Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ralph spent all of his mornings, every morning, since he graduated from training; Showering, shaving, and getting dressed. Of course, this morning, no different than others, he did the same. He could hear the faint sounds of war outside his apartment as he tried to shave. They’d stopped bombing a few weeks before. Well, they’d stopped bombing at least around civvie settlements. Or they tried to. The hunters tried to prevent it. Heaven and Hell, on the other hand, that was an entirely different story. And even though they tried to stop the bombings as much as possible, a few bombs would still hit nearby. 

Unluckily for Ralph, it was one of those days. A bomb made impact a little too close nearby, shaking the building he was in. His hand slipped, nicking his cheek with the razor. He grumbled, a bit miffed about the nick as he set down the razor on the sink, grabbing a band-aid out of his medicine cabinet. He applied the band-aid gently. He ran a quick hand through his messed brown curls before he finished up shaving.

As he began to leave his apartment, he grabbed his salt gun, slinging it over his shoulder. He crouched at his door, pouring some salt in front of it. Before he stood up, he carefully placed a tripwire in front of his door, shutting the door gently. The tripwire would set off a reaction with poison tipped arrows if anyone tried to sneak in and loot the place. Or worse, try and squat there. The apartment was his, sure, but in the middle of war, no one really owns or rents anything. He’d come home one too many times to people trying to loot his stuff, he didn’t appreciate it. Work smarter, not harder. That’s what he always told himself. As for the salt, that was simply to keep ghosts or demons out. In some cases, both.

He stood up slowly, flattening out his dress shirt and blue vest as he adjusted his grip on his shotgun, heading downstairs. He passed the elevator, he never used the thing. Not that he knew if it worked, it was always uncertain whether or not it did. But an elevator would cause too much noise, not to mention the gremlins that were most definitely lurking to cut the cables. The two foot tall bastards with their body cold stone and their mischievous laughter always tried to wreck Ralph and everyone else’s days. Whenever Ralph thought he’d gotten used to it, or at least gotten rid of them, they’d always return, some way, somehow. And they’d always make his life a living hell.

Ralph didn’t appreciate the gremlins.

He stepped lightly through the stairwell, wary of any traps that might be placed to catch a rat, or a human, depending on the person who set the trap. There weren’t many on the stairs, not like there had been in previous weeks, and he was mostly able to step freely on the blood stained mahogany. He reached the main floor, checking for traps, tripwires, or troops, before he promptly stepped onto the shag carpet. The complex was its own mini war zone and making it through unscathed was always a feat, at least for Ralph. Or maybe it was simply routine for him at this point, either way.

Outside it was muggy. The lines on where he lived blurred often, since the war started states and nations were hardly a thing. But he was near to certain that he lived somewhere in or near Colorado. The August sun was blazing over the barren wasteland that was once the bustling city of Trinidad. Ralph was careful to step over the dead bodies that littered the road. Clean-Up hadn’t been through in a few good weeks which left most of the dead rotting and baking in the open summer heat. It didn’t exactly smell like roses out in the streets and if Ralph was unlucky enough, and he often was, he’d step into a pile of what looked to be blood, but Ralph could never tell. He’d be lying if he said you get used to the smell, of course you don’t get used to the smell of rotting flesh and decaying organs. He’d be concerned for you if you did. But he could state firmly that you were never caught off guard by how many bodies there were.

Ralph stepped over a woman that he wasn’t certain was dead all the way, but he walked past. He looked over his shoulder a couple times, partially concerned for her before shaking the thought out of his mind and continuing forward. She wasn’t his problem, that was for sure. Even if her clotted blood matted her dirty blonde hair, he had to keep walking. He learned quickly to not stop and help the dying. Either you catch the tail end of them turning into something– vampire, werewolf, etc. –or you catch a ghoul playing dead. Either way, you end up with a nasty scar and a long story to tell to your friends. Not that Ralph had many friends, if any at all.

The Gas n Sip that Ralph worked at was a good walking distance from his apartment. He was in good enough shape that he could make the trek there without passing out from heat exhaustion, but not quite athletic enough to where he didn’t need to take breaks. He kicked rocks and cans and shotgun shells, anything that would roll and keep his mind occupied while he roamed the streets of Trinidad. Of course his kicking flared up a little bit of dirt with each step he took, but he’d just ignore it. If he lost the rock he was kicking, he’d walk until another shiny object caught his eye. Then he’d start the whole process over again. On days he got particularly lonely, he’d talk to himself, or sing to himself, or make up stories in his mind, other worlds where he didn’t have to worry about the war.

Ralph adjusted the shotgun. It clunked a bit, but he pretended the sound didn’t bother him.

A shotgun shell caught his eye and he focused on it, beginning to kick the shell around in front of him. He let out a heavy sigh as he did. Sure, working at a Gas n Sip where you don’t technically get paid and the amount of times your shoplifted from per week is higher than your hourly “pay” wasn’t the ideal situation for him, Ralph would’ve much preferred a job like philosopher anyhow, it gave him something to do for the hours he wasn’t eating and sleeping.

He kicked the shell out of sight, letting out a short huff of a breath before he continued walking. 

Every now and then the wind would pick up, blustering dust against his face and clothes. Ralph pulled at his vest, adjusted his shotgun on his shoulder and then continued his trek. If he was lucky enough, he’d get shot down in cold blood, die instantly. That’s what he thought to himself, of course he didn’t really believe it. He knew as well as everyone else that Heaven and Hell were both very bad options to die. Both were in constant war. The veil wasn’t much of a better option either.

Ralph arrived at his Gas n Sip at his regular time, nine AM. Well, what he assumed to be nine. He opened the shattered glass door that was covered in plastic. A group of raiders had smashed the window a month before and he hadn’t had the time to replace it. The shelves were barren and there was blood splattered across the floor. Ralph set his shotgun down on the counter next to the register. He walked behind the counter, grabbing a magazine off the magazine rack as he started to read it. Of course, it was the same magazine he’d been reading for five years, but he’d pretend it wasn’t. He’d pretend the perfume ads and weight loss articles were news to him. Clearly they weren’t, he’d seen the whole magazine so many times at this point he could probably recite it cover to cover with his eyes closed.

Ralph didn’t expect much to happen, and to no surprise, he went the entire work day without seeing a single customer. Sure, a couple stray people walked past, Ralph couldn’t tell if they were raiders, hunters, or civvies– not that there were many civvies anymore, maybe a handful here or there– but he could tell that they weren’t desperate enough for supplies to walk in and try to loot the place. By five o’clock Ralph was tired. He finished restocking the shelf he’d just unstocked, heading over to the counter as he grabbed his shotgun. He slung it over his shoulder again, looking at the store for a bit. It had been almost a month since he’d broken and fixed the slushie machine, so he made it a plan for him to do that the following day. He opened the door, the plastic covering the door crinkling in the wind. Ralph stepped out, taking a deep breath as he started his journey back home.

Chapter Text

Orion quickly brushed his vessel’s bleached blond hair out of his eyes. Ever since he’d had to ditch his last body, he found this one’s long hair to get in the way of him working in the medical tent. His vessel’s bangs would, for lack of a better word, flop into his line of vision, obstructing his ability to examine and treat wounds. 

Their troop had just been attacked by a division of Hellians, so any soldiers that had been on the field fighting, were either dead or wounded. Orion was blessed– or, in his eyes, cursed– with being rather unskilled in the department of combat. So he was set up with all the other lower angels in triage. Not that Orion didn’t wish to be out on the battlefield, he very much did. He’d been trained for combat. Apparently, though, not well enough.

“There’s another one, Orion,” Samandriel, a lower angel, pulled in one of their own on a stretcher. Orion squinted his eyes as he recognized the angel, it was Io, one of their strongest fighters. From the way Orion’s eyes glossed over Io quickly, he could tell that the soldier had been poisoned. Poisoning had begun to become more and more common on the battlefield, the Angelics were losing one in every five soldiers to poisoning. The Hellians were relentless, and the Angelics had nothing to fight back with.

Io was scrunched up, his knees to his chest. Of course, Orion could only see his true form, not his vessel, but the angel could sense the soldier’s movement. Orion hovered his vessel’s hands over Io, a dull and soft blue glow emitting from his palms as he scanned Io to see how badly the poison had spread. Even if the poison hadn’t spread very far, there was no cure, but they could use Io to find one. There was, unfortunately, no guarantee it would work, though.

“As the hunters say,  we're dropping like flies,” Orion spoke. His vessel’s voice had a light accent that came from somewhere in Europe, but no hunter he’d been in contact with had been able to pinpoint exactly which country it originated from.

Samandriel looked up at Orion as if he’d just uttered words of blasphemy. Being in the angel’s medical tent, Orion was not meant to be interacting with hunters. In fact, the only hunters he was supposed to ever see were those sent to Castiel directly and that was because they generally got a tour of the outposts before heading to him. Orion cleared his throat, sensing the awkward tension that had set over the two of them. He crouched beside Io as he lowered his hands to his sides, all of his senses had told him that Io had a few good days left in him.

“Right,” Samandriel muttered as he took a pace back, putting space between him and Orion, “The Hellians seem to have gotten their hands on more angel poison, but–”

“It’s not angel poison,” Orion muttered as he grabbed a cloth linen from a nearby metal medical stand, “They’ve infused holy oil with liquid hellfire, this is different from the poison they were using before. This is… professional.”

Samandriel leaned forward, his vessel’s eyes scanning over Io’s true form as the poison gnawed at one of his six wings. Samandriel bit his vessel’s lip as concern grew within him. Liquid hellfire was something that was almost impossible for Corio or Crowley to get their hands on, let alone a run of the mill demon. There had to be someone with more power retrieving it for them.

“And this is why you work medical,” Samandriel tried to lighten the mood. Or, that’s what Orion thought he was trying to do. Maybe he was trying to change the subject that was likely as well. Samandriel wasn’t very high in the hierarchy of power in the Angel forces but he was high enough that if there were a problem such as this he’d be able to report directly to Castiel. And that was the highest honor an angel could receive, speaking one on one with God; With Castiel. Orion shook his head, the mere thought of it drove his mind up the wall.

“Is there a cure?” Samandriel broke Orion’s train of thought, “Or- is it contagious?”

Orion’s vessel blinked a bit before he responded, a normal human response as he’d heard, “Not contagious, no, Io can be touched and interacted with just as much as any other wounded. As for a cure, none that I’ve heard of. Though, I was raised to be a soldier, not a bed pan changer and–”

“Find us a cure, Orion,” Samandriel interrupted before he began to prattle on about something Orion tuned out. Of course he’d do this, he’d interrupt Orion because no one actually cared to hear about Orion. No, trained to be a soldier, forced to be a nurse. But of course, he’d let Samandriel school him, as the hunters put it, in how to do his job. And his vessel would just smile and nod and pretend like he cared, though he was boiling with rage inside and his true form was tinting particular shades of red around his wings. 

When Samandriel had finished his long rambling Orion had already begun to clean out the wound where Io had been infected. It would do nothing, have no effect, but it gave off the illusion that he was busy. Samandriel ordered Orion to carry on before flying away within a whirlwind of feathers and a gust of wind. Samandriel’s pink-hued feathers floated to the ground  of the tent gently before turning into dust as they hit the dirt.

Orion turned his attention back to Io. Io had been possessing a weak vessel and at least with angel poison, if not wounded in a fatal way, the vessel would survive after the angel had died. In this case, well, Orion had only heard of this in stories from his friends. From what he’d heard, this poison wouldn’t stop at the angel, it would gnaw at the vessel until there was nothing left. If the Hellians– or, hell, even the Hunters– had this at their hands, this could be very dangerous for the Angelics. 

Orion’s vessel’s eyes flitted over Io’s wings where the decay had already begun. From the looks of it, it was painful. Very painful. Orion couldn’t even think of where to start, there was always the option of severing the limb that had been infected, but from the looks of it, one of Io’s wings was infected along with three of his six arms. There was no way Orion could remove them all and convince himself the poison wasn’t in his bloodstream.

“Orion,” Io coughed and sputtered as he tried to sit up. His vessel’s voice was hoarse as if it had been yelling for hours. Which, if his vessel was in excruciating pain, the chances were it was.

“Io, you must rest,” Orion explained, placing his hands gently on Io’s shoulders, pushing him back down on the bed, “I have no idea how this poison will spread, how quickly it will kill you–”

“Orion I can fix it,” Io interrupted, fighting against Orion’s hands in an attempt to sit up. A few medics, both hunters and angels, gave Orion looks of concern, silently asking if he needed help. Orion shooed them with one of his hands, he didn’t have time to have extra people trying to help.

“You can fix what?” Orion decided the best option was to humor Io, maybe it would get him to rest. Orion turned his vessel a bit away from Io as he reached for an IV bag, his hands falling from Io’s shoulders. Io seized this opportunity to grab Orion’s vessel’s jacket, pulling him close. So close that their faces were hardly an inch apart. Orion swallowed nervously, trying to pull away but Io tightened his grasp.

“The war,” Io laughed slowly before devolving into a cackle, “I know how to stop it!”

A few pairs of Orion’s eyes scanned the angel. He seemed delirious, it had to be an effect of the poison. Not only was he spewing nonsense of ending the war, but he was clearly shaking, vibrating . Orion tried to pull away but Io pulled him closer. A few other medics in the tent rushed to the scene. One grabbed on Io’s shoulders, trying to pull him off of Orion. One grabbed at Io’s fingers that were tightly clasped on Orion’s vessel’s jacket, which would’ve worked if the medic hadn’t been a hunter who couldn’t see Io’s second set of hands clasped on one of Orion’s wings, which caused the wings to squirm and pull under his grasp. The third medic was trying to pull Orion away from Io, wrapping her arms tightly around his vessel’s waist.

All the medics were so absorbed in trying to help Orion that they didn’t notice when Io whispered frantically in Orion’s ear, “The box! It’s– I– The– The box, it’ll work. We have to– We… We.. We have to use the box. COME ON!!”

A fourth medic came to the rescue, injecting a sedative into Io. It took a couple seconds but the angel fell back on the bed, twitching slightly. Orion’s top right wing spasmed from the force, a few of his feathers ruffled the wrong way. The medic who had her arms wrapped around his waist pulled away and gently brushed his shoulder. She asked him if he was alright and though his vessel’s hands were trembling and his feathers were rustling with slight unease, he nodded and told the girl he was fine. The medic with the syringe set it down gently on the medical tray nearby. Orion recognized her as Hannah. It’d been a while since she’d been in the medical tent as she was usually on the field, but he was thankful that she had been pulled off to help deal with the casualties. She walked to him, crouching in front of Orion.

“Are you alright?” She asked, looking over at Io, “He had a tight grasp on you.”

Orion swallowed as he nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine. He was just delirious.”

Hannah looked back at Orion, scanning him a bit concerned, “Right, yes, well. What was he whispering about?”

Orion opened his mouth to tell her about Io’s spiel on the box but then he stopped himself. He got a thought, what if his words weren’t just delerium? What if his words had some form of substance to them? Orion looked at Io’s limp body that still rose and fell with his breathing, wondering if Io had seen something. He bit his vessel’s lip, looking at Hannah whose eyes, all twenty-seven of them, were staring at him intently.

“Just fever speak,” Orion said. He wasn’t necessarily lying, it was probably just fever speak. What was the worst that could happen? Orion didn’t find anything about ending the war. Whoop-dee-doo, they hadn’t found anything in centuries, nothing new on that front.

“I could bandage your wing up for you, we just got a new shipment of ethereal bandages,” Hannah offered. She stood up, extending her right hand to help Orion up. He took her hand, using her to leverage his way to his vessel’s feet.

“I’ll be alright,” Orion muttered, fixing his vessel’s jacket as he could feel it was out of place still, “Save the bandages for a soldier who needs them.”

Hannah nodded hesitantly, “If you wish. There’s some bed pans that need changing in tent four, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Orion muttered a few words in enochian, crossing his arms, “Who died and made you boss?”

Orion had become familiar with the turn of phrase after a handful of hunters kept asking him that whenever he requested they do something. Hannah, however, was unfamiliar with it as it caught her off guard.

“Virgil,” she muttered, “A very bloody and painful death, his entrails painted the walls of the room he was killed in. It was a very dreadful day, you were laying to rest.”

“Right,” Orion muttered under his breath. Sometimes his patience grew short with the more sheltered angels. Castiel hadn’t made phenomenal decisions when it came to giving his angels people skills, for lack of a better term.

Orion meandered out of the olive green tent, looking over his shoulder momentarily before he waded into a sea of wounded and recovering as he headed towards tent four.

Chapter Text

Myst wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. She’d spent most the morning sparring with Deanna and she was waiting for the Winchester to call for break. She had her ginger hair pulled back in a ponytail, only a few stray strands fell into her freckled, pale face. Deanna had her own hair braided into two short braids as Deanna kept her hair long enough to braid, but short enough so foes couldn’t grab and pull on it. Both women were wearing their olive green tank tops as well as their camo cargo pants as a part of their uniforms.

“You calling it quits yet?” Myst called between labored breaths, the last match had knocked the wind out of her.

“Daddy didn’t raise no quitter,” Deanna yelled back, laughing, “Why? Is Captain Johnson getting tired?”

Myst rolled her eyes at the mocking tone that Deanna sent her way. Of course she was getting tired, but she’d never let Deanna know that. She wasn’t ready to give Deanna bragging rights for a week. Or longer, knowing Deanna.

“Of course I’m not tired,” Myst replied, coughing a bit, her throat was dry and scratchy from the sparring, “I just wanted to save you from the ass beating you’re about to get!”

