your hopes up."
"Rowena showed me a simple tracking spell we may be able to use, assuming Fergus isn't as paranoid as Crowley."
"Well, there's no harm in trying. What do you need?"
It only took three days to forage the ingredients needed for the spell. Azrial watched curiously as Sam brought them all together in a shallow hole. It took a bit of doing, but he was able to start a small fire and tossed in the last ingredient; a bit of dried bark. The spell sparked a soft lilac color before the flames turned black. Soon the only thing left in the hole was the dried bark with a makeshift map on it.
"Huh, so he's not as paranoid," she mused. "Or it's a trap."
"Well, we don't have much to lose."
"He could attack us," she said. "Fergus MacLeod has no idea who I am, and would likely view us as a threat."
"I think we could take him, don't you?"
Azrial raised an eyebrow at Sam's confidence. "Ever heard of Icarus?"
"Crowley may be the light of your life, but he sure as hell ain't the light of mine."
Azrial threw up her hands, but couldn't stop from smiling. "Fine, we'll try it your way. Don't bitch if he tries to turn you into a newt or something."
"I won't bitch as long as you act properly annoyed if he attempts to turn me into spell ingredients."
"You've got yourself a deal, Winchester."
Line Break
It was just their luck that Fergus lived close enough to civilization that they had to wait until nightfall to approach his home. The sun was just setting as they made their way toward his small home that had an attached storefront. It was a relatively lavish set up given the time period.
Azrial was a bundle of nerves, trying to plan for all possible scenarios. Would there be enough room to grab Sam and run? What if Fergus attacked them outright? What if, for some stupid reason, he recognized her? That last one was unlikely as hell, but she didn't fully understand how much of his own magic Crowley put into his demon contracts. She rubbed her wrist at the thought, grateful the clothing covered her arm completely.
"It looks like he's still working."
Sam's words broke her train of thought, and she glanced toward the store. There were several small lights shining from behind the window panes, indicating that someone was still inside. Azrial tugged Sam down, pressing her forehead against his and focusing on their surroundings. Her Gaelic wasn't the best, but it had to be better than Sam's flimsily grasp on the language that he'd gleaned from Rowena.
"Damn, Dean was right." She shot him a confused look and Sam chuckled. "Angels really are the better version of Google Translate."
Azrial exhaled to hide her laugh, but didn't suppress her smile. "I don't know how helpful it will be. My past means Gaelic wasn't high on the to-do list."
"Fair enough. It does seem a bit...blurry. Were you drunk last time you were here?"
Azrial coughed. "That's not really important. Now let's go harass a man who made a demon deal!"
She ignored Sam's laughter and walked toward the shop door, doing her best to brush off the odd sense of deja vu she was feeling. She had been drunk the last time she was here. That led to her almost getting laid and then ripping out her grace. She didn't recall much from that night besides the smell of scotch (completely unhelpful considering the situation) and a deep earthy scent she could never place a finger on. It wasn't sulfur, she was achingly familiar with that smell now. It was something different. An herb, maybe? She shook her head trying to clear her thoughts. None of this was really important in the grand scheme of things.
"Ready for this?" Sam muttered.
"Nope," she sighed. "Doesn't really matter though." She placed her hand on the door, and was surprised it opened. She walked in slowly, looking around the candle lit store. Sam inched in behind her, but beyond that there was no movement. The beginnings of a beautiful dress were pinned to a mannequin, and Azrial found herself circling it thoughtfully.
"Doubt ya can afford it."
The gruff voice almost made her jump, and she turned to see a man in his mid-fifties eyeing her. What really knocked her back was how similar Fergus looked to Crowley. It made her wonder if his vessel was blood related, and if so how the hell did he think he could hide from Rowena once she saw him for the first time? More than anything it was the eyes. Something about his eyes sent her heart into a tail-spin that made her deja vu ten times worse.
"Evening," Sam cut in politely. "We were hoping-"
"I wasn't speakin' to ya, boy," Fergus cut Sam off. Azrial shot the hunter a warning look, but Sam seemed to know Fergus was baiting him.
"I apologize if we barged in," Azrial said slowly. "You see, we have a rather unique problem."
"Beyond need'in a new wardrobe?" Azrial allowed the waspish comment to roll off her.
"Tell me, what do you know of time-travel?" she asked.
She would have received a calmer reaction if she'd slapped him. Fergus looked furious, and the flames on all the candles raised a good inch before calming back down to their original size.
"Leave," he snarled. "I have no time for fools."
Azrial raised an eyebrow at his standoffish attitude even as she shifted to stand in front of Sam. "What exactly makes us fools?"
"Only fools meddle with time," he spat. "Ain't nothin' good ever came from it, and nothing good ever will."