Deanna chuckled at Myst, clearly doubting her. Deanna always did, and they usually tied. The two of them approached one another, Myst leaning against the ruined green Volkswagen Beetle that moaned in protest as Deanna sat on the trunk. Sparring in the junkyard wasn’t ideal, but the two of them had nowhere else to spar. General Singer had forbidden leaving camp since they lost troop 1C to a bombing in Sioux Falls. Myst took a deep, shaky breath as her breathing evened out. Deanna did the same, but more discreetly before she tucked her dirty blonde hair behind her ears, her green eyes scanning Myst.

“One more round?” Myst asked, looking up at the Winchester. Deanna smiled, looking down, shaking her head.

“If you insist,” Deanna let out a short but heavy sigh, “But there is no tying, it’s spar until one of us stays down for five.”

Myst cocked her head and smiled, “You act like that’s a challenge for me.”

Deanna let out a small chuckle before sliding off of the car which gave a creak of thanks when she did. Myst pushed herself off the car as well, stepping into the clearing as Deanna walked to stand parallel to her. Myst planted her feet in the ground, getting a firm stance as she raised her arms. Deanna did the same, making eye contact with her. Deanna winked before taking a step toward Myst. She swung at the Captain, Myst blocking her right hand with her own right forearm. Myst lowered her right arm, swinging her left one, Deanna blocking Myst the same way. Myst took a step back, raising her leg to kick the Winchester in front of her. Deanna grabbed her leg, twisting it as Myst fell to the ground. Deanna was almost certain she’d won until Myst pushed herself up off the ground, raising her right arm, then left as Deanna prepared to continue the round. Myst swung, but Deanna caught her fist, pulling it down as she raised to swing herself.

“Johnson, Winchester,” a voice called from the porch. Both the women stopped in the middle of their round, lowering their hands as they looked over at the woman on the porch. The woman was in her mid fifties and was staring with her arms crossed over her chest. Her blond hair was slightly curled, and though Myst was always unsure whether the curls were natural or not, it was in pristine condition. She descended the stairs of the porch, her blue eyes surveying the two.

“General,” Deanna and Myst said almost in unison, Myst was always a few beats ahead of Deanna.  The women lowered themselves from their sparring positions and Myst raised her hand to salute, Deanna didn’t bother.

“At ease, soldier,” she muttered, “Good to see you two aren’t going stir crazy on the property.”

Myst relaxed as she stood at rest, again, Deanna didn’t do anything.

“Yes, ma’am!” Myst nodded, “Major Winchester and I were sparring for practice.”

The General looked between the two of them. She nodded in slight approval as she smiled. Her lip ends curved up as Myst and Deanna shared a look.

“I’ve got a mission for you,” she started, beckoning for Myst and Deanna to follow her. Myst scurried after her quickly meanwhile Deanna took a few moments before begrudgingly following. Deanna pouted slightly as the General led the two into the house where soldiers were organizing and purveying supplies. Myst watched as the soldiers handed out their food and books and bandages.

“With all due respect, Karen,” Deanna started, searching every room for someone, “I’m not really interested in another mission.”

“The mission isn’t for you, Deanna,” Karen shook her head, “It’s for Captain Johnson, it’s about time she got another mission.”

Deanna looked at Myst and then Karen as her jaw dropped. Myst’s gray eyes scanned Deanna quickly, though she couldn’t read Deanna’s emotions, she could tell the Major was boiling under the surface. General Singer was a bit biased towards the Winchester siblings, and tended to give them all the missions. All the good ones, at least. Rugaru, werewolves, Hellian outpost, et cetera, usually went to Deanna and her brother. So for the General to hand off a mission to Myst, well that was just out of pocket.

“Karen, what do you mean?” Deanna asked, “You always give me and Sam missions. Why would you be giving one to Myst of all people? No offense.”

The last comment was directed at Myst who just waved it off. Myst was unbothered by the inflated egos that the Winchesters had the tendency to present. A mission was a mission in her book, and a mission meant you were trusted by General Singer. And General Singer hadn’t trusted anyone for years.

“Myst is a good soldier,” Karen explained, “I have plans for you and your brother, but this mission is for Myst.”

Karen descended the stairs to the basement as she spoke, leading the soldiers to her office. She shooed Deanna away who scurried off with a few choice words and a scowl before motioning for Myst to take a seat. She took a hesitant seat while Karen poured herself a mug of coffee. She extended the pitcher to offer the Captain a cup as well but Myst shook her head. Karen leaned against the stone wall of the basement, her right hand was slipped in the mug handle and her left hand was wrapped around the mug. She took a sip of the coffee before she lowered her mug. Myst’s eyes flitted to Karen’s discolored left eye that was scarred like the entire left side of her face. Myst was never certain as to what had happened to Karen, all she knew is it happened before her time and when she asked Deanna, she had been told it happened before Deanna’s time too.

“You’re a good soldier, Johnson,” Karen looked at her coffee then back up at the Captain, “Correction, you’re a great soldier, one of my best. Better than those morons out there.”

The General’s eyes drifted out to the main room where Deanna and Sam were roughhousing. Myst followed the General’s gaze. Myst knew the Winchesters fairly well and she knew that they had the tendency to be… well, unintelligent in their decision making. Karen loved them like her kin, she made that very clear whether she meant to or not. But she also made it very clear that she didn't understand why they were the way they were. Myst returned her gaze to Karen.

“I sense there’s a but coming on after that,” Myst muttered. There usually was a but when she got complimented this much, she could just sense it.

“But,” Karen started, she set her mug down on the bookshelf beside her before taking a seat across from Myst, “You’re a danger to the battalion.”

“General, I-” Myst started. Sure, she had the tendency to shoot first, and maybe that sometimes got the battalion into deep shit, but she was a good soldier. A great soldier, Karen said so herself. She was tired of these people thinking she was dangerous simply because she was a tad bit trigger happy.

“Ah ah ah,” Karen raised her right index finger to hush Johnson, “You’re not level headed, Myst, and I need a level headed soldier. Level headed soldiers make great battalion leaders.”

Myst’s eyes widened at the thought. Being put in charge of her very own battalion, that would be a dream come true. She’d noticed that the Eighth Hunter Battalion had been getting cramped and it was only going to be a matter of time before it split into two. Though, when Myst had heard talk of the battalion splitting around the metaphorical watercooler, she had heard that they thought Karen was going to put Sam or Deanna in charge, if not both. General Singer had the tendency to pick favorites.

“I don’t understand,” Myst said, “What does this have to do with a mission?”

Karen nodded, “I need to know you can work well with others. I need–”

“So me and Deanna are going where? Angelic outpost? Hellians? What?” Myst didn’t let Karen finish her sentence.

“You’re not taking Deanna,” Karen said and quickly cut Myst off when she opened her mouth to protest, “And you’re not taking Sam either.”

Myst opened her mouth to protest again. Deanna was always her mission buddy and if it wasn’t Deanna, it was Sam. The Winchesters were the best hunters in the battalion. If she wasn’t taking either of them, then Myst had no idea who she was meant to take. But if the choice was up to Karen, it was likely to be one of the weaker hunters that she wanted to get out of the outfit for a bit.

“I’m going to have you taking out Corporal Fitzgerald,” General Singer said with a little too much cheer.

Myst’s face lost all expression at the name. Karen carried on about how there was a local Hellian outpost and that there were gateways to Hell that needed to be closed there. It was a relatively simple mission, nothing unlike what Myst was used to. Myst was accustomed to Hellian and Angelic raids and wasn’t afraid to kill demons, angels, or anything in between. But what she was afraid of, was taking out Corporal Garth Fitzgerald, who had been known for fudging things up in the Eighth Battalion. That was why they put him on kitchen duty so often.

“I know it isn’t ideal, your working with Garth,” Karen stood up slowly, “But I need you to have an influence on your life that isn’t Deanna or Sam. Those two are good at their jobs– usually– but I need you to work with someone that isn’t so much like yourself. You need to see the world from a different point of view.”

Myst understood, sure, but Garth’s point of view? Garth who’d probably chase butterflies into a minefield if he felt like it? Garth who’d alerted a group of low mongering demons to their troops location which resulted in them losing thirteen men? Garth who had way too much optimism and way too little regard for his own life? Myst would rather work with anyone else. She’d rather scoop out her own eyeballs with a rusty spoon. She’d rather get a thousand paper cuts on her tongue, than have to work with Garth. There had to be some way for her to convince General Singer to let her work with literally anyone else.

“General, please,” Myst stood up, “I’ll work with anyone. Anyone but Garth. General, please, I’m begging, I’ll do kitchen duty or- or- or, uh, I know, I’ll clean the bathrooms, dig a latrine–”

“We don’t have latrines here,” Karen interrupted.

“Potato, potato,” Myst waved her words away, “General, I would do anything to not work with him, please.”

Karen let out a light chuckle, walking over to her coffee mug. She grabbed it, taking a sip before tracing the rim. She tapped her fingers on the side like she was in thought before she set it down again. Myst could only hope that she was reconsidering her assignment. In another circumstance, she might pray, but she was near certain that God wasn’t listening to reason at this point in time.

“Captain,” Karen let out a sigh that caused Myst’s hope to burn away, “This will be a good experience for you and Corporal Fitzgerald, I trust you won’t muck it up.”

“ I won’t muck it up,” Myst raised her voice slightly, “But have you met the Corporal? General, he’s–”

“He’s a good hunter, Johnson,” Karen said, crossing her arms over her chest, “He’s not a soldier by any means, but he’s a damn good hunter. This outpost, this is just a regular old shoot-‘em-up.”

“General Singer,” Myst tried again, but she was cut off from the Corporal entering the room. His hair was ruffled and he was in his uniform. Though, Myst could see his socks were mismatched as one was white and the other was black. His face was stubble covered, he was supposed to shave every day, but he’d clearly been slacking on it. And it was clear he’d just woken up or something, his shirt was only partially tucked.

This was her partner?

“Corporal,” Karen nodded towards Garth who awkwardly saluted her. She shook her head and he lowered his arm slowly.

“You two’ve got this,” Karen said as she beckoned toward the two soldiers, “I suggest you ask Sam for maps and then get ready for the hunt.”

Myst let out a heavy sigh, turning to leave the room as Garth bounded out. His energy made her despise the way he bounded through the camp. She hated this man even more than before. She had almost stepped out of the room entirely when Karen called to her.

“And Captain,” Karen called, causing Myst to make eye contact with her, “Keep an open mind, you have no idea where it could get you in life.”

Myst grumbled something under her breath as Garth called for her to follow after him. It was about to be an exceedingly long mission for her. At least she knew Garth would be somewhat amused, not that it was a comforting thought.

Chapter Text

Cordelia checked off a box on her checklist. She only had five more steps before she could dethrone Corio and Crowley and take over Hell, ending this war for good. Sam had laid the plan out for her perfectly, gain their trust, then slit their throats as they slept. As it stood, she’d just completed task number fifteen: successfully convince them to let her on their court staff. Sure, it took five long weeks, and in demon time, she couldn’t tell if that was more or less than human time, but it had worked. The groveling and kissing ass had paid off and she was officially part of the court staff. She’d spent so long building herself up to be anything but a threat, pretending to be afraid of Corio, but especially pretending to be afraid of Crowley. So as she bounced through the long corridor, smiling to herself, she felt rather self absorbed.

Cordelia passed a couple low level demons and a couple of higher ups, she smiled at the low level demons and acted meek around those that could snap her neck by simply looking at her. It was perfect, far too perfect and far too easy. In fact, she’d been explaining just how easy it was to her friend/roommate who was in on the whole thing. Cordelia had promised her a piece of the kingdom in return for her help executing the plan. Cordelia learned quickly in Hell who she could and couldn’t trust, and her roommate, she could.

“Cordelia,” Crowley’s voice echoed through the hall roughly. Cordelia looked over her shoulder to see the demon’s eyes glowing a dull red.

Oh fuck.

Cordelia picked up her pace, running into a couple of demons who yelled at her as she passed. Crowley’s footsteps grew louder and faster, causing Cordelia’s heart rate to pick up. He knew. Somehow, someway, he knew. He’d found out. Maybe she’d let it slip, maybe she’d told someone. It couldn’t have been her roommate, her roommate had made a blood pact, Cordelia had cast a charm, if her roommate had squealed on her, a mark would be burned into the back of both their hands.

“Cordelia, we need to chat, love,” Crowley called, his voice becoming increasingly unsettling. Cordelia looked over her shoulder, yelping as she realized how close he was. She quickened her pace from a speed walk to a fast jog. Even if all she had to do was to hide out until he passed, it would work, anything would work.

She ran into a large demon that towered over her, but she didn’t stop to apologize, she just sprinted away. She never understood why the halls of Hell were so long and twisty. It all frustrated her so much, she just needed to get out of there. She needed to lay low in the castle until Crowley had assumed her dead or gone. That list Sam gave her was useless, she tossed the clipboard to the floor, it clattering against the linoleum. Cordelia could hear as Crowley forcefully moved demons out of his way throughout the halls, throwing them against walls and into the ceiling.

“Cordelia, I’m only going to count to three,” Crowley called from behind the panicked demon.

Cordelia muttered some Latin under her breath as she pulled some herbs out of her pocket. It wouldn’t be the perfect spell, but it’d be damn near close. Cordelia ran through the corridor, her hands shaking as she grabbed a rag off a nearby table, pulling the pink ribbon out of her hair that kept it tied into a black ponytail. She continued to mutter the Latin, placing all of the herbs in the cloth, wrapping the pink ribbon around it.

“One,” Crowley began to count.

She needed something to write on the bag with, anything at all. As she took a sharp right turn Cordelia saw a demon who was flaunting his dagger about in the air. She hated having to do it this way, but there was nothing she could do. Cordelia quickly snatched the dagger from the demon’s hand who exclaimed a loud ‘HEY! THAT’S MINE!’ as the small woman ran off with it. Crowley trailing after her quickly.

“Two,” Crowley continued, shoving more people out of his way.

Cordelia looked over her shoulder before she looked back down at the makeshift spell bag in her hand. She shoved the bag under her arm, slicing the dagger against her palm as she drew blood. She grabbed the bag, holding the dagger by the blade between her teeth. She gently pressed her thumb in her blood and started to etch a symbol on the bag. When she was done, or as done as she was getting, she grabbed the dagger from her teeth, tossing it to the floor as she ran.

“Three,” Crowley yelled.

Cordelia turned around in time, raising the spell bag, “Bite me, Crowley.”

Cordelia threw the spell bag at Crowley who instinctively caught it with his left hand. He looked down at the back slightly confused, examining the symbol as Cordelia yelled some final words in Latin. Crowley realized what was going on too late as the hall began to rumble. Cordelia rushed to a side door just in time as a large wave of water began to tumble and crash through the hall. Crowley tried to run to a door, any door, but Cordelia quickly ran out, locking it behind her. She could hear the water as it crashed through the corridor and she breathed a sigh of relief. She pulled off the black tulle scarf that was tied around her neck, wrapping it around her hand that hadn’t yet healed from the dagger, Cordelia could only assume she’d used an angel blade of some sort by accident and so the wound stayed open, blood dripping down her wrist.

Cordelia looked around the alley way she’d walked into. Hell was mostly empty outside the palace. A lurker or two in the shadows, but for the most part just hellhounds running through the streets. All of them puppies, most of them were harmless. The ones that Crowley kept in his den were never allowed on the streets, but their pups were. Most of the pups were too young to take orders or comprehend targeted kills, so as long as Cordelia didn’t carry any food on her she wasn’t planning on sharing, she’d be fine.

The alley she was walking through had cobblestone paths that ran beneath her feet and part of the way through walking she had to stop and remove her heels that were clacking too loudly for her own safety. By her calculations, Cordelia had about three hours before Crowley could locate the door she’d walked through and start his hunt on her. Luckily, the spontaneous tsunami she summoned would wipe her scent from that hall, making it harder for Crowley’s hellhounds to find her, but it was only a matter of time. Even if she left this vessel and took a new one, her scent wouldn’t be too difficult for his bitches to track down.

As she entered the main street, Cordelia made sure to keep checking over her shoulder. If the spell had gone as intended, it washed all of the demons in that connecting corridor to the West Wing. It’d keep them out of her hair while she headed back to her apartment to grab her things and her roommate and then head out. So she walked through the streets, her shoes in either hand as she approached the staircase that would lead her to her apartment– apartment being a gracious term for it.

Hell was structured in such a way that there were tiers, not dissimilar to the renowned ‘circles of Hell’ –Though Cordelia was never a fan of the terminology. The main tier, the one the palace was on, had businesses and the richer of the demons. Meanwhile, the higher tiers– the closer to the surface– the lower level of demons lived on them. Cordelia and her roommate were lucky enough to live on the third tier, which subsequently ranked them as middle class, but if her bank account of souls meant anything in this economy, it meant that she lived there by choice, not because she had to.

Every now and then Cordelia would hear the crashing of trash cans, which would be the lurkers. The demons who were unlucky enough to not even possess the ability to take over a host body. Cordelia almost felt bad for them, but they had the tendency to steal and kill to try and move up in the power chain. Survival of the fittest, every demon out for himself, she had learned that the hard way.

Cordelia approached her apartment, opening the door slowly. It wasn’t exactly an apartment, but more of a shack with a bedroom, a bathroom, and a poor excuse for a kitchen. The candles weren’t lit in the main room, but Cordelia could see the light in the crack under the bedroom door, so she knew her roommate was home. She set her heels down on the table quietly, walking around the hellhound pup that had found its way into their home.

“Hey, girly, you’ll never believe what happened today,” Cordelia called softly as she walked to the kitchen counter. She crouched, pulling her emergency kit out of the cabinet. Her emergency kit was nothing more than a dull gray duffle bag with a burner cell, some of her spell stuff, and some salt. Sure, she really couldn’t touch the salt without it burning, but a few burns on her hands was worth burning the face off of some shit head demon.