"Then we agree on something," she firmly interjected. "I'm not asking you to needlessly meddle with time. I need to know if you have the power to help me set it right."
Her pointed statement seemed to take the initial anger out of Fergus, though he still didn't seem thrilled that they were in his shop. "Explain, quickly. Before I decide havin' to hide ya bodies is worth the effort."
Sam stiffened at the threat, but Azrial reached back to squeeze his wrist. This was progress, even if Fergus was still hostile. "We're from the future. My moronic brother set a trap that sent us here, and we are trying to get back. Sam," she gestured behind her. "Is familiar with magic, but still learning. I'm not sure we'd be able to get back on our own."
"And what am I get'in for helping ya?"
Azrial should have expected the flat question. There wasn't a reason for Fergus to help them, especially since he didn't know jack about them or his own future. She was struggling to come up with something to offer the man that wouldn't give away that she was an angel, let alone an archangel. This entire century was a blur of alcohol induced malaise that streamed from years of depression. She couldn't remember where she'd been or what she'd been doing. Her only saving grace was that angelic time travel operated under the grandfather clause, so at least being here wasn't a massive issue. Still, she'd rather limit the impact they had where possible.
"What would you want?" Sam asked. "We don't have anything of value."
Fergus leaned against a workbench, eyeing them both skeptically. "Nothing at all, huh?"
Sam glanced at her, and she shrugged. "Honestly nothing I know of," she admitted. "I was expecting a fight so didn't bring anything valuable."
Fergus scoffed, running his eyes over her. "That ain't true. Ya're a woman, by default you have a set value."
Azrial felt her eyebrow twitch, but didn't do more than smile politely. She'd heard worse over the years, hell she'd been married during the rise of Rome! It wasn't like Fergus' opinion was out of place here, it was just irksome. Sam hissed in disgust and she gently squeezed his arm.
"Will you at least give us a place to stay for the night?" Sam ground out.
"Why the hell should I?" Fergus snapped. He stood up fully, and took a step toward them. Azrial blocked Sam with her arm, not breaking eye contact with the pissed off warlock. The man pulled up his kilt slightly, exposing a nasty bite wound right above his knee. Azrial inhaled sharply, recognizing the pattern immediately.
"This is what happened last time I was taken in by a pretty face and honeyed words," he bellowed. "Now get the hell outta my house. I plan on livin' out the last of my days in peace, and ya're nothin' but trouble."
Fergus dropped his kilt and turned away from them. Azrial was ready to call it quits, especially after seeing that hellhound bite. What had Fergus done to get a chunk taken out of him before his contract was up? She had a million questions running through her mind, but knew the man in front of her wouldn't answer a single one. Her best bet was to wait and ask Crowley, and even then she doubted he'd answer.
"You're a coward," Sam spat.
Azrial swore her heart migrated into her throat. "He doesn't mean that," she rushed out.
Fergus froze, but didn't turn around.
"Oh, I meant it," Sam growled. "The least he could do is let us stay the night. He knows the chaos it could cause if anything happened to us here!"
"Sam," she hissed. "Drop it."
Fergus spun around, stalking back to them. "Those are fightin' words, boy."
Sam scoffed, and Azrial stumbled when she was pushed out of the way. He glared down at Fergus, his eyes shining in the candle light.
"Your mother would put up a better fight than you, Fergus."
Fergus decked Sam with a speed Azrial wasn't expecting, and the two devolved into a pseudo bar fight. She just stared in shock, wishing she had a camera. This couldn't be real. Maybe Gabriel had drugged them instead of sending them into the past. As the two men fought she took a deep breath, ignoring the chaos for a moment. They needed a plan, and this was getting them nowhere. She shouldered her way into the fight, and decided a show of strength may get Fergus on board. If not, they'd have to find another option. She snagged Sam's arm and twisted it back before knocking his leg out from under him, effectively sending him to the floor. She did the same to Fergus and held both men down.
"Ladies, you are both pretty," she said. "But this isn't productive to getting us out of here." Both grunted, clearly in too much pain to say anything. She let them go and stepped back to give them a chance to collect themselves. "If Fergus wants us to leave, we have to leave, Sam. It's still his home, and he's right about one thing: there is nothing in this for him."
"But in the future-"
Azrial cut Sam off. "It would be like expecting your father to help us. We both should have known better."
Sam frowned, rubbing his bruised nose in thought. He nodded, but sent a withering glare at Fergus. "Fine, let's leave."
Azrial turned toward Fergus, taking in his bloodied face. "Here, let me help." She slowly approached him, and when he didn't lash out at her, she placed her hand against his cheek. His face was healed a moment later and she sighed. "Sorry again. We'll get out of your hair. Come on, Sam."
She headed toward the door, pulling Sam with her.
"Wait," Fergus growled. Azrial stopped, turning back toward the warlock. "Ya can stay one night, but then I want ya gone, ya hear me?"
"Thank you," Azrial said. "It's a small thing, but the woods are full of deer. I could hunt one for you so you have food for the coming weeks."
Fergus eyed her critically, no doubt wondering if she'd even be cable. "Fine, and you," he turned on Sam with a furious glare. "Mention my wretched mother again, and I'll slit ya're damn throat in ya sleep."
Sam rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Fine."
"Good," Fergus said. "I'll show ya where ya can sleep."
Azrial counted their blessings, and happily followed Fergus into the main house.
Line Break
She kept her word about the deer. Azrial took to the woods as soon as Fergus and Sam went to bed. The cool air helped calm her mind, and it was easy enough to track down a sizable doe. Carrying the animal back was easy, even though she had to move slowly in case anyone was in the woods. When she reached the house, she stayed on the forest facing side and began to skin her kill. It was methodical, and gave her mind a chance to catch up on events. Her main concern now was keeping Sam safe, but she was planning to deck Gabriel when she saw the bastard. Her sympathy could only extend so far. This was reckless, even for him. Gabriel may be hurting, but he didn't have to take it out on anyone unlucky enough to stumble into his clutches.
She hadn't, so what made him so damn special?
Azrial growled, stabbing her blade into the doe's ribcage with more force then needed. It was childish, but she couldn't help but compare her own grief response to her brother's. She'd done a lot of damage to herself, but for the most part hadn't hurt those around her. It wasn't like the Valerius' weren't used to her disappearing for years at a time. Still, she missed the birth and death of two generations. There were times the guilt of that ate at her heart, but she knew logically that in the grand scheme of things it was nothing. Not compared to all the generations she'd seen born and pass. Not compared to those she'd see come and go if the world was saved.
"Damnit," she growled. "Why the hell am I thinking about this?" She pulled the last of the skin away, hanging it over a tree branch with sigh.
"Thinking about what, exactly?"
The voice startled her, and before she could think she'd pinned the person who'd interrupted her thoughts to the house wall. It took her several precious seconds to realize her blade was pressed firmly to Fergus' throat, and the man looked highly unimpressed.
"Sorry," she muttered. She moved away from him, not bothering to say anything else as she went back to butchering the deer.
"Ya're a jumpy one."
She snorted at his dry tone. "You learn to be when everyone's attacking you. Why are you even up?" She didn't expect an answer to her question, but wanted to be polite. She'd played on his desire for power to be able to stay, but if he'd turned them away again she'd have respected it. After all, she wasn't foolish enough to try and bleed a stone.
"Do I need a reason?"
Azrial chuckled as she ran her blade across the doe's ribs. "No, not really."
"Then why ask?"
She glanced up, surprised at his hostility. "It's called trying to be polite. You should try it some time."
"Same could be said for you and that bloody giant crashing into my quiet life," the man snarled.
"Quiet?" she snorted. "Says the man who sold his soul and has a hellhound bite on his leg," she said tersely.
There was little point in hiding her knowledge about his situation. She was sure her surprise at the wound had tipped him off. She'd just pulled her blade away from the doe when she was thrown to the ground. The attack sent her into a pool of guts and gore, and she felt a hand around her throat before she could react. Her blade was just out of reach, so she settled for glaring up at Fergus.
"What the actual hell?" she snarled. "This is my only pair of clothes, you bastard!"
"How do ya know about my deal?" he demanded. "Ya recognized the bite marks too. Just who the hell are ya?"
Azrial snagged her leg around the back of Fergus' and with a furious yell she flipped them over. She was panting slightly, more from annoyance than exertion. She glared down at Fergus, keeping her knee planted right between his legs. If the bastard wanted to try and flip her again, she'd knee him so hard Crowley felt it. His startled look melted into one of fury.
She smirked. "Dog got your tongue, Fergus?"
She yelped as her body was thrown back a few feet, and barely had a chance to steady herself as she was slammed into the house with her own blade at her throat. She glared up at him, annoyed she'd allowed herself to be distracted.
"Ya gonna answer me now?" he demanded
She laughed and pressed her neck closer to the blade. "Go ahead and try it," she hissed. "Better make it count though."
An unreadable look entered his eyes at her threat. Like he'd come to some sort of epiphany during their blood soaked brawl. He removed the blade from her throat and she let her back relax against the house wall. That was a mistake.
Fergus pressed her firmly into the wall, a hand yanking her hair back before he kissed her. The action was so unexpected that she gasped against his lips, and the man didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss. Of all the things she expected from this situation, a kiss damn well wasn't on the list! She wasn't about to let it go to waste though. She gave into the kiss, and with one hand dragged him closer. The deja vu was back with a vengeance, but she pushed aside the muddled memories that were trying to surface. She dropped her free hand to his side, and when his mouth started to trail down her jaw she snagged her blade from his hand. She spun out of his grip, letting the man stumble into the house as she pointed her blade at him.