Her roommate walked out of their shared bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. Her hands were tucked into her black jeans, her rams horns disturbing her lovely brunette hair as her black eyes scanned Cordelia. Cordelia looked up and smiled, it had been a while since she’d seen her roommate, or her roommate’s true form, it was refreshing.

“What was that?” She asked. Her words were shorter than she had figured they would be, but Cordelia didn’t think much of it. Her roommate wasn’t exactly an extrovert to begin with.

“Crowley found out about my deal with the Winchester,” Cordelia cracked a smile, “I’ve gotta head out before he can find me.”

“Oh, damn, do you have any clue how he found out?” Her roommate rubbed her neck before shoving her hand back in her pocket. Cordelia stood up steadily, slinging the duffle bag over her shoulder.

“All I know is that he tried to kill me and I took a tsunami to him,” Cordelia shrugged, “Water beats fire.”

Her roommate nodded, following her words, even if Cordelia wasn’t sure if her words didn’t go entirely over her head. Cordelia grabbed a hair tie, braiding her hair as she tied off the end. She grabbed her flats from atop the fridge that never got used outside some organs that needed refrigerated, putting them on quickly.

“Where are you going?” Her roommate asked, taking a step forward.

“Not sure yet,” Cordelia muttered, “But don’t worry, Ruby, I’ll be back when this all blows over.”

“You mean if this all blows over,” Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms tightly to her torso, “I warned you about working with the Winchesters, they’re nothing but bad luck.”

Cordelia shook her head, “I worked with Sam, Ruby, not Deanna. I know you and Deanna have beef, or… whatever– But Sam’s plan was sound, someone squealed on me. Don’t know who, don’t know how, but someone broke a blood pact and I’m going to track them down.”

Those were the last words Cordelia spoke to Ruby before she headed out of the shack. There were three people that knew about her deal with Sam. One of which would be Sam himself and the other was Ruby. Cordelia had made blood pacts with all three of them: Ruby’s symbol would sear on their hands, Sam’s symbols would sear on their feet, and the third person’s would sear on their abdomens. Despite this, Cordelia’s body had experienced no searing pain whatsoever, which meant she didn’t cast her side of the spell correctly, or someone fudged with her spell. It was more likely the latter, and so Cordelia had a bitter person to track down.

So she headed up the stairs towards the top tier, still checking over her shoulder every now and then to make sure no one was following her. Ruby would cover her tracks for her, she was trustworthy enough for that. Besides, Cordelia had stolen a quick glance at Ruby’s hands and didn’t see any symbols seared into them, even if it was from a distance. The back gates to Earth was through the apothecary’s shop in the farthest corner east, so that’s where Cordelia headed, hoping she’d shaken off the track of Crowley.

Chapter Text

Ralph did the same routine he did every other morning. Shower, shave, set traps for his apartment, head to work, read the same magazine. Rinse and repeat. This day was identical to every other day he’d been living since he’d left his parents and the troop. As he read through the magazine, his mind wandered. This, however, was out of the ordinary. His mind would wander on his walks, sure, when he was unstocking and stocking shelves, but this magazine, he always devoted his full attention to it. Even if he had the whole thing memorized, his routine was to read it cover to cover, no distractions. And yet, Ralph’s mind wandered differently than he was used to. Usually he’d imagine life without war, a 9-5 job, a house, a dog. The whole shebang. But today, he was imagining the war itself, though, is it really an imagination if it’s going on outside his work?

The vents crackled and squeaked. That was normal, Ralph heard the vents do that multiple times during his shift, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. In fact, he’d be caught off guard if he hadn’t heard it. Ralph looked up from his magazine, setting it down next to his shotgun. Looking around the store, everything was in order– as in order as it could be in an apocalypse– as it should be. He stepped out from behind the register, headed toward the slushie machine. He’d broken it that morning and since it was what he assumed to be one in the afternoon, he figured it was about time to fix it. He grabbed his tool kit, sitting on the floor in front of it, beginning to unscrew the cover. He knew how to fix it, mostly because he knew how to break it. He’d fixed this machine multiple times in the previous years, and it was his favorite job on shift.

The bell jingled as someone walked in.

No one walked in. 

Ever .

Ralph tried to set his mind to ease, if he could sneak off into the back room, he’d be safe. Assuming they were dangerous. Who was he kidding? Of course they were dangerous. Even if Ralph could sneak into the back room, he had no weapon to protect himself. He could try to grab his shotgun, but Ralph was in a spot hidden by most of the shelves of items, if he moved, whoever had walked in would see him. So Ralph held his breath, hoping they wouldn’t hear him and would leave. He could hear two pairs of feet. Which either meant a monster of some sort, or two people. For once, Ralph prayed for it to be a monster.

“Hey, look!” A male voice said and Ralph could hear their ammo clinking against each other, “Shotgun. Score!”

“Alastair,” A female voice replied, “If there’s a shotgun here that means he’s here, dumbass.”

From where Ralph was sitting it sounded like the female had hit the male on the back of the head. Ralph’s muscles tightened as he looked around. He had to hide, he had to get away, but there was nowhere to go, there was no back exit except the fire escape. Ralph slowly got to his feet in a crouched position, he stepped gently and slowly in the direction of the back room, flathead screwdriver in one hand, his other hand clasped over his mouth. As long as he moved slowly and quietly, they wouldn’t be certain he was there.

 “Shhh,” the man shushed, “If he’s here you’ll alert him to our being here.”

“Oh, because that’s the concern here, not anything else,” the woman replied, “He’s not going to do anything, they said he’s harmless.”

Ralph took another step towards the back room, he prayed with every fiber of his being. He wasn’t even sure there was a God, if there was he was doing a really shitty job, but it couldn’t hurt him to try and pray or anything like that. Ralph had always held it in his mind that God cared, assuming he existed.

“I thought they said he was dangerous,” Alastair asked. Ralph could hear as they picked up some things from the shelves, tossing them to the floor. He took another couple steps, holding his breath and biting his tongue.

“They’ve been watching him for weeks now,” the woman replied, “And he’s no more harmful than a butterfly.”

Ralph didn’t even try to follow what the two were talking about, it was all in one ear and out the other. All he could think about was how he didn’t want to die. In a Gas n Sip of all places. He’d begun to regret all his life choices with this. He wished he’d stayed in the troop when his parents told him it was the safest place in the war. His regrets were heavy in the Gas n Sip.

The footsteps grew louder as they approached where Ralph was. The only thing he could think to do to save himself was to make a run for the back room. If he was lucky there would be something to fight with, other than the screwdriver he was holding, he wasn’t sure why he still had it.

“He’s not here, can we just leave?” Alastair asks.

“He’s here somewhere, I can sense his power,” the woman responded, “Come on out wherever you are, Ralph. We’re not going to hurt you… much .”

Ralph took a short breath before he bit his lip. He had to make a run for it, at least there was salt in the back room. If they were demons, that would keep them out for a while. Ralph looked over his shoulder quickly before he jolted for the door. His hand was grasped tightly around the screwdriver as he sprinted, ready to shiv either of the people that were after him. He ran into the back room, but he stole a quick glance at the people that were trying to kill him– or, he thought they were trying to kill him.

The man who Ralph assumed to be Alastair was lanky with a scruffy grayed beard and buzzed brown hair. His clothing was baggy around his tall and slender frame. From the quick glance that Ralph got, Alastair towered over the woman. She had shaggy brown hair and was cocked in a pose that reflected annoyance. That was, until she caught sight of Ralph, then he could hear her quick footsteps on the linoleum.

“I told you he was here,” the woman hissed as Ralph disappeared into the back storeroom. He searched the cabinets frantically as he tried to locate the salt he was certain was in there. He could hear the shelving units sliding around in the main room and it caused his heart to race with panic.

“I thought you said he was harmless,” Alastair yelled, “This isn’t harmless.”

“Well, he’s been doing the same damn thing for the past three months,” the woman snapped back, “Just run around the fucking furniture.”

Ralph’s breathing quickened as he grabbed the salt, but the woman was at the store room door. He didn’t have enough time to salt the entrance, she’d kill him.

“Ralph, listen to me,” she started, “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

Alastair  ran up behind her, staring at Ralph. Ralph could hear the blood rushing through his ears as he knew he had to do something. Miraculously, the door slammed shut, locking. He didn’t know how it happened, but he knew he was grateful for whatever spirit took care of it for him. He ripped the salt canister open, rushing to the door, pooling salt around the entrance. He said a prayer in silence, looking for an exit. He hadn’t had the mind to pay attention in school when they were teaching how to exorcize demons and his book on demons was back at his house. So there was no chance of Ralph exorcizing them. As for escaping, the only window in the back room was stacked up to the top of the wall and was far too small for him to fit through. True, though, he could sneak through the ventilation system, but he could get stuck, or worse, they could figure out that they could climb into the ventilation system themselves. Ralph quickly rushed to the vent, grabbing the screwdriver. He unscrewed the cover, trying to decide between climbing in or salting it.

“Ralphie,” the woman cooed through the door, “Just let us in. Alastair and I, we’re not going to kill you.”

A thudding started on the door and Ralph started to panic more. He had to decide or he was going to be demon food in the back store room of a fucking Gas n Sip. Oh, he wished he was still part of the troop. Ralph sucked in a breath, clutching the screw driver tightly as he climbed into the vent. He had the front half of his body in, already squirming through the cramped space when he heard the door get knocked off its hinges. Which, though he couldn’t see it, would disturb the salt line enough to let the demons through into the room. Ralph started to try and worm his way into the ventilation system.

“Not so fast, pretty boy,” the woman said shortly.

A hand wrapped around Ralph’s right ankle, pulling him out of the vent. His left hand was still clasped tightly around his weapon, but his right hand was scratching at the metal, trying to find anything to grab hold of. He kicked his left leg, but a second hand wrapped around that ankle too. His nails were getting shredded from the friction and he let out a yelp of fear as the woman pulled him out of the ventilation unit. He was collapsed on the ground, the heel of her foot pressed on the base of his neck. 

“Meg. Alive.” Alastair snapped at the woman.

“Come on, Alastair, I’m not going to kill him,” Meg whispered, leaning down so her breath was on the back of Ralph’s neck, “I just want to play with him a bit before we take him to camp.”

“Meg-” Alistair started.

Ralph made sure his grip on the screwdriver was tight before he turned over, stabbing it deeply into her leg. It hardly hurt her, but what it did do was catch her off guard. As Meg reached down to remove the screwdriver, Ralph reached to grab a handful of salt that had scattered across the room. With the fistful in hand, he threw it at Meg’s face. Meg stumbled back as her skin bubbled and burned.

“Get him,” she yelled to Alastair as Ralph started to make a run for the door.

Alastair grabbed Ralph’s forearm roughly, as he did Ralph could hear the snap of his bone and he let out a yelp. Alastair pulled him into his arms, holding him roughly as Meg stumbled over. She stood in front of Ralph, pointing the flathead at the young man. Ralph scanned her, his arm throbbed, he could already feel it swelling. There was no God, that was for certain.

“You,” Meg said, “You’re a lot more than I thought you’d be, color me impressed.”

Ralph fought Alastair’s arms around him, trying to break free. Alastair tightened his grip on him, staggering back a bit at Ralph’s attempts to escape. Alastair looked up at Meg, then back to Ralph.

“Can we just take him to camp?” Alastair asked.

“In a moment, I want to savor our win.” Meg lowered the screwdriver. She scanned Ralph a bit, her brown eyes trailing his body. Ralph kicked his legs a bit, but a quick jolt to the left from Alastair made him stop. Ralph couldn’t deny his own panic, but now the fear was mixed with anger. Ralph wasn’t a vengeful person, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t pissed off because he sure as Hell was.

“You’re different from the others,” Meg muttered, “I like you, you’ve got spunk, a real will to live. We don’t see that a lot anymore.”

“Meg, please,” Alastair asked, “If we get back now we can be back in time for sacrifice.”

“Since when don’t you want to play with the prey?” Meg asked, she looked like she was waiting for an answer before she continued, “Knock him out, I’ve grown tired of your whining.”

Alastair tightened his left arm’s grip on Ralph before he removed his right arm as Meg turned her back, crossing her arms. Ralph thought that it might’ve been a good opportunity to try and break free again, but he was proven wrong. As he tried to escape the demon’s, for lack of a better word, embrace, Alastair just tightened his grip to the point where Ralph could hardly breathe. Alastair raised his hand, pressing his right middle and ring fingers gently against Ralph’s right temple. He whispered some words in Greek before pressing an immense amount against Ralph’s temple.

Ralph’s eyes filmed over before he fell to the floor, his head cracking against the wood planks. He was knocked out cold as his breathing evened out for the first time.

Chapter Text

“Orion, do you know where the antiseptic is?” The Prophet, Kevin, asked as he entered. Orion looked up at the human boy.  He’d been transferred to medical since he could no longer read the tablets. Castiel had referred to him as an utter disgrace and had assigned him to medical. Hannah assigned him to Orion, since both of them seemed to be utter disgraces, by Castiel’s standards.

“It should be in the cabinet with the bandages,” Orion pointed over to the other side of the tent. He refocused his attention to the angel he was bandaging up. Their wings were broken every which way and Orion was taking the time to delicately tape up the pastel green feathers. He’d been working on it for hours, but he was certain it would be more beneficial than what they did to the soldier in triage.

Kevin grabbed the antiseptic, walking towards Orion. He had the tendency to hover. Orion usually just ignored him, but this time around Kevin’s aura was throwing Orion off. Usually his aura was laid back or just depressed, but today it was glowing and bursting with something different. Orion couldn’t put a feather on what it was, but it bothered him.

“Can I assist you?” Orion looked back up at Kevin who was just standing over him, holding the antiseptic.

Kevin seemed to stare at the angel on the cot. ‘Seemed’ being the key word, as Orion could tell he was staring through the angel. More of a, as the hunters would refer to it, ‘spacing out’. Orion was not blessed with the ability to read people's minds, which definitely cast him out as an angel, but he tried to look past that, to ignore it.

“Kevin?” Orion called. It was like calling to a lost dog. Kevin was lost in his thoughts and Orion didn’t particularly appreciate it. After the angel calling his name a few times, Kevin blinked back to the present moment.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” Kevin muttered, turning the antiseptic in hand. A nervous habit the angel had noticed the prophet had. Fidgeting with whatever was in his hands. A dagger, a pencil, whatever he was holding to help put his mind at ease.

“You’re aura is blaring today,” Orion replied, returning to bandaging the wounded’s wings.

“Is it?” Kevin shrugged. He grabbed a metal stool, dragging it to the bedside table that was sat by Orion. He took a seat on the stool, setting the antiseptic on the table. Kevin hunched over and his aura glowered more, at this rate it was sending Orion up the wall.

“What is wrong?” Orion asked, leaning back on his heels as he looked up at the boy. Kevin’s black hair was flopped in his face as he stared at his hands that tapped gently on the stool.

“Hannah had me assigned to Io,” Kevin whispered, he swallowed, clearing his throat, speaking a bit louder, “I was changing the dressing on his wounds and he mentioned a way to stop the war.”

Orion’s vessel’s eyes scanned him. Of course a delirious Io would say that, once. Twice wasn’t delirium. Twice meant Io knew something. Orion bit his vessel’s tongue, though, he didn’t want to expose that he shared the same knowledge as the young boy. Not quite yet, at least, he wanted to hear if Kevin had heard anything more before he said anything.

“Io is delirious with fever and pain,” Orion turned back to the wings, wrapping the ethereal bandage around them, “Whatever he told you–”

“He said it was foolproof,” Kevin interrupted, his aura vibrating. Kevin had the tendency to do that, to interrupt Orion. He was rather outspoken and it tended to get on the angel’s nerves. Usually, but Orion couldn't deny that he enjoyed listening to the prophet’s voice.

Orion finished bandaging up the wing, setting the ethereal bandage next to the antiseptic that Kevin had set down. He stood up slowly, stretching out his vessel that had gotten stiff from kneeling for so many hours. He ruffled Kevin’s hair a bit, scratching his own head before he grabbed the bandages and walked them to the medical cabinet.

“Kevin, I understand you want to feel needed,” Orion began.

“It’s not that, Orion,” Kevin stood up, his aura flashing before falling to a dull glow, “I was born into this war, I have scars on my body that predate my time as a prophet. I lost my damn mom to this war. If there’s a way to end it–”

“But there isn’t, Kevin,” Orion placed his vessel’s hands on Kevin’s shoulders, causing his aura to flare, “There’s rumors and hopes, but nothing works.”

“Holy Hellfire was a myth too,” Kevin shoved Orion’s hands off of him, “But he’s currently rotting away from it. Why not this too?”

Orion walked away from him, turning his back to the human, “You don’t think Castiel or Pandora have attempted to end this? It hasn’t worked by the hand of God, why would it work by the hand of a washed up prophet?”

Orion had actually learned the term ‘washed up’ from one of the demons they worked with, Zayne, who he had been forced to be in close proximity with as he had to take care of him in confinement. Orion did enjoy the time he’d spent with Zayne.  But Orion could tell by the way Kevin’s aura faltered and the hurt look on his face, the angel’s choice of words was not, perhaps, the best. Orion took a step closer to him, gently patting his vessel’s hand on Kevin’s shoulder.

“I… uh,” Orion tried to find words of comfort, something he was not accustomed to doling out with such ease, “I did not, er, mean it?”

Kevin looked up at Orion, his dark eyes scanning the man towering over him. Orion was aware that Kevin could only see his vessel, the muscular health fitness instructor that he’d convinced to let him use his body for, and sometimes that could cause problems. Kevin often forgot Orion was an angel, sometimes it was difficult for him to wrap his small human brain around. As Orion so fondly referred to it as. Not to say he believed Kevin to be unintelligent by any means, that was quite incorrect. He just understood there was an intellectual gap between the angel and the prophet.

“Orion, look me in the eyes and tell me that you genuinely don’t believe that there’s a way to end this war.” Kevin stared intently at Orion as he stood up.

Orion tapped his fingers against his legs, trying to formulate a response. He didn’t want to let Kevin know that he believed there may be a way, but he also didn’t want the young prophet to think he was useless. As much as Orion hated working with the guy, he and Kevin were tight. But as much as Orion was close with Kevin, he also wanted to be the one to find the solution. Fixing the war? Wouldn’t that get him in Castiel’s good graces. Maybe even promote him from medical. Leading armies? Commanding attacks? Inter-factional discussions? The possibilities were endless. Castiel’s right hand man, a dream come true.

But Kevin stared at Orion with his pleading eyes. Those damned eyes that every hunter had. The ‘puppy dog look’ that made most everyone bend the rules. He hated when the humans pulled those eyes out on him. He hated when Kevin pulled the eyes. Orion’s breath hitched slightly as he cursed himself internally in Enochian. How could he say no to those damned eyes?

Orion let out a long and heavy sigh, running a hand over his vessel’s face. Kevin’s eyebrows raised in hope as Orion looked around. Screw it , he thought to himself. Orion walked around the perimeter of the tent, closing off all the entrances. He looked around, making sure there were no angels, hunters, or demons who could possibly listen in. There hadn’t been a fatal attack in a bit and so the medical camp was mostly just recovering. Triage had become obsolete as most troops weren’t in active battle.

“Okay, I must admit I’ve heard the same from Io,” Orion muttered.

“Yes! I told you,” Kevin exclaimed. His aura began to blare again and the shininess of it caused Orion to squint his eyes.

“Quiet down,” Orion whispered aggressively, “And get your aura in check.”

Orion was fully aware Kevin had no control over his aura, but the angel snapping at him caused his aura to fall back down to a dull glow. Kevin, though still flowing with energy, contained himself for discretion’s sake. Kevin mumbled a half-hearted apology under his breath before Orion continued.

“ Assuming there is a way to end this war,” Orion started, not wanting to get the hunter’s hopes up, “We’d need either: A, alone time with Io. Or, B, someone who knows their way around the myths and the legends. I vote for the latter.”

Orion’s wing was still recovering from the way Io had grabbed it. His feathers that were ruffled the wrong way had either fallen out on their own or he plucked out with the help of Samandriel. Even so, the lesions it had caused were still healing. Orion didn’t find talking to Io again particularly appealing given his current wing status.

“Well, you seem to know a lot about myths,” Kevin suggested, fidgeting with his hands. He was uncertain. He was a certain kind of cute when he did that, the fidgeting. Orion watched Kevin, smiling to himself before his face dropped again.

“Not enough,” Orion shook his head, “And even if I did, I can’t find the text, let alone translate it. And Castiel knows you can’t, that’s why you’re working medical in the first place.”

Kevin’s aura shifted and faltered at Orion’s words. Orion uttered a ‘no offense’ before he rubbed his vessel’s neck awkwardly. Kevin couldn’t translate Metatron’s handwriting, let alone the myths. As for Orion? He wouldn’t know where to start. Where to find them, what language they were written in. He knew nothing. He’d heard stories of them being written in Broken Enochian, but no one spoke Broken Enochian. Castiel spoke it, perhaps, but they couldn’t storm into the throne room and demand Castiel read the myths for them.

“Who can?” Kevin asked, “I mean, translate it? Find it?”

Orion shrugged, “An archangel, maybe? Emphasis on maybe. I mean, archangels, most were wiped out–”

“Lucifer is in the cage,” Kevin nodded, “Michael is MIA and Raphael is dead. But what about Gabriel?”

Orion bit his tongue at the name. Gabriel, of course that would be the archangel Kevin defaulted to. Orion was almost conditioned to pay Io a visit. He’d rather have a wounded wing than… Gabriel. Jeez, anything but Gabriel. Orion would sacrifice himself to Crowley. Hell, he’d probably kill Pandora before he’d talk to Gabriel. There was a long list of things Orion would rather do than speak to the archangel.

“Kevin that’s–” Orion started to tell him it wasn’t a good idea, but how could he explain Gabriel’s situation, “We can’t speak with Gabriel.”

“Why not?” Kevin asked, he turned away slightly beginning to pace as he prattled on about Gabriel, “Gabriel is an archangel. We know he’s alive, he can find and translate the text, most likely. As far as I’m aware he’s still on our side of the war. Orion, it makes sense, I mean…”

Orion tuned the human out as he began to pace the tent himself, continuing to ramble about Gabriel. Orion thought to himself; assuming Gabriel was alive, there was no sure fire way of tracking him down. Orion wasn’t even sure Gabriel was still… well… Gabriel. He’d heard about the archangel losing the internal battle, but Orion hoped that maybe, just maybe, a rumor was just a rumor for once.

Orion cleared his throat, “Alright, we’ll do this. We will see if Gabriel is willing to help us.”

Kevin stopped pacing, looking up at Orion. His aura began to glow brightly and Orion let out a heavy sigh.

“But if nothing comes out of it,” Orion continued, “We will take plan B and discuss it with Io, as much as I hate the thought, it’s the next best option.”

Kevin nodded, “Where do we start?”

Orion let out a heavy sigh, beckoning for the prophet to follow him.

Chapter Text

“Corporal, please,” Myst rubbed her temples in frustration. Garth had spent the previous hour annoying her. They were looking over maps with Sam and when Sam went to gather some more up to date ones, Garth had flopped into one of the large leather chairs in the cartography room and began clicking his tongue to try and pass the time. Myst just wanted some peace and quiet and it seemed as though she wasn’t going to be able to get that.

She sat on the table, skewing the maps a bit. Garth had ceased his clicking but he only swapped it for tapping his foot and using nearby pencils as drumsticks. Myst swore to herself that if she had to spend one more minute with this hooligan, she’d end him herself before any demons got the chance to. She’d probably get some kind of award for that.

Sam walked back into the room, an armful of maps held tightly to his chest. Myst slid off the table, turning as Sam dropped the maps on it. One map slid off and rolled along the hardwood floor, bumping into Garth’s foot. Garth bent forward, picking up the map as he handed it to Sam who muttered a quick ‘thanks’ with a nod.

Sam unscrolled the map, setting an off-white coffee mug down on top of the map to keep it from furling up again. He traced his index finger over the map as he followed the trails. Myst watched as he did, her arms crossed in concentration. Garth’s eyes followed Sam’s fingers as he continued to trace the trails.

“Here’s the outpost,” Sam tapped his finger heavily a few times on a part of the map, “They’ve been taking some of our wounded.”

“A POW Camp?” Myst asked as she scanned the map. Where the outpost was placed was between two streams. The streams were the Eighth Hunter Battalion's main water source, for the outpost to be placed there, it was strategic. It was intentional.

“It’s unclear,” Sam said, “They seem to let some of our wounded go, a few have come back patched up better than we can patch them up.”

“They’re taking care of enemy soldiers?” Myst furrowed her brow, running a hand over her mouth, “Why? Are they getting deals out of it or something?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, looking over his right one to meet Myst’s gaze. Myst didn’t return the gesture, however, and her eyes stayed locked on the map. Garth stood up, using the leather covered arms of the chair for leverage.

“What if they’re not a POW camp?” Garth offered, “Maybe they’re a med-camp.”

“A med-camp to take care of enemy soldiers?” Sam questioned.

“Sometimes, in historical senses, troops would set up medical outposts and would take in and clean up and patch up wounded,” Garth explained, “No matter which side of the war they were fighting on. Wounded was wounded in their eyes–”

“If someone needed help,” Sam interrupted, “It didn’t matter what they were fighting for.”

Myst tapped her chin. She’d heard very vague rumors of med-camps, but not war neutral ones. Though, the General had said it was a Hellian outpost. Hellians were very rarely helpful, in fact, they would do everything in their power to cause issues, even at their own expense. If this was a med-camp, Myst had no doubt it had ulterior motives. Myst shook her head.

“Med-Camp or not,” Myst started, “If General Singer wanted me and Fitzgerald–”

“Fitzgerald and I” Sam interrupted with the correction under his breath.

“ –To destroy it, destroy it we will,” Myst stated, ignoring Sam’s interruption, “We’ll get out the wounded and then we’ll destroy the outpost. Get in, get out, no fuss, no muss.”

Garth’s face contorted in a way that Myst couldn’t identify. It looked like disappointment, but it wasn’t quite that. No, disappointment wouldn’t have such a hard edge to it. Especially not with the odd soft undertone. Myst was never particularly good at reading people, but especially not someone as emotionally charged as Garth.

“Uh, Myst,” Sam cleared his throat, his eyes darting between Myst and Garth, “Karen put you on this mission with Garth for a reason.”

“And Corporal Fitzgerald will only slow me down,” Myst snapped with zero regard for the lanky hunter standing beside her, “I know you two are buddies or whatever, but I have a reputation to keep up and I don’t need his over emotional ass getting in my way. You two can get in touch with your feelings another time.”

Sam seemed to bite his lip as the captain turned her back. Myst grabbed her shotgun, slinging it over her shoulder as she began to leave the room. She paused at the door frame, listening as the two whispered under their breaths. They thought she couldn’t hear them, but she could. Unlike most of the other soldiers at camp, Myst’s hearing remained undamaged.

“Is she always like this, Sam?” Garth’s voice was hardly audible as he had no intent of her hearing him.

“She didn’t used to be,” Sam paused, realizing he’d lied, “Well, she didn’t used to be this bad.”

Myst stormed off, not bothering to hear the rest of the conversation. She knew damn well that Sam and Garth were close, thick as thieves, but she wasn’t close to either of them. Myst had a connection with the older Winchester sibling, they could relate with one another. Sam and Garth were caught up in their feels all the time, as Deanna often phrased it to her; But the older two? Deanna and Myst? Well, they were level headed, logical. They didn’t let their feelings get in the way of anything, and it worked out for the best. 

Myst stormed through the house, ignoring her inferiors that tried to greet her. She didn’t wish to be bothered. She stormed out into the driveway, taking a sharp left turn to the junkyard. Her plan was to make her way to the garage, climb into her loft, and create a plan. If she had more authority and less fear of getting in heaps of trouble, she’d have waited until nightfall before sneaking out of camp and taking care of that Hellian outpost herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a death wish, unlike many of the others, and so she would still go out with Garth, but likely ditch him part of the way to the outpost before she promptly took care of it herself. Med-camp or not, Hellians were Hellians.

Myst had climbed up in her loft, stewing in her own anger and frustration. The main part of the garage was the armory and weaponry, but she and Deanna had claimed the upper loft in the garage for their own personal planning space. General Singer had only objected slightly, but a few coercive chats from Deanna (or at least what Myst assumed to be coercive) had ended up leaving the loft to the two girls. It was a slow day, which meant the garage was empty anyhow, so Myst could be as disruptive as she wished as she tossed things into the hay that scattered the floor.

“Knock, knock,” Deanna’s voice floated into the loft as she climbed the ladder. Myst looked over her shoulder, cocking a smile before returning to her plans. Deanna walked to her side, grunting as she flopped down, crossing her legs. 

Myst only looked up a bit. She stuck the pencil in her mouth, gritting her teeth into it. She didn’t appreciate Deanna interrupting her but she wasn’t going to tell the Major to leave.

“Sam said you were disagreeable today when you were going over maps,” Deanna said, “And half the lower ranks said you blew them off.”

Myst pulled the pencil out of her mouth, marking a Hunter Battalion she could drop Garth off at. She didn’t acknowledge Deanna’s words. Deanna wanted to talk about feelings and emotions. Myst only cared about facts and war. War and facts. She didn’t have time for the emotion crap everyone in the camp was giving her.

Deanna tapped her fingers against her leg before continuing, “You know you’re going to have to work with Garth. Whether or not you like it, right?”

Myst nodded. She could plan to ditch the Corporal somewhere, but the truth was she’d never actually lose him. She wasn’t lucky enough for that.

“Myst, I know you took it harder than everyone else, she was–” Deanna tried to find the words, “She was your Sam. And if we could’ve done anything–”

“Deanna,” Myst looked over at the Winchester, her brow furrowed, “This hasn’t got anything to do with her.”

Deanna nodded, “Right, of course, because it couldn’t possibly. Look, if you ever need anything. A hug, someone to talk to. I dunno–”

“Deanna,” Myst stated flatly, looking up at her superior, “Drop it.”

Deanna bit her lip, pausing a moment before she continued, “You need to treat Garth like he’s a human being. Sam too. Heaven and Hell knows they’ve already gone through so much of being told they’re monsters, don’t fuck up what they have going here.”

Myst’s lips pursed slightly at Deanna’s words. Of course the older Winchester was always outspoken, curt. She’d tried the whole ‘softening the blow’ before, but it never suited her style. It never suited Myst either. But still, it would sometimes catch the captain off guard when her friend was so blatant with her.

Myst nodded her head, turning back to her maps. So she’d have to work with Garth. Or maybe coerce him to do it her way. She’d figure it out. One way or another.

Chapter Text

Cordelia absolutely hated the surface world. She’d escaped Hell somewhere in a desert. She hated the heat that the sun offered. At least in Hell the heat was internal, it was warming. Here, the heat was dry, scalding. It tore at Cordelia’s skin and baked her worse than anything she knew in Hell. Torture included. At least torture offered some form of relief, this, this was worse than Hell.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. If she had one wish it was that she didn’t have to do this. She wished she hadn’t got caught. She should’ve been more sneaky, more sly. The wind kicked up a spurt of dust and some of it blew into Coredlia’s eyes. If she had known exactly where this person was hiding out, she’d just teleport to them. Alas, they’d moved around far too much for Cordelia to even think about where they could be. And a tracking spell? Forget about it, they’d be alerted within seconds of the spell being placed.

A bomb fell, exploding on impact a few miles off. Cordelia could see the explosion. It jarred her only slightly, and set off alarm bells that she was walking in an active war zone. Of course she’d enter the surface world in live combat, because she was unlucky enough to do that. Luck wasn’t on her side, and it was going to make her suffer, as fate often did. Cordelia ducked into a nearby shack, trying to think of ways she could not be absolutely obliterated. She couldn’t teleport, teleporting would automatically alert Crowley to her last location and she couldn’t risk getting caught. But she sure as Heaven couldn’t walk through a battle. She could, maybe, cast a spell to freeze time within a radius temporarily so she could walk her way through, but nothing seemed to indicate the bounds of where this skirmish was taking place within. Which made her believe it was hunters fighting hunters.

She looked around the darkened shack a bit as she tried to formulate a plan. The shack did seem to reek of copper and if Cordelia cared to squint hard enough, she could probably make out dismembered body parts and limbs from the war. The cleanup shack. Every battlefield had these. They were constructed to hold the remains of soldiers who died on the battlefield. Angelics, Hunters, Hellians, they all used them. They’d have a designated cleanup crew to go through during cease fires and, for lack of a better term, sweep the disfigured remains into the shacks. As a demon, it didn’t bother Cordelia all that much. She’d seen worse in Hell, she’d done worse a few times in training. But the shacks were supposed to be temporary, they were supposed to be cleared out when the battle was ended and the remains were supposed to be returned to families. This, here, what Cordelia was seeing, was years of dismembered corpses. The smell she was unfazed by, but the amount of body parts was unnerving, even for a demon of her stature.

Another bomb hit outside and Cordelia was snapped back to the matter at hand. She couldn’t place a spell if these were Angelics. But by the looks of the corpses, they appeared to just be vessels. Their eyes were intact, but that still left Hellians. Cordelia grabbed a matchbox from her back pocket, striking a match. Though it didn’t illuminate much, the match made it so Cordelia was able to see what was going on. Well, somewhat, at least. She coughed a bit, her eyes scanning the mounds of rotting body parts. The extreme desert heat made it appear as though the flesh was quite literally melting off the bone. Cordelia cleared her throat, stepping forward. If the battle included Hellians, her spell would only put out a beacon telling Crowley exactly where she was. 

Luckily, Cordelia had paid some attention in her boot camp days. It had been stated that demons would brand themselves– brand their vessels– with a symbol. And though Cordelia was never a soldier, she had known this information to be somewhat important. So, despite her internal battles of not wishing to touch the rotting flesh, Cordelia used her free hand to start sorting through the dismembered limbs. If even one had a symbol of any sort, she knew she wouldn’t be able to cast her spell.

Most of the limbs and body parts were too far into a state of decomposition for Cordelia to be able to tell if they had symbols carved into them or not, but the more she dug through, the more confident she became that this was a battle of hunters. She did love when hunter battalions turned on one another, it was a great deal of fun to watch in Hell. 

Once she’d sorted through most of the bodies, Cordelia decided it was safe enough for her to cast a spell. She blew out her match, reaching into her escape bag that was resting on her back. She pulled out a couple of candles, kneeling as she set them on the ground of the shack. She struck another match, lighting both the candles. She had to do this precisely or she’d screw it up and– Well, she hadn’t exactly messed it up before, so she had no idea what would happen. Cordelia’s hand was tightly bandaged from where she had cut her palm with the demon blade and she reached into her bag, pulling out her own dagger. Wishing she didn’t have to do it this way, Cordelia unwrapped the bandages, sucking in a breath at the clearly mangled wound, before she slit her hand again. The blood dripped onto the floor, and this time, the wound closed itself. Sure, her methods were unorthodox, she didn’t have the required materials to do it properly. But she’d been taught that she could get by. She slid her bag off her shoulders, turning from the door as she reached in to fetch her herbs.