"What part of that situation screamed 'kiss me' to you?" she demanded.
"Somewhere between ya eyeing me like I'm ya next meal and sitting on my lap," he said. Fergus ran a hand through his hair, the standoffish attitude seeming to melt away. "That and the fact ya carry my brand."
Azrial stiffened, glancing down at her wrist before meeting the warlock's knowing gaze. "Well, that doesn't mean I want to swap spit with you."
The man snorted. "But you have, and more most likely."
"Fuck you," she huffed. "If you're done trying to feel me up, what am I going to do about my clothes? These were all I had!"
She didn't expect him to laugh, and the sound ate away at the remains of her hostility. If he were anyone else that trick would have won him a smiting, but he wasn't just anyone. His soul burned with the same intensity she was used to feeling from Crowley, and the fact she could even see a resemblance between the two made her hesitate to harm him.
"Those rags were barely clothes to begin with," he said dismissively.
"Well I'm sorry they aren't up to your standards, your majesty." He smirked at the nickname, and Azrial winced as another blurry memory flashed through her mind. She really wished that would stop.
"Come with me," he ordered. "I have clothing ya can change into."
"You do realize I need to finish butchering this deer, don't you?"
He hummed, glancing at the remains in thought. "Fine. Finish up and meet in my shop."
He didn't give her a chance to argue, and left her standing amongst the gory grass with a half butchered deer.
"Ass," she muttered before turning back to her task. At least she had time to riddle out why this all felt strangely familiar now.
Line Break
Sam walked into the small kitchen, still half asleep. The last twelve hours were like a dream, well more like a nightmare. Being stuck with Azrial wasn't the worst situation. She was resourceful and calm under pressure, but because of that she expected to be obeyed without question. Last night had been a shit show, and he still wasn't sure why Fergus had agreed to let them stay. The only thing he knew for certain was that it had something to do with Azrial. She may not have noticed, but he'd seen the warlock shooting thoughtful glances at her until he'd gone to bed. It was unnerving, especially because Fergus looked like an older version of Crowley. If Azrial noticed his looks, he couldn't imagine she was comfortable with them.
"Good morning."
Azrial's voice brought him back to the present, but his greeting died in his throat. "What are you wearing?" he asked instead.
She sighed, smoothing the heavy wool of the floor length skirt she was wearing as she stood up. "It's a long story," she muttered. "I managed to get that deer though, so we have breakfast."
Sam raised an eyebrow, taking in the outfit. The cream shirt she was wearing was much better quality then the clothing they'd stolen. The skirt though was throwing him. Rowena had spoken a bit about tartans, and how back in her day you wouldn't wear one unless you were considered family by the clan it represented. He'd assumed the predominantly yellow kilt Fergus had been wearing was the MacLeod tartan, and now he was positive that was the case. That didn't explain why Azrial was now wearing a skirt made of the fabric.
"Uh, should you be wearing that skirt?" he asked skeptically. She glanced at him, confusion shining in her eyes.
"Why wouldn't I? My other one is covered in deer guts, and his majesty insisted on this."
Sam bit his tongue, not sure if he should point out the faux pa that would occur if any of the villagers saw her dressed like this. Why had Fergus even suggested the skirt, knowing that people would jump to conclusions?
"It's nothing," he said. "Looks a lot nicer than what we had on."
She smiled. "Yeah, guess he's not all bad," she said with a shrug. "Speaking of, he's willing to let us stay if we help out with the shop and around the house. We'll be able to figure out a way home at night."
Sam frowned. "Azrial, what happened last night?"
Her smile vanished and she looked away. "It's complicated, but Fergus was able to tell I had a connection to him. Well, to Crowley."
"And how'd he know that?"
"It's personal," she whispered. "But it changed his tune."
"Do you trust him?" Sam asked skeptically. "That's a pretty big change in a short time."
She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I trust him to look out for his own self interest. He won't harm us, and now we have a safe place to rest and figure this mess out."
Sam sighed, seeing the logic in her thought process. He still didn't trust Fergus though. Then again, he barely trusted Crowley so he may be projecting.
"Alright, but let me know if he makes you uncomfortable, okay?"
Azrial looked surprised at his question, but quickly grinned. "Sure, but I can take care of myself, you know."
He smiled, but inside he was worried. Normally he'd believe her, but this was a weird situation. Who's to say she wouldn't hesitate to put Fergus in his place if he overstepped simply because he looked like and would later become Crowley? He could at least help her if that situation came up.
"Well, what does he need help with?" he asked. The sooner they got home, the better he would feel.
The next update is Saturday, September 17, 2022