The low-level demon didn’t have time to think before the door swung open, sunlight fell in her face, and a gun was pointed at her. She turned, looking up the barrel of the shotgun, her gray eyes meeting a pair of green ones, surrounded by very faint freckles. Cordelia’s eyes refocused, as she stared at the lean woman that had a gun raised at her. A second woman joined the first, this one older.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” The woman with the shotgun asked.

Cordelia swallowed hard, she could tell they weren’t Hellians, these women were in uniform. But that ultimately meant that they were hunters. Hunters, outside of Sam Winchester, didn’t have the best track record for leaving demons they ran into alive. Cordelia’s eyes scanned the hunter, trying to size up how much of a threat she was, as she did, she noticed the hunter’s left arm wasn’t an arm. Well, it was, but it was a prosthetic. Cordelia could tell the difference.

“Look, I’m not a threat,” Cordelia said, her voice was hoarse and dry, but she raised her hands to show she meant no harm.

“All the black eyes say that,” the older woman gruffed, “And yet I ain’t met one that’s been decent.”

Cordelia’s eyes darted between the two hunters, she was not going to let herself die this way. Let alone be taken captive. If she was taken captive, Crowley would be able to track her down. She couldn’t let herself be a sitting duck for his wrath.

“Do all the black eyes know Sam Winchester?” Cordelia dropped the name, hoping it would at least buy her a bit of time before either of the hunters put an end to her miserable life.

The woman holding the shotgun seemed to register the name from her memory. She hesitated, her firm stance falling, if only for a short moment. Cordelia thought that maybe she wouldn’t be taken captive, or killed. Although, she preferred the latter option. The older hunter’s face seemed to lose all expression as she shoved the red-haired hunter out of the way.

“Where’d you hear that name?” Her words were short and cut like a blade. Cordelia could tell that she’d struck a nerve of some sort.

“Where haven’t I heard it?” Cordelia tilted her head, but she didn’t act cocky for long as the older hunter pulled out her own gun, aiming it square between Cordelia’s eyes.

Cordelia bit her lip softly, “Right, but actually, I’ve worked with him. We had a deal of sorts.”

“The Sam I know wouldn’t make deals with a black eyes,” the woman grunted, pulling back on the safety.

“Normal bullets won’t kill me, sweetheart,” Cordelia smiled before continuing, “Besides, Sam and I have an entire contract, you can ask him about it yourself.”

“Angel blades melted into bullets, hun,” the hunter sniped back, “You might want to think again about talking to me like that.”

The hunter with the shotgun lowered her weapon, turning to look at her partner, “Ellen, maybe she could be useful.”

“Charlie–” The older hunter, whom Cordelia assumed to be Ellen, shot back at the younger soldier.

“No, hear me out,” Charlie cut her off, “We take her captive, get in contact with General Singer, double check her story, then we use her to our advantage.”

Ellen opened her mouth to protest before shooting her eyes between Cordelia and her younger counterpart. From Cordelia’s perspective, the gears in Ellen’s head seemed to be turning. Cordelia’s eyes darted down to her bag before looking back up at the hunter. Ellen slowly lowered her gun, letting out a disgruntled sigh as she nodded.

“The Colonel would be mad if we didn’t bring her back to camp,” Ellen took a step back, motioning for Charlie to continue.

Cordelia furrowed her brows as Charlie grabbed her roughly. The hunter had a tight grasp around the demon and even when Cordelia tried to fight it, Charlie tightened her hand in response.

The fighting didn’t cease, but Charlie and Ellen seemed to know their ways around the battlefield so they could dodge most of the combat. Cordelia didn’t mind the help slinking through the fight, she almost appreciated it, if she could feel appreciation. But her stomach pitted at the thought of the sitting duck she was about to become.

Chapter Text

Ralph’s head hit the top of the van as it ran over a pothole. Not that Ralph was sure he could distinguish between a pothole and the rest of the road, everything was just a bombed mess these days. He’d woken up in the back of the van. Well, calling it a van was generous, a van implied it was intended to carry multiple people. The vehicle that Ralph was in was most certainly not meant to seat him, nor the young woman that was scrunched in the corner of it. Maybe it was just the benches that were manually welded in, maybe it was the chains that were locked around his wrists that were bound to the floor. Whatever it was, it wasn’t comfortable for Ralph to sit in.

He’d been riding in this vehicle for what felt like weeks. Realistically speaking, Ralph was aware it was more like a few days, at most. Sure, they’d made a few pit stops along the way, and the demons fed him and the girl he was in the vehicle with. There was a little slot in the back doors that the demons would slide their food in through. Though Ralph was always reluctant to eat the food, the girl would often scramble to get her own meals. And part of the way through the drive, one the demons had slipped into the back and healed his broken arm. Ralph appreciated it even if he didn’t mention it, but he found it concerning.

The girl did talk a lot. Not at that particular moment, no, she was quiet, rocking herself back and forth. Usually she’d talk to or at Ralph. Ralph would listen, he was often told he was good at listening. It helped when he didn’t know how to respond and would just smile and nod or mimic the other person’s facial expressions. The girl never shared her name, the demons never referred to her with a name either, which didn’t bother Ralph. 

The vehicle started slowing to a stop and Ralph looked up. It wasn’t time for a pitstop yet, it was too early for one. The demons had a set schedule for how many stops they made and when they made them. Ralph had started to figure the pattern out after the second or third stop he’d been awake for. Of course, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, so was uncertain of how far away he was from home. Ralph could hear the demons’ footsteps on what sounded like gravel. Could it be gravel? Ralph didn’t think it was. The back doors unlocked slowly and they swung open widely. Ralph squinted from his eyes adjusting to the new intake of sunlight. 

“Come on, mutts,” Alastair grunted at the two as he climbed into the back. He fumbled a bit with the chains that connected Ralph’s handcuffs to the floor. He broke the chain, but the handcuffs remained on Ralph’s wrists, the symbols carved into them pulsating dull blues and reds.

Alastair shoved Ralph towards Meg as he refocused on the girl in the corner who started screeching in protest.

“Whoa there, big guy,” Meg muttered as she helped Ralph to the ground. Ralph stumbled a bit, trying to regain his balance. He felt dizzy, the world seemed to spin and his stomach churned in ways that made him nauseous.

“Don’t try to run,” Meg said, leading Ralph through large, iron wrought gates, “We have a forcefield around the entire camp. You can get in, but you can’t get out unless you have one of these.”

Meg pulled her hair to the side, revealing a sigil tattooed onto her skin. Ralph stared at the tattoo. He nodded, seeming to understand. He was a prisoner. At this point, he wished he’d been gunned down on the battlefield like his fellow soldiers, rather than… a POW camp. The camp, well, that’s what it was. Meg led him through it and Ralph looked over his shoulder, Alastair was dragging the girl by her cuffs. Ralph felt a bit sorry for the girl, she looked to be younger than him and while he scanned her, he could see better in the sunlight that she was dressed in her pajamas, with no shoes. The demons had taken her from her bed in the middle of the night. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen at the most.

Ralph looked forward, only darting his eyes slightly. The camp wasn’t large. Ralph lived in a city, what used to be a city at least, the camp looked like the commercial zone of a small town. The road Meg was leading them down was narrow enough to let small trucks pass through, but anything larger than that would be unable to pass. The buildings they walked past weren’t very large, one story, two at most. Most of them were storefronts repurposed for different uses. The diner was the Mess Hall, the antique store was the Armory, and the grocery store… Well, that’s where Meg was leading them. Of course, Ralph only knew the Mess Hall and the Armory due to the large graffiti letters that were painted on the boarded up windows.

When Meg opened the door, a small bell twinkled. Ralph stepped in, the door hitting his shoulder due to the fact that Meg didn’t bother to hold it open for him. Alastair was right behind them, holding it open as he tossed the girl next to Ralph. Ralph looked over at her as she stumbled to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, hunched over, her hair blocking Ralph’s view of her face.

“Follow me,” Meg muttered leading the two through the store. Instead of shelves, like a regular grocery store would have, Ralph took note of the bunk beds. Not all of them were filled, but a lot of them were. Most of the people on the beds were smiling, or playing games. And most of them, as far as Ralph could tell, ranged anywhere from fourteen to twenty.

“You’re not prisoners,” Meg noted, looking over her shoulder at Ralph, “You’ll be welcome to leave whenever you wish, once we get done what we need to get done.”

Ralph squinted his eyes in skepticism as he followed the demon’s long strides. Something about her gave him bad vibes. Maybe it was that she was a demon, or the fact that she’d kidnapped him. But there was an overtone that was different from those things. Ralph looked at the girl who trudged along beside him, she seemed withdrawn from the situation. He couldn’t blame her, he would’ve been withdrawn if he could’ve afforded to be.

“This is you,” Meg motioned to a bunk bed, “You’ll bunk with Jack.”

A guy around Ralph’s age sat on the bottom bunk. A young woman was crouched in front of him, wrapping up the guy’s knuckles. The guy smiled and waved at Ralph.

“Hi!” He beamed widely.

The woman bandaging his knuckles let out a sigh of frustration, pulling his hand back down to his lap so she could continue to wrap them. Ralph looked back over at Meg, then the girl.

“Jo,” Meg started, “This is Ralph.”

The woman who was focused on her work looked up at Ralph then over at Meg, “ Ralph Ralph?”

“The one and only,” Meg uttered, rolling her eyes, “I’m going to go take this one to Humanities, then you can join me.”

Jo nodded as Meg led the girl out of the store through the fire exit. Ralph looked at Jo who only made brief eye contact before returning to bandaging up the guy on the bed. He looked down at his cuffed wrists, then back up at the woman. A POW camp, cuffed, reduced to being a prisoner. And yet, all the other people there seemed content. Ralph scanned the room, no one seemed to be unhappy. Maybe tired, drained, but none of them seemed to be upset, discontent.

“I’d remove your cuffs,” Jo said, “But Zach would probably lose his mind if I did.”

She finished bandaging the man’s knuckles, standing up from her crouched position. She stretched out, before she relaxed. She looked over at Ralph, scanning him. He couldn’t tell if she was sizing him up or if she was genuinely curious about him. Either way, he felt slightly uncomfortable around her. Maybe it was the camp itself.

“Jack,” she looked over at the guy, “You’ll be healed by the end of the night, but next time, don’t go ham on a wall.”

“It was not a wall,” the man tilted his head, confused like, “It was a shifter.”

Jo gave him a sympathetic smile before she walked away, tossing and catching the bandage a few times as she left. Ralph watched her leave before turning his attention to the man. His eyes scanned the bunk bed. He didn’t want to have to try to climb the ladder to the top bunk while he had these cuffs on. The cuffs barely gave him room to separate his hands, let alone climb a ladder, even if the ladder was small. Ralph looked back over his shoulder at the rest of the room where the others were minding their own business. No one was curious about why Ralph was there, no one was rushing to ask him questions about who he was, why he was there. Everyone appeared to be calm.

“I’m Jack, by the way,” the man on the bottom bunk drew Ralph’s attention in, “We’ll be bunk buddies, you must be Ralph!”

Ralph nodded, looking at Jack. Jack’s face seemed soft and his eyes kind. Ralph wanted to trust him, but he wasn’t sure he should. A person being content in a POW camp? Ralph had heard stories from his parents. Of being brainwashed. This didn’t look like brainwashed people, but Ralph didn’t exactly know what brainwashed people look like. So maybe they were.

“You’re going to need to take the bottom bunk,” Jack nodded, standing up as he smiled, motioning for Ralph to sit on the bed, “They probably won’t take those off for a good week or two.”

Ralph’s eyes drifted down to the cuffs. They weren’t particularly tight around his wrists, but they also weren't very convenient. His range of mobility was limited, but as far as any of his knowledge of POW camps told him, mobility wasn’t the point of him being there. Ralph took Jack’s seat on the bottom bunk, keeping his head down. He didn’t like the idea of this place, and he wanted to find a way out as soon as possible.

Chapter Text

Orion kept checking over his shoulder, looking for the prophet that was behind him. They’d snuck out of medical, and hadn’t been caught, or at least noticed. Kevin was a few paces behind the angel, a hand gripped tightly on an angel blade that Orion had provided. His aura was neutral, with a slight hint of ambition. Nothing out of the ordinary for the young prophet. And lucky for Orion, Kevin had decided ‘stealth mission’ meant true stealth. Which resulted in the man keeping his mouth shut and his noise to as much of a minimum as humanly possible. Or at least as possible as it was for Kevin.

Orion had to leave sigils behind on the weakened fir trees that they had passed to ensure no angels, such as Samandriel or Hannah, would be able to track them. Well, at least without increasing difficulty. Orion had learned from the relative best, and if he hadn’t applied his knowledge in the field, he wouldn’t be able to sneak off the way he was.

The two of them were hidden behind a large rock– Boulder? Negative. And while Orion had a rough idea of where Gabriel might be– and a very rough one at that– Orion did have pure and complete knowledge as to where the library was. And to Orion’s permeable luck, it was in heaven.

Orion could levy a way for him to get into heaven, it wouldn’t be all too difficult. Sure he couldn’t get there the traditional way, but he knew where a ground entrance was. To be entirely fair, he knew where all the ground entrances were. Kevin, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. Heaven wasn’t designed to allow living human souls to pass through. Unless Castiel had rigged a way to get Kevin in that Orion was unaware of, Orion would have to cast some pretty heavy spells. Which would require the help of a very important witch. One he didn’t particularly want to try and track down.

“Angels, three o’clock,” Kevin whispered, tapping on Orion’s shoulder.

Orion turned his head quickly, scanning the two angels that were patrolling. He recognized both of them as soldiers from the D1-78 troop. Anna and Duma. Of course it would be Anna and Duma. Not only did they act as Castiel’s closest soldiers, but they were also some of the most valiant fighters that the Angelics had on their team. Not that there were that many of them left, the Hellians and Hunters made sure of that.

Orion grabbed Kevin’s wrist, pulling him around the rock to hide behind it while the angels passed. If they got caught, they were dead meat. Orion would be killed and Kevin, well, Castiel knows what would happen to Kevin. Kevin opened his mouth to say something, but Orion clasped his hand over it, preventing the prophet from speaking. Kevin’s eyes darted to Orion, then leaned forward as he pulled the angel’s hand from his mouth.

The footsteps of the soldiers grew louder as they approached. Orion looked at Kevin as the human held his breath. If Orion breathed, he would do the same. Despite the hope that they’d pass, Anna and Duma stopped right in front of the rock, Orion could sense their presence and he hoped they couldn’t sense his. The two started speaking in Enochian, which meant, of course, Kevin couldn’t understand what they were saying, but Orion could make out every word.

“ Why did Castiel even send us out here? ” Anna hissed, “ This place is dead, no one’s going to sneak into heaven. ”

“ I don’t know and I don’t care, Anna, ” Duma spat back, “ As long as I’m not having to cede to Michael, I really don’t give a damn. ”

Orion’s ears pricked up at the mention of the archangel. Michael was missing, everyone had assumed he ran off into some dark corner of some realm. That he was hiding from the war, like Gabriel was, like Raphael had been before they roped him back in. Most of the archangels had made the decision to sit the war out, but the mention of Michael? No, that changed things.

“ Language, ” Anna corrected, though Orion knew full well she wasn’t serious, “ I wish Michael were here, he’d probably just close the gates. ”

“ Would that really be any better? What about all of the soldiers who lost their wings? ” Duma snapped back.

Orion’s eyes drifted back up at Kevin before he looked down at the grass. His eyes focused on a twig as he heard one of the angels flick open a lighter. Kevin tapped Orion on the shoulder, looking at the angel in a confused manner. At least, what Orion believed to be a confused manner. It could’ve also been frustration… or lust? No, the latter wasn’t likely. Orion pressed his finger to his lip, signaling for the prophet to keep quiet.

“ Those things are going to burn through your vessel’s lungs, you know that, right? ” Anna’s voice sounded firm, but also not too concerned from Orion’s perspective.

“ And yet I don’t breathe so it doesn’t matter, ” Duma replied to her partner in a curt manner.

“ Come on, Duma, he’s not going to be here, ” Anna’s enochian had a slight whine to it, “ You think he’d really try to sneak back into heaven after everything he’s done to betray us? ”

Orion didn’t think sneaking away from camp was considered betrayal. There were worse things that soldiers had done during the war, and they hadn’t been considered traitors. Well, maybe going AWOL wasn’t the best idea, but it wasn’t worthy of–

“ Treason is what’s written on the paper, Anna, ” Duma replied, “ And believe you me, if I was charged with treason, I would want to sneak back into heaven. Cause complete havoc. ”

“ I know what I’ll be telling Castiel if you ever betray us, ” Anna’s voice seemed to have a joking smile in it, “ Could I get that in writing? I think he’d believe it more. ”

Duma chuckled a bit as the smoke from her cigarette lifted through the air. Orion made a silent request that the two would leave. If they were there to guard the gate, the chances of them being able to sneak in without Anna and/or Duma noticing was slim to none.

Kevin’s aura started blaring again and Orion’s eyes shot over to him. Even though Orion knew Anna and Duma couldn’t see his aura, the stronger Kevin’s aura grew, the easier it would be for the angels on the other side of the rock to sense his presence. If using his magic wouldn’t immediately alert the soldiers, Orion would use it to knock Kevin out to stop his aura from being so loud, so bright. Oh, how Orion hated traveling with humans, their auras distracted him so.

“ Let’s just guard the doors, okay? ” Duma’s voice held a sense of humor.

“ Duma, please, it’s going to be so boring, ” Anna replied, “ Their first check on us is going to be in twelve hours, right? Let’s just go fool around until then. ”

Orion could sense the hesitancy and tension. Despite his immense dislike for Anna, Orion hoped she’d be able to pull this off. If Orion could get the soldiers away for those twelve hours, then he’d be able to configure a way to get Kevin in without completely obliterating the prophet’s body and conscience.

“ Fine, ” Duma spat, “ But I’m not going to enjoy this. ”

Orion paused, listening as the angels expanded their wings, flying away, the sound of feathers swishing through the air as they did. Kevin breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled away from Orion, standing up slowly. Kevin scanned the area around them, making sure no more angels were around before extending his arm to offer to help Orion up. Orion peered at the hand as though it may bite him before ignoring the hand altogether, standing up on his own. Orion brushed the dirt off the clothes his vessel was wearing. 

The doors to Heaven couldn’t be too far away, Orion was almost certain of their whereabouts. He started heading Northeast, toward where the doors would be waiting for the two. Kevin jogged to catch up to him, catching his breath slightly as he slowed his pace beside Orion.

“So, where’s the library?” Kevin inquired between labored breaths.

Orion looked over, the boy’s aura had begun to calm a bit, but it was still blaring. No more than his usual aura. Not that it was a comfort to the angel, he despised how it made his head pound, but at least it wasn’t an aura that came from nervousness or fear. 

“In Heaven,” Orion replied shortly, “I assume you have not been there.”

“How do you know?” Kevin snapped back quickly, his words held no malice in them, “Castiel had me in this golden study. The walls were this marble and the pillars were solid gold. Even the desk I was sitting at and translating at was gold plated.”

Orion raised a brow, scoffing slightly, “That is your perception of Heaven? Marble and gold? Gems and silver?”

Kevin furrowed his brows, focusing on the ground as his aura shifted, “I didn’t mention the gems and silver.”

“You thought it, I heard it,” Orion replied, before continuing, “You have not been to Heaven because if you had been to Heaven, you would be scattered into thousands of tiny pieces all across time and space as we know it.”

Kevin stopped walking, allowing Orion to get quite a bit ahead of him. Orion figured he’d catch back up, but upon looking over his shoulder, the prophet hadn’t moved. Orion squinted his vessel’s eyes and tilted its head, trying to understand the emotion that Kevin was expressing. Was it shock? Maybe disbelief? Orion realized he was making his head hurt a little too much and he stopped his squinting.

“I sense something is wrong,” Orion muttered, “Did I say something insensitive?”

Kevin let out a long breath, taking a couple shuffled steps forward, “No, it’s just… If stepping into heaven would have killed me, how are we supposed to get me into the library to find the myths?”

Orion took a step towards Kevin. He hadn’t figured to let Kevin in on the plan so far. The plan being rough maybe’s and positive no’s.

“There are ways to get you into heaven without much of an issue,” Orion began, “Most of them involve me removing your soul to return to you later. Though, I am unsure if those would work.”

“Remove my soul?” Kevin’s aura began to flash in a way Orion hadn’t seen since he’d first met him, “Like have me walk through Heaven… without a soul? Isn’t that dangerous or some shit?”

“Or some shit,” Orion muttered quietly, he took a couple more steps toward Kevin to better close the gap between them, “Yes, but Heaven runs off the premise that no living soul can enter. Taking the gospel literally, implies that as long as you do not have your soul, you are able to enter Heaven.”

Kevin’s aura faded a bit, the flashing slowing to a stop. Orion paused, waiting to see what Kevin would say next.

“And this is our only option? Strip me of my soul?” Kevin asked.

“Either that or call on the power of the Grand Coven,” Orion paused, “Oh wait, all but one of the members was brutally murdered, guess that isn’t an option.” 

Kevin cracked a smile, “Was that a joke?”

Orion furrowed his brow, “No? Why would it be? They were brutally murdered, their intestines strewn everywhere. It was horrifying.”

The prophet seemed a tad bit disappointed at Orion’s denial of the use of a joke, but he jogged to the angel’s side.

“Come now,” Orion began to walk again, “The gate’s are a good hour’s walk from here.”

Chapter Text

“That’s the outpost,” Myst pointed off towards a cabin. The cabin wasn’t unlike others that she’d seen. It was covered in moss and ivy, and part of the roof had collapsed in on itself. Not out of place in the forested wasteland, in fact, Myst might be concerned if it had no damage done to it. The true puzzling part about it, though, was how they were performing medical miracles– as General Singer had fondly implied– in such a small place.

Garth poked his head over Myst’s shoulder. If they had been standing, he would’ve had to stretch a bit, maybe actually have good posture for once. But they were crouched behind a tree so they wouldn’t be spotted. A Hellian outpost, just their luck, wasn’t it?

“It doesn’t look dangerous,” Garth replied. Myst looked at the soldier, shoving him out of her personal space before refocusing on the cabin.

“Of course it doesn’t look dangerous,” Myst snapped back, “They want to appear harmless, duh.”

Garth leaned back against the tree trunk as Myst pulled back behind the tree to stay hidden. The Corporal was tapping his toes gently against the packed dirt. Myst pulled her bag from her shoulders, reaching into it as she pulled out a salt bomb. Bomb them and leave, that was Myst’s plan. Had she run that past Garth? No. Was she planning on it? Hell no.

“So we go in, ask what they’re all about, and head out then?” Garth repeated the plan that they had discussed with Sam post the cartography room. Myst looked at him, scanning the man, before setting the salt bomb where he could see it. The bomb was small compared to her backpack, but it could still do some real damage. Especially if that cabin was filled with demons like they had predicted.

Garth’s brows furrowed as he focused on the bomb she’d just pulled out, “Myst, you’re not thinking of doing anything rash, are you?”

“Not rash,” Myst replied quickly as she pulled out her demon blade, “It’s actually well thought out. Demons get confused and burned by the salt, we go in and stab them. Or in your case, shoot them.”

Myst pulled out a pistol from her back, cocking it before she handed it to Garth. Garth looked down a bit, confusion seemed to paint his face as he set it aside. He looked back at Myst who was still  rummaging through her bag. She had her cassette player pulled out, to play an exorcism on loop if need be. Latin had become a rarely used thing, even in the modern day of the war, they were no longer teaching Latin to soldiers, it was considered obsolete with the use of tapes.

“Myst, I don’t mean to overstep here,” Garth slid the gun away, meeting the Captain’s eyes, “But this isn’t the plan we sorted out back on base.”

“Yeah, Corporal, and that plan back at base was inefficient,” Myst replied. She zipped up her supply bag, slinging it over her shoulder, “This plan has been crafted for efficiency and effect. Both of which are exceedingly high. So, you can either argue with me on this, or you can shut your mouth, pick up your gun, and suck it up.”

Garth looked at Myst, his face contorted in what looked to be maybe frustration, disappointment. It didn’t bother the Captain, she just ignored his empty stares, grabbing her blade as she stood up. She slid her blade into the hilt of her belt, extending a hand to help her companion up. Garth took a look at the hand before smacking it away. He stood up quickly on his own, reaching for the gun on the ground. He picked it up, looked down at it, then tossed it away. It clattered against a tree before landing in the grass.

“What the hell, Corporal?” Myst’s eyes followed the trek of the gun before she redirected her frustration at the soldier in front of her. Of course he had to wreck her plans. She had this planned to the t and here Garth was, throwing another wrench in the working cogs. God, she hated that she had to work with such a stubborn, unmoving, douchebag.

“No, what the hell you,” Garth spoke up, “Karen put me on this mission with you for a reason. We need to work together. ”

Myst started to laugh a bit, “Your idea of ‘working together’ is a plan that’s going to get us killed, best case scenario.”

“And so what if it does?” Garth snapped back, “This was the plan we were sent out to execute, and it’s the plan that I’m going through with. This is dangerous, this isn’t a smart idea.”

“Smart or not, it’s going to work,” Myst grumbled. She wasn’t about to hear it. Myst hadn’t been given this mission to simply cede to Garth’s protests. This was a symbol of responsibility, of maturity. Well, maybe maturity was a stretch on her part as she was already more mature than most of the others in the camp.

Myst turned her back to Garth, she was going to take down the mofos whether he was on her side or not. Sure, it wasn’t the original plan, it would’ve helped to have a shot like Garth. But Myst would do fine with her salt bomb and her demon knife. Going in without guns blazing might have even been a preferred method for the Captain anyhow.

“If you go in there without me, I’ll have to report you to Karen,” Garth spoke up, causing Myst to freeze in her tracks, “Whether you’re successful or not.”

Myst clicked her tongue in thought. The threat of a report on her risked her integrity in the unit. Even worse, it risked reassignment. Myst hadn’t spent all that time working her way up the ranks to be reported for something as trivial as this. She couldn’t be assigned to kitchen duty again. Or even relocated to the 4th Hunter Battalion. She’d spent so long. She’d worked so hard to be transferred away from Colonel Ketch. And here Garth was, ready to muck it all up for her. No, she couldn’t let it happen.

She bit her tongue, realizing she was going to regret this in the long run before she turned to look back at Garth. His stance faltered a bit, but his arms were crossed in a domineering regard. He knew he had her pinned under his thumb and there was nothing she could do about it. With a heavy sigh filled to the brim with regret, Myst dropped her bag from her shoulder, unzipping it quickly as she shoved the knife and salt bomb back into it.

“You win,” she conceded to the Corporal, “We’ll talk shop with them.”

Myst could tell that Garth didn’t take as much pleasure in this as he probably should have, but it didn’t bother her. If it had been Deanna or Sam she was traveling with, either of them would’ve had a fit gloating. At least Garth had the decency to shut his mouth and claim his triumphant attitude internally. Unless he didn’t feel triumphant over this. Which that was, of course damn near impossible given the situation.

Much to Myst’s dismay, the two hunters began creeping up toward the cabin. She couldn’t see much, if any, movement inside, but it might’ve just been where she was standing. The cabin’s windows were boarded off from the inside from what Myst could make out, but portions of the windows weren’t blocked off. And if Myst stood in the right place at the right time, she might have been able to see a shadow walk past the window, but she couldn’t be sure.

Myst allowed Garth to lead the way to the door of the cabin which, when Myst took a closer look, was falling off its hinges. Myst shot Garth a look of doubt, he was just going to walk in. Why did he have to threaten her with a report?

As the two soldiers approached the door, Garth opened the door slowly. Myst said a silent prayer to whatever God was listening before the door swung open entirely. Myst bit her tongue, having height over Garth, she was able to scan around the cabin. What she had been expecting to be full of wounded, was only a couple mostly bandaged people lying on rotting cots and decaying carpeting. The poor excuses for nurses that were standing around were very obviously demons. They hadn’t bothered to snap their eyes back from their normal black nature. 

Myst’s stomach began to pit in regret, this had been a bad idea. Maybe it was how many demons were staring at her and Garth. Or maybe it was the fact that the moment the demons realized who the two of them were, they pulled out their weaponry. Myst let out a heavy sigh, hanging her head. Talking shop wasn’t about to end well.

Chapter Text

Luckily enough for Cordelia, the base hadn’t been too far from the battlefield. Which, if she thought enough about it, made sense. From what she’d overheard, the battle that she’d walked straight into was two battalions of hunters. She didn’t know the complete logistics of why the battalions were fighting, but she knew it threatened the unity of the hunters as a collective.

“You’re different from the other black-eyes,” the young Sergeant that had been assigned to guarding Cordelia mentioned. Cordelia looked up at the young hunter, her auburn hair was cut just above her shoulders, tucked behind her right ear. She harbored a sense of innocence that Cordelia hadn’t seen in the war since… well, in a while.

“Believe it or not, we’re not all bad people,” Cordelia shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest. The cot she was sitting on wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable, but she’d experienced worse. The room, of course, had been decidedly darkened aside from one candle that was lit beside the Sergeant. It only illuminated a small portion of the small room, but it was fine, Cordelia didn’t need the light.

“Major Harvelle says-” she started, but was quickly cut off by the door opening.

The Sergeant jumped back as the metal door swung open, a tall man walking in. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets. His stature screamed narcissistic and prissy, not to mention how he was dressed. A three piece suit? In this war? Luci, this guy was compensating for something.

“Sergeant,” he began, “Leave me with the demon.”

“But sir, she could be–” she began to protest but was quickly hushed by the man. She scurried out, leaving the man with Cordelia. He reached down, grabbing the candle, holding the flame close to Cordelia’s face to examine it better. Cordelia didn’t appreciate the gesture, gently nudging the candle away. Her plan was to play nice, maybe then he’d let her go. She needed to get in contact with the person, if she didn’t–

“You’re not as feisty as expected,” he muttered, almost as if enamored by Cordelia. She hated it.

“And you’re more British than I was told,” Cordelia replied, pausing as the man chuckled before she continued, “Look, if you keep me here you’re painting a target on your back, okay?”

“Oh, colour me scared,” he rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, you’re a fugitive of sorts. Pissed off a demon or three?”

“Actually, yes,” Cordelia shot back, “We should get you an award for intelligence.”

He took a step back, setting the candle down on the wash basin that sat across from Cordelia’s cot. She tilted her head, watching as he looked into the mirror. He let out a long sigh from frustration. Cordelia was unsure if this was going to lead to an unnecessary torture session or some form of attempted romance. In either situation, she was heavily opposed.

“What’s your name?” He asked, turning around, “And why were you walking around in our combat zone?”

“Name’s Cordelia,” Cordelia responded, “And that’s just where I happened to surface, trust me, I wasn’t going to harm anyone.”

“Casting a spell? In an active war zone?” He continued to prod.

“I was going to freeze time, if you must know,” Codelia let her legs fall, setting her feet on the floor flatly, “What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes had been flitting about, he seemed to be focused on other things. Cordelia was certain that this was something that wasn’t on top of his to-do list. But her question seemed to draw him back in. He tilted his head, probably taking a few moments to fully process her question. He tapped his fingers against his legs gently before he crossed his arms, taking a defensive pose. Well, a more defensive pose. He’d been defensive since he’d stepped into the room. Probably since he’d popped out of the womb, if Cordelia was being honest with herself.

“Colonel Arthur Ketch,” he obliged, “I’d say charmed, and yet that would be a lie.”

“Ouch, really hurt me in the feels there, Arthur,” Cordelia rolled her eyes as she spoke through a sarcastic veil, “I can call you Arthur, yes? Would you prefer Ketch? Asshole keeping me here against my will because he thinks I’m evil?”

The Colonel bit his lip, scanning Cordelia slowly, “You’re a real cunt, you know that.”

Cordelia cracked a half smile, “Yeah, I’m often told that.”

Cordelia’s smile fell not too long after she spoke. She waited for the Colonel to say something but it was clear he was uncertain how to handle this situation. Or… maybe he was waiting to receive a message from someone. They had mentioned getting in touch with Singer to see if Cordelia’s story had checked out, but the demon had assumed that to be all talk and no game. Maybe she’d miscalculated their likelihood of following through on plans.

“Ketch, if you let me leave right now, you can build your defenses for when they come to find me,” Cordelia began, “You let me leave, when I break this tracking spell, I can return and help you defend yourselves. The longer you keep me locked up on your outpost, the more time they have to track me down.”

“Who? Lucifer?” Ketch cocked his head to the left. Of course that would be his first assumption. That was everyone’s first assumption. Of course it wasn’t Lucifer, what a dumb question that was. Cordelia heard it all the time though. Everyone was under the impression that Lucifer ran Hell and yet wasn’t even remotely true. Lucifer hadn’t run Hell in eons, even before Cordelia was a demon. But of course all these puny humans would assume that Lucifer ran hell.

“Jeez, you humans and thinking Lucifer runs Hell,” Cordelia shook her head, “Corio and Crowley. They’re a power couple in the ring.”

“You’re joking,” Ketch scoffed, “Crowley? I hunted that poor excuse for a crossroads demon back when I was still in primary. You’re trying to tell me that he’s running Hell?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. The disbelief that these humans had. It never really drove her up the wall, but this human in particular. This Arthur Ketch seemed to bother her, getting under her skin.

“I’m going to just move past that,” Cordelia muttered, “Look, I got on Crowley’s bad side, the details as to why, not important. Crowley’s got his hounds chasing after me, which means they have my scent. As long as I’m here, your battalion has a large red target painted on it.”

“How’d you piss off Crowley? Didn’t peg him as the type to be temperamental,” Ketch probed. He grabbed a chair, spun it around, and sat in it. His eyes scanned Cordelia, trying to read her, she was certain. But she remained stone cold, and she spoke no words. There was no point in getting the Brit all riled up.

“We have a person to coerce black eyes like you,” Ketch said, thinking maybe that would get her to talk, “Maybe you know her? Feisty red-head, Scottish as can be, over three hundred years old…”

Cordelia flinched at the description. Of course she knew who he was referring to. If he brought her into this… They’d all be damned. They’d turn that red target into a large sign that said: ‘come here and kill us’.

“No idea who you’re referring to,” Cordelia muttered.

“Really? Because she seemed to know an awful lot about you,” Ketch replied, “She even told me what you really do in Hell. Who you really do in Hell. She’s not very fond of you, Cordelia.”

Cordelia looked up at the Colonel. Leave it to a hunter to spoil the sport. Meeting with Rowena, here, now, it wasn’t her plan. Her plan was to have the upper hand, catch her off guard. But now? Now the witch had the upper hand. And even if that meant she and Cordelia would still get to have that chat Cordelia was planning, it would mean Rowena could twist the situation to whatever she wanted.

“So, it seems, I have the high ground here,” Ketch continued, “What’s going to happen here is I’m going to get that wire back from General Singer, and we’ll decide what to do with you from there. Rowena and you are going to have a little chat.”

Cordelia bit her cheek. She was in no position to counter the offer. It wasn’t even an offer… It was a mere reminder that she was their prisoner. Ketch seemed to like the way she squirmed beneath his thumb. It pissed her off.

“Bite me, bitch,” Cordelia hissed.

“There’s the feisty I like to see.” Ketch smiled.

Chapter Text

“He doesn’t talk, like, at all,” Ralph overheard Jo whisper to Meg.

Lights out had been over an hour prior, but Ralph couldn’t sleep in strange places. So, he instead laid on his bunk, staring at the wall. He’d only been at the POW Camp a few days, but he could sense the constant eyes on him. People didn’t know him, they didn’t trust him. That was a fair assertion. He didn’t trust anyone at the camp. Jack, maybe, but that was because Jack had forced himself on Ralph, talking on and on to him. Not that Ralph cared, he was busy trying to devise a plan to get out.

“I know, it’s starting to get on my nerves,” Meg whispered back, “I’ve never seen a man quiet for longer than an hour outside of sleeping. Even Lucifer talks circles in the cage.”

“You think he’s deaf or something?” Jo asked softly.

“No, he can hear,” Meg replied quickly, “He just doesn’t want to talk.”

Ralph wished he were deaf. At least then he wouldn’t have to hear Jack’s incessant rambling on and on and– God, he could still hear the guy’s voice hours after he was asleep. Ralph shifted in his bed, he wasn’t sure if Meg and Jo knew he was awake. Maybe they did, they probably did. If they did, they had little regard for his feelings.

“Maybe he can’t talk,” Jo suggested, “It wouldn’t be the first nonverbal person we’ve come across. Trauma, war, et cetera. I mean, he might just be super traumatized.”

Meg let out a half chuckled, “Right, like an Elioud could be traumatized.”

“Do we even have proof that he’s an Elioud?” Jo asked.

Their voices fell and the footsteps Ralph heard implied they were walking away. Ralph thought he might try to sleep, but he didn’t feel tired. To be fair, he never really felt tired. Ralph let out a heavy sigh, the handcuffs were still locked tightly around his wrists. He’d grown mostly used to them, but from his eavesdropping on the conversations around the POW camp, unless he spoke, it wasn’t likely that he’d be allowed to have them removed. Lovely for him.

The bunk above his creaked, threatening a thud to the ground. Ralph didn’t think it would be so bad if Jack toppled over and hit his head. Maybe then he’d shut up, if only for an hour or two. The sounds of blankets rustled, then the whoosh of something, maybe a whir. Then-

“Psst.”

Dear God, anything but Jack. Ralph couldn’t spend one more minute listening to his rambling. He might actually throw his head through a wall if he had to. Maybe if he stayed quiet enough, Jack would assume him to be asleep, therefore eliminating the possible conversation entirely.

“Ralph, are you awake?” Jack’s version of a hushed whisper was actually fairly loud. Ralph was surprised people in nearby bunks didn’t bother to tell him to keep it down or anything. But he waited in bated breath, hoping that Jack would grow bored of his lack of response and leave him be. Not that that had ever worked before.

“That’s a trick question, I know you don’t sleep,” Jack laughed, “I don’t either!”

Jack descended the bunk ladder, Ralph could hear the rungs creak beneath the kid. Ralph let out a defeated sigh, turning over. He was face to face with Jack who was seemingly fascinated by Ralph’s exasperated nature. Ralph squinted at him, maybe if he thought hard enough the nuisance would leave him be.

“I wanna show you something,” Jack whispered loudly, “Meg and Jo are switching with Rufus for watch duty, and he’s either out like a light or gonna let us pass for some gin.”

Ralph propped himself up, confused, and if he was quite honest, concerned. He tried and failed to read Jack’s expression, he couldn’t tell if the kid was joking or not. He partially hoped he was, but maybe he had something important to show him, something that had to do with escaping the camp. Jack had to want to leave as much as the next person, right?

“Lucky for you,” Jack reached under Ralph’s bunk, pulling out a clear bottle with liquid that sloshed around. The way the moonlight hit the liquid was almost mesmerizing, it shining and shimmering like light on dew. But it didn’t quite do it for Ralph.

“I stole it from the reserves,” Jack said, “Don’t tell, though. That’d be kitchen duty for a month, and I hate kitchen duty.”

Ralph looked at him with a blank expression. As if he, of all people, was going to tell. Slightly reluctant, yet curious as all get out, Ralph slipped out of bed. He stood only a bit taller than Jack as the kid led him through the bunks. There were a few other prisoners that were awake, though Ralph didn’t know if he should call them prisoners since they were content in themselves. Most of the awake ones were playing cards, or reading books. But there was one girl in the corner of the large room that was nestled up, writing on something. With the poor lighting, Ralph couldn’t make out what it was, though.

Jack led him out of the building, sneaking around a few of the other guards. The two hugged tight to the building’s wall, rounding the corner into an alley that was blocked off by a large wrought iron gate. Sitting in front of the gate, was an older black man who was leaned forward in his camping chair. He had a crate that sat in front of him that a chess game had been set up on top of. He seemed to be playing the game with himself from where Ralph was standing, but upon approaching closer, he realized that the man was playing with a woman who would faze in and out. A ghost.

The man looked up as Ralph and Jack approached, giving the two of them a bright smile and a hardy nod of acknowledgement. He moved his rook to take out the woman’s bishop before looking back up at the two of them.

“Jack! How are ya?” The man smiled as he greeted the shorter of the boys.

“I’m doing alright, Rufus,” Jack smiled back, reverberating the energy the older man was giving him, “This is my friend, Ralph. I want to take him out to see the lights.”

“No can do, pal,” Rufus frowned slightly, he watched as the woman across from him moved her piece with a little added effort, “I’m not supposed to let anyone out tonight. A pack of rugaru are headed this way and we don’t have the defenses ready to guard people outside the main walls.”

Jack nodded, seeming to understand. Ralph could grasp what was going on as well. Jack was trying to help him out of the main walls. Maybe he was trying to help him escape. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Even for this?” Jack raised his arm, extending the gin to Rufus. The man’s eyes grew wide and a smile formed on his face. He jumped up quickly, reaching to grab the bottle from Jack. But Jack ripped his hand away, taking a step back.

“If you want the gin, you have to open the gate for us first,” Jack stated flatly.

Rufus let out a long and heavy sigh. He reached into his pocket, turning his back to the boys as he slowly went through his keyring. He was grumbling under his breath about ‘nephilims’ and ‘bad news’ but Ralph could only make out a few words here and there.

The large gate creaked open and Rufus turned back around, extending his hand for Jack to give him the gin. Rufus took it graciously, flopping back down on his camping chair. Jack led Ralph to the gate slowly, Ralph wasn’t sure what to expect from this.

“Don’t be too long, though, Meg is coming through in a bit, and if she catches me letting you guys out there, she’ll skin me alive,” Rufus explained. 

“We will not take too long,” Jack smiled, slipping through the gate.

Ralph followed him, a bit reluctant. Jack was about to lead him outside of the major safety zone, but also, Jack may just have been helping him escape. Who was Ralph to turn down an assist in escaping from a POW camp? Wasn’t that what his parents always taught him? Take help where you can get it if captured. Ralph heard a disgruntled: “How the hell did you get me in checkmate?” From Rufus as he and Jack walked through the rest of the alley, out into a large fenced in meadow.

The meadow looked like it ran for miles, even though Ralph knew it didn’t. He hadn’t seen anything like this since… ever, actually. Sometimes pictures in books growing up. But this? This was beautiful. No book or photograph could capture the beauty that it was. Ralph was almost enamored by it.

“There’s more,” Jack smiled. He gently nudged Ralph's shoulder, pointing up at the sky. Stars. Hundreds of thousands of stars. Ralph had never seen so many. He was in awe of them. There were so many and they shone so bright.

“I don’t know what it was like where you lived. I overheard Meg telling Jo that the air where you lived was filled with dust,” Jack explained, “But I figured if it was filled with dust, then there was no way you could’ve seen all these stars.”

And Jack would be right. The dust from all the bombings, the ash from the fires. It had all made it impossible to see the night sky. Even before he’d left his parents, his troop. He’d never been allowed outside at night. This was gorgeous, though. Ralph wished he could just live in this night forever. The air was so clean, the stars were so bright, he almost forgot about the fact that he was imprisoned…. Almost.

Ralph’s attention turned to the wire fence. From what Ralph could see, the fence wrapped around the entire camp. They were double fenced in, but the wire fence that protected the meadow didn’t look like it was electrified. Especially in the war? Power was already a rare thing. Ralph tried to squint his eyes to see better, but all he could see was the faint outline of the fence. He was hoping that there was maybe a weak spot in it.

“My dad arranged the stars,” Jack said as he flopped onto the grass, “That’s what he told me at least.”

Ralph looked down at Jack, confused by this. He began to wander a bit in the meadow, trying to get a closer look at the wired fence. He figured Jack would begin rambling on at any moment, and he’d be able to use this time to find a way through the fence, or at least try to.

“Meg said they couldn’t find your parents, that where they rescued you from, it had no other people,” Jack said as Ralph meandered closer to the fences.

Ralph paused for a moment. ‘Rescued’? Is that what they were calling it? Them tracking him down at his place of work, chasing him into the back room, attacking him, knocking him out and carting him for days on end to a POW camp… That was rescuing him? He knew demons were twisted and deceptive, but he didn’t know they had such a misconstrued sense of reality. He wasn’t rescued . He was taken against his will with brute force.

But, of course, Ralph didn’t say any of that. How could he? He just shook his head, continuing to approach the fence. Jack didn’t bother to stop him, which Ralph took as a sign that he was allowed to do that. To explore more. God, he wanted out of here more than anything in the world.

“Usually they ask permission before they take us in,” Jack continued, “They couldn’t with me, though. My mom’s dead and my dad’s in Hell. But they saved me.”

Ralph looked over his shoulder. They must’ve brainwashed the poor kid. He’d never heard someone talk so highly of their captors. Yet here Jack was, sitting on the cooled meadow grass, staring at the stars, singing praises of the people who had kidnapped and imprisoned him. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Ralph approached the wire fence that was way taller than him. He had to crane his neck to see the top which, inconveniently, had barbed wire on it. Climbing the fence wasn’t an option, clearly. Ralph crouched, examining the bottom of the fence. The fence dug into the ground, well, sort of. From what Ralph could see, the bottom of the fence was planted in cement. How he was supposed to work with that, Ralph wasn’t sure. He figured he’d have to loot a wire cutter from one of the buildings and then convince Rufus to let him out here again. But first thing’s first, he’d have to get his stupid cuffs off. The lack of mobility in his hands would make escaping, and even more, surviving outside the walls, increasingly difficult as time went on.

“Sometimes I wonder what life would be like outside of the war, do you? I mean, we were born into it,” Jack continued to talk to Ralph. Sometimes Ralph wondered if the kid had an off switch, something to make him quiet down for an hour, maybe three.

Ralph stood back up, walking the perimeter of the fence. He didn’t walk too far one way or another, he figured he didn’t want to set off any alarms with Jack. Not that Jack had said anything to him otherwise about being so close to the fence, but then again, Jack was absorbed in his stargazing.

There was the soft russell of leaves and the hair on the back of Ralph’s neck stood up. He couldn’t see very well in the lowly lit area as most of the moonlight was blocked out by large trees. But if he squinted hard enough, he thought he might’ve been able to see–

A pair of glowing eyes.

No?

Yes.

Staring straight at him.

It was okay, he’d be fine, he just needed to back away slowly. He began to take a cautious step back, placing his left foot behind him. He began to lift his right foot–

A hand.

A clammy, cold, chilling hand that sent shivers rolling down his spine.

What had Rufus said? A pack of Rugaru?

No–

Yes.

Oh, God. Ralph was going to die here, in a meadow from a Rugaru. His only support?

Jack.

Oh, God he was going to die. There was no escaping it–

“Oh no, jeez, they’re here, aren’t they?” Jack called in a panicked voice, “No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Ralph looked over his shoulder as Jack ran over. He crouched by Ralph’s ankle, he pulled out a pocket knife from his back pocket. He began to stab at the rugaru’s wrist, trying to deter it from attacking Ralph. It pulled its hand back, letting out a growl of discontentment. Ralph backed away, looking at the bottom of the fence where a hole had been torn in the wires. Jack stood up, herding Ralph back a bit, his back turned to the fence.

“We should get inside,” Jack explained, “Before the rugaru break through the fence and get to us.”

Ralph took a step back. It was a close call. The wire fence couldn’t handle the strength of the rugaru, it was only a matter of time before they broke through. Jack corralled Ralph back towards the gates, ushering him at a hasty rate that Ralph understood, yet didn’t appreciate.

It all seemed to be in vain, though, when Ralph’s ears picked up on the wavering of the wire fence. He looked over his shoulder frantically as Jack was trying to hurry him back inside. Barely lit by the moonlight peeking through the clouds, the pack of rugaru had used their sheer amount of brute force to levy and topple over a large part of the wire fencing. As it came crashing down, Ralph felt his stomach pit. There were fifteen, maybe twenty of them, flooding into the meadow. Too many to count. Jack looked over his shoulder, a frown imprinting on his face before he turned back to Ralph.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jack muttered. He tried to get Ralph to move further into the alley. It seemed his only solution was to reenter the city. Ralph had a gut feeling they should track the perimeter back to the main entrance, something about running away this way struck a dangerous chord with him. The rugaru were closing in, entering the alley way could very well be a death wish.

But Jack had more strength at the moment than Ralph and was able to herd him into the alley. The two of them ran from the rugaru that were on their heels, knocking down trash cans and boxes to make noise to alert Rufus to what was happening as well as to slow down the rugaru behind them. Ralph’s heart pounding through his chest, up, into his throat. The sheer amount of terror he felt at that moment, even when he was in the Battalion he hadn’t been in such a dangerous situation. Sure, there was a thrill to it, the adrenaline he had coursing through his body made him feel as though this could end in his favor. But the more predominant feeling he was having was complete fear of being killed.

When they reached the wrought iron fence, it had been closed and locked. Rufus was in his camping chair, as Jack had theorized previously, out like a light. Ralph shook the gate, making more noise than he probably should have. But he had to alert someone, anyone, to his presence. He wasn't about to die in a POW Camp, he refused to let it happen.

Jack joined his side a few moments after he started shaking the gate violently. Jack’s face held a sense of panic, but much less so than Ralph’s entire body. Of course Jack was going to be the reason he died. Ralph’s stomach pitted at the thought; eaten alive by rugaru.

The ghost woman from earlier fazed in, right in front of the gate. She tilted her head curiously, scanning the two boys. Ralph shot a look of concern over to Jack. Maybe she could let the two in. If she could just get the keys.

“Delia,” Jack muttered, exasperated, the rugaru were making their way through the alley, they would be there any moment, “Please, grab Rufus’s keys and let us in.”

The ghost, who Ralph had learned to be named Delia, looked at Jack, shaking her head violently.

“I don’t have enough juice,” she fazed out, then back in, “I wasted most of it on the chess game with Rufus.”

Jack grabbed hold of the iron bars, shaking them. Delia fazed out, then promptly fazed back in a few feet away.

“Even if I had enough juice,” she continued, “The bars are iron, one touch from them and I’ll be knocked out for a few hours.”

“Please, you have to help us,” Jack pleaded, “Ralph is power blocked from the cuffs, and I’m still recovering from taking out the vampire nest.”

“The most I can do is tell someone you’re out here,” Delia explained.

“NO,” Jack yelped, before looking over his shoulder, checking how far back the rugaru were, “If you tell someone, we’ll get in trouble. Ralph is already barely walking around here.”

“I’m sorry,” Delia shook her head, “I’d possess Rufus, but-”

“But you have no juice,” Jack hung his head, “Dammit.”

Ralph had redirected most of his attention to the hoard of Rugaru that were tossing debris out of their way. They’d be killed soon, there was nothing they could do. This is why Ralph was raised to trust no one. And while Ralph stood there, wide-eyed as he stared at the rugaru that were slowly gaining on him, he began to accept that his fate was death. He was going to die here, a reaper was going to take him to Heaven or Hell, whichever wasn’t full, whichever he was meant to be in. And then, he was going to spend the rest of eternity, as long as that may have been, regretting his life decisions the night he had decided not to pretend to be asleep.

Then, a loud, piercing bang.

The noise was followed by a second, a third as the rugaru were being shot down. Once they had been shot down, an invisible force dragged them away. Ralph retained the knowledge from his hunting class, rugaru couldn’t be killed by gunshot wounds. As the bangs and dragging of live rugaru continued, and the rugarus’ screams grew louder, Meg emerged from the rubble. She stared intently at Jack, then Ralph, then Jack again.

“You two are going to wish I had let them kill you once I’m done with you,” she hissed. She blinked, her eyes turning their full black. And Ralph’s stomach dropped.

Chapter Text

Soul catchers had been invented by Metatron before he fled heaven. And though most angels didn’t know how to use them, as they were exceedingly complicated for little reasons, Orion did have Kevin. As Kevin had been translating the personal tablet that had been written by Metatron– officially named ‘Metatron’s Will’ , fondly referred to as ‘Metatron’s Ego’ –he’d unearthed a fast and efficient way to use the soul catcher without harming the human and still being able to return the soul once it had served its purpose.

Kevin was finishing up tying off the ends of the corn husks they’d used. Which, at this rate of the apocalypse, they were lucky to even find. Orion had spent most of his time whittling a piece of wood for the soul catcher.  Orion wasn’t a particularly skilled whittler, in fact, he hardly had time to whittle with the war going on, but he made do with the skills he had.

“Okay, all done,” Kevin muttered as he presented the corn-husk basket he’d tied together. Metatron wasn’t known for his modern solutions to ancient problems, and Orion wasn’t quite sure how the basket would help or why in the name of Castiel they’d need it, but if it’s what Metatron wrote, who was Orion to question the Scribe of God?

“Good.” Orion nodded, tossing the spherical object he’d whittled to contain Kevin’s soul to the prophet. Kevin caught it with ease, looking at it intently. He twisted it a bit, trying to figure out how to open it.

“I carved enochian into it,” Orion explained, “It should keep your soul locked in until after we’re done. I read the enochian in reverse and you get your soul back.”

“Badda bing, badda boom,” Kevin muttered as he set the wooden sphere into the corn husk basket.

“Yes, all of the bings and booms are badda.” Orion nodded. It hadn’t been his first time hearing the turn of phrase; a hunter or two had dropped it at his feet, but he never understood what it meant. It felt as though it was meant to be onomatopoeia, that’s what made sense with the bings and the booms, but he could tell it wasn’t the case. Maybe it was just a hunter thing.

Kevin cracked a half smile, looking up at Orion, “You’re not like the other angels, you know?”

Orion squinted his vessel’s eyes. He was well aware of his differences with his brothers and sisters. There was a reason he wasn’t allowed on the battlefield. Aside from the fact he was better in the medical tent. And no one could get him started on his wings, even if they tried. Even if Castiel were to say he created all angels differently and it was intentional, angels were made with a production line mindset. Orion could tell.

“I am well aware of the fact that I am different from my siblings,” Orion said flatly. He gathered the herbs that they needed, kneeling in front of the corn husk basket. He began placing them delicately around the sphere in the order specified.

“No, I mean.” Kevin knelt as well, grabbing a knife from his pocket as he sliced across his open palm, dabbing his fingers in the blood and painting symbols and sigils around the basket.

“I mean, you’re nice to me,” Kevin shrugged, “Well, as nice as an angel with no emotional intelligence can be.”

Orion wouldn’t label what he was feeling as offense, but being referred to as having no emotional intelligence caused him to feel a bit frustrated with the prophet. Though, this was the most steady his aura had been in a while. There were peaks of stress that poked their way through, but otherwise, it was steady. A calm pale blue that reflected in his careful placement of the symbols.

“All the other angels, they treat me like scum,” Kevin continued, “You don’t. I mean, you tend to say shit that’s not always sensitive . But compared to others, like Samandriel, like Virgil, when he was still around. Orion, you treat me like a human being.”

Orion looked up from his rosemary and thyme. Those words, treating Kevin like a human being? That felt wrong. No, Orion didn’t treat any humans well. He was always curt and short with the hunters. Though, that would be the understatement of the year. No, he didn’t treat Kevin like a human being, that would be cruel in its own way.

“For the record,” Orion muttered as he resumed placing the herbs, “I do not treat you like a human being. That’s what my brothers and sisters treat you like. I treat you like an angel. I treat you like you’re one of us.”

Kevin seemed off-put by this. His aura shifted from that calming pale blue, to a disturbed rocky orange. It made Orion uneasy, perhaps he’d said something wrong. Did Kevin want to be treated like a human being? That felt like torture, it felt like he was betraying the prophet himself, being so rude like that. Not that he was incapable of it, it just felt… wrong.

“You’ve killed other angels without hesitation,” Kevin said, “Would you do the same to me?”

Orion paused to think about it a moment. The prophet was beginning to get too philosophical for the angel’s liking. Asking all these questions made Orion uneasy. Answering questions was already hard enough, but this? This was just walking through a minefield.

“If I had to,” Orion admitted, “Kevin, you must understand, as an angel I am designed by God to kill. I am, essentially, nothing more than a weapon.”

“You’re designed by Castiel,” Kevin echoed, “Does that ever bother you? That you’re just a- a killing machine?”

Orion finished placing the last herb before looking up at the prophet. His aura had shifted back to a calmer blue. Orion hadn’t thought of himself as ‘a killing machine’. No, that felt foreign, almost like slander. Of course, it wasn’t. It was primarily true. Orion and his brethren had been raised to be nothing more than soldiers, arsenals of war. Weaponry at their best, and fall guys at their worst. It was a strange thought, one that lived in the back of his mind, but not one that often surfaced.

“I try not to think about it,” Orion admitted as he stood up, he thought about continuing on the subject, but decided it would be better to switch the tracks on the train of thought, “What is the next step?”

Kevin stood up, wiping his left hand off on his pants. He reached into his pocket to pull out a rag of some sort to wrap his hand up in. Orion’s eyes glossed over the wound. He only hesitated slightly before letting out a short huffed breath.

“Here, let me,” Orion grumbled. He approached the prophet, taking his wounded hand in his own. Orion only looked at the wound temporarily before clasping his other hand over the actively bleeding wound. Orion’s hand glowed a dull blue as it slowly, but surely healed the open wound on Kevin’s palm.

Kevin pulled his hand away once the angel was done, examining his palm to make sure here was no scar. He chuckled, giving Orion a half smile, “Hey, thanks~”

Orion blinked quickly a bit before nodding in a stoic manner. It was his duty as an angel to protect him, or something–

Orion cleared his throat, “The next step?”

Kevin blinked himself back to the moment, “Right, yes. The next step says we– you recite the Enochian. You’ll own my soul while it’s in the soul catcher.”

Orion nodded, understanding. Kevin got in place, his aura shifting to an anxious yellow. That was his usual color. Orion never mentioned it, but most everyone’s auras these days were red, orange, or yellow. Sometimes it hurt him to see, sometimes it didn’t. This was the former.

“My Enochian is… rusty, per se,” Orion lied, “I may stumble a bit.”

Kevin let out a half laugh, “Yeah, I believe that. An angel being rusty at Enochian.”

Orion smiled, beginning to recite the Enochian. He knew this wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience for Kevin. As Orion spoke the Enochian, Kevin began to cough. His aura shifted. It was spiked and magenta and bright. Orion couldn’t stop, though. He continued to read the Enochian as pieces of Kevin’s soul spooled out of his mouth, falling to the ground as it trailed into the makeshift sphere in the middle of he basket. The more he coughed, the more of his soul that escaped his lips, and the more his soul escaped his lips, the brighter his aura grew.

Kevin’s aura was beginning to be blinding. A little more of what Orion was used to, but just as blinding as always. It created a slight struggle for Orion to finish off the Enochian, but he made do. As he finished reciting the last part of Enochian, Kevin’s aura let off a bright burst of light, then nothing.

Orion had all pairs of his eyes clenched shut, including his vessel’s eyes. But, he slowly opened all his eyes, scanning the scene. Kevin was hunched over, still coughing, though no more of his soul was coming out. The sphere in the middle of the basket, however, was glowing a radiant white. Orion crouched by the basket, picking up the sphere. It was warm and Orion slipped it into the pocket of his vessel’s coat.

He returned his attention to the prophet who was beginning to regain his bearings. Orion tilted his head in curiosity, for the first time, he was seeing more than a silhouette of the kid. The man, if he was being honest, the prophet was older than he’d thought. Normally he just saw his aura, his silhouette shining through, if only a little. But now that his soul and aura were trapped in the sphere he’d pocketed, he could see Kevin for the first time. Just the prophet.

“That was intense,” Kevin coughed, looking up at Orion. His darkened eyes caught the angel’s. His brows furrowed slightly at Orion’s intent gaze.

“You good? You look like you just saw a ghost,” Kevin asked, before shaking his head, “Actually, I guess a ghost wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for us, huh?”

Orion’s breath caught in his throat a moment as he tried to find the words he was looking for, “Right, yes,” he cleared his throat, “Just, haven’t seen you like this before.”

“Oh, I get that a lot. In immense amounts of pain? Yeah,” Kevin nodded, “Heaven’s nearby, right? Let’s just go get to the library?”

Orion paused momentarily, “That’s right, uh, Heaven’s going to be this way.”

Orion began walking briskly forward. Kevin paused a moment, looking at the scene they were about to leave behind before jogging to catch up to Orion. The prophet’s floppy black hair had the tendency to fall into his face, which Orion could relate to. Orion’s vessel had longer hair, as did many people in the war, but it was rather inconvenient for medical.

“So, what’s this library like anyhow?” Orion looked over at Kevin as the prophet spoke.

“I don’t know,” Orion replied, “I apologize if you were wishing for a better answer, but I’ve never been in the library.”

“Okay, the angel hasn’t seen a part of Heaven,” Kevin let out a sigh, “Any idea where Gabriel is?”

“Kevin,” Orion started with bated breath, “I’ll be transparent with you; I am unsure if Gabriel is even still Gabriel at this point.”

Kevin furrowed his brows, his soft lips pursing slightly, “What do you mean?”

“There is a… rumor,” Orion said, before echoing, “A rumor . That Gabriel was fighting a losing battle.”

Kevin’s look of confusion didn’t fall. Orion realized that he was going to need to explain what was going on. At least to his knowledge. And while he hated spreading information he wasn’t sure if it was true or not, he realized that he wasn’t going to get away with not telling the prophet what was going on.

“It started when Michael and Lucifer were battling, the first time,” Orion began, “Gabriel fled Heaven to escape the fighting, and he needed to hide. So, a God– Well, a Demi -God– offered him a ride in his vessel as long as he healed him. Kevin, there’s only so long a Demi-God will let you ride around in their meat suit before it wants to put up a bit of a fight.”

Kevin looked at Orion, as if absorbing this information. He opened his mouth to talk, before shutting it again.

“I’ll be honest,” Orion continued, “If we find– IF we find Gabriel. I can’t promise you it won’t be Loki we’re talking to.”

Chapter Text

“Let’s talk to them, Myst,” Myst mocked as she tugged at the chains binding her wrists, “I’m sure they’re friendly, Myst.”

Garth let out a heavy sigh, “I didn’t think they’d kidnap and imprison us.”

“You didn’t–” Myst let out a forced laugh, “They’re DEMONS, Corporal. What? You thought they were going to open their arms and hug us? Thought they were going to have a tea party and braid our hair?”

“Myst, please,” Garth muttered. He yanked at his own chains. The two of them were sitting back to back, they were lucky that they weren’t chained together. The back to back was a choice made by Myst, she was pissed, she didn’t want to look at Garth at that particular moment. She was still pissed about the ambush.

“No, Corporal, you could’ve just gotten us killed or enslaved,” Myst shot back, looking over her shoulder, “Teamwork isn’t going to get us out of this mess.”

Myst waited for a response from the Corporal but she was met with silence. Figures, of course he wasn’t going to answer her. That would imply taking accountability. Or, at the very least, denying accountability. Myst let out a sigh, leaning forward as she mentally went over what she could possibly do to get out of this mess. She could try to break out, not that it would end well, she wasn’t sure what part of Hell they were in. Or even how to get out. They’d been knocked out when they were ambushed, they woke up in the cell. She could bribe a guard to let her out, but the chances of that working? Slim. Demons didn’t fold easily with the threat of Corio killing them if they were to.

No, she had virtually no way out of this mess and had been kindly left with Garth. At this rate, Myst almost wished for death. Death would be a sweet relief from…. Well , did she really need to repeat it again? God, she hated the Corporal more than anything else at that moment.

There was a soft ratling of bars that slowly grew louder as footsteps approached. Myst looked up from her thoughts. A young girl, maybe nineteen at most, and that was generous, walked up. She had her messy blonde hair pulled back into a pair of messed pigtails, which didn’t help with her young appearance. Myst had seen this girl before, her blue eyes stuck a chord with her, but she couldn’t place it. She did know, however, that the girl wasn’t a demon. The way she sauntered up, white knuckled the gun in her hands. Her eyes still had some light to them, if only a little.

“Crowley wants to talk to you,” she explained, “I tried to convince him otherwise, but-”

“Claire,” A second woman walked up. This one? No, this one was a demon. She had her own brown hair pulled into a messy bun. Her eyes remained the standard black, staples of the demons.

The younger girl, Claire, muttered something under her breath. She pulled a key ring out of her pocket, unlocking the door to the cell. She approached Myst who bit her tongue, if only momentarily, as Claire began unlocking the chains that kept her locked to the floor.

“You’re a little young to be working with demons, aren’t you?” Myst teased, “Sell your soul for a pack of crayons?”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Claire shot back. She grabbed Myst’s upper arm, pulling her to her feet. Her grasp was tight and Myst was almost sure she’d bruise from the force.

Myst rolled her eyes, not bothering to try to run. Running would most definitely be pointless. Claire unlocked Garth, pulling him to his feet as well. Garth shot Myst an awkward smile which Myst just ignored. She knew she’d have to talk to him eventually, but she was going to put that off as long as possible. Oh, God, what was General Singer going to think when she realized they were dead? Well, as good as dead, if Myst was being honest. What was Deanna going to think? What was Deanna going to do?

The older of the women led them through the tarried halls of Hell. Claire would nudge them with her gun if they weren’t walking fast enough for her standards. Garth kept his head down a little more than Myst, but Myst was looking around in wonder. No, wonder wasn’t the right word. The word was more… puzzlement? Would that be the correct term? The walls of the halls were made of cobblestone, and despite the fact they were very obviously inside, and in Hell, it was almost as if some of the walls had beads of water dripping off of them and the moisture in the air was higher than expected.

The demon leading the way rounded a corner, opening large oak doors. A wave of cold air fell over Garth and Myst, causing the Captain’s stomach to pit. She looked around. For the most part, the room was barren; there were eight large black pillars along the length of the room, four on either side of where the two thrones sat. A large, thorned throne that sat beside a slightly smaller throne. In the smaller throne, Crowley sat. Myst had seen pictures of the man, she knew him to be dangerous and she had a growing disdain for the demons and the human that had brought her and Garth there.

“Ruby,” Crowley slid off his throne, walking the length of the room to meet the group, “I appreciate the loyalty.”

Crowley gently caressed the cheek of the demon. She side eyed Crowley, before smacking his hand away. Crowley scanned her, grinning and raising his brows.

“Feisty for a pet.” He turned on his heels, heading back towards his throne.

“I’m not your pet,” the demon spat. She took a half step forward.

Claire stepped off to the side, keeping her mouth shut as she gripped her gun tighter. Myst was convinced if she held onto that weapon any harder that it might go off on her out of spite.

“What do you want from us, Crowley?” Myst rolled her eyes. She shifted the weight in her feet causing the chains around her wrists to jingle.

“First thing’s first,” Crowley waved his hand, binding Myst’s lips shut, “You don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Crowley swiveled in his throne, propping his feet up on the arm of his seat so the arm was nestled into the bend of his knees, his legs dangling over the edge. He summoned a drink, a small glass filled with what Myst assumed to be whiskey, she’d heard it was his choice of drink. He sipped from it leisurely, as if he had nothing else to do, nowhere better to be.

“You’re with Singer, yes?” Crowley asked, “The Winchesters, Battalion…”

The demon trailed off, trying to recall the battalion they were from. Myst brought her hands to her lips in a lame attempt to pull them apart. She was less than ten minutes into meeting the King of Hell and she already hated his guts.

“Eighth,” Garth provided, “The Eighth Battalion.”

Crowley raised a brow and Myst expected him to bind Garth’s lips together as well. Instead he slid his legs off the arm of his throne, sitting upright as he took another drink of his whiskey.

“I like this one, Ruby,” Crowley smirked, “He’s got hope, not spunk. We should keep him.”

Ruby cleared her throat before speaking, “Uhm, Crowley, not to be that person, but you’re getting off track–”

“Right, yes,” Crowley nodded, leaning forward, “Why I want you two.”

Myst took a defensive stance. Whatever he wanted, it can’t have been good. It was coming from a crossroads demon of all people. There wasn’t a shred of trust in Myst’s body. For good reason, too.

“As you could probably tell walking through the halls, we had a bit of a mishap here,” Crowley began, “In which, a demon of ours revealed herself to be a traitor. In kahoots, with Sam, I believe it was? From your little battalion.”

Myst squinted at Crowley, she had a few choice words she wanted to exchange with him. Yet the binding on her lips threatened to cut off her air supply just from the way Crowley stared her down. Garth took a step and a half forward, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“So what do you want from us?” Garth questioned.

Crowley leaned back, drinking his whiskey. He didn’t answer for a few moments. The demon gently set his glass on the arm of his throne. He crossed his left leg over his right, clasping his hands together and placing them gently in his lap.

“I want you two to go kill the little bitch that tried to kill me and my husband,” Crowley explained, “Talk to your little Winchester pal, I’m sure he’ll cough up the details for you. Find the cunt, kill her, report back to me.”

Myst furrowed her brows. Crowley waved his hand, removing the binding. Myst moved her jaw graciously as she paused. Killing an ally of Sam? The General would have their heads on a platter. And that was the understatement of the year.

“Why don’t you just do it yourself?” Myst asked, “Can’t you track all of your demons.”

“To a degree,” Crowley admitted, “I have tracked her to a rough vicinity. Another one of your battalions, if I’m correct, which I am. But there’s a spell that’s interfering with my tracking.”

“Why us?” Garth asked gently. Myst looked over at Garth, trying to read his expression.

“You have connections,” Crowley explained, “You’re on the in with the hunters. In return, I won’t kill you, and I can also guarantee you and your family, friends, loved ones. Whatever humans have these days. I’ll keep you safe from the Hell side of the war.”

Garth shot Myst a look of desperation. She could tell he was wary of the deal. She looked at Garth, then Crowley. Freedom from the war, refuge, and their souls intact. How was it even a question for Garth? Hell, Myst would’ve snapped at them letting her out of Hell.

“We’ll do it,” Myst said quickly.

Garth looked at her, offended, “Myst-”

“We’ll do it, we’ll kill her,” Myst said louder, “What’s her name?”

Chapter Text

“You’re going to have to talk eventually, love,” Rowena cooed tauntingly at Cordelia. They’d spent the last three hours locked up in what used to be a kitchen. Now, most of the counters were ripped out and replaced with bunks. Only a couple, three at most were actually made up and could be seen as being actively used. One of the bunks had a trunk that was padlocked shut, but most of the others were just messed up from being slept on. It was abundantly clear that Colonel Ketch kept a very relaxed outfit. It was laughable.

“I only have so many appendages you can break, Rowena,” Cordelia shot back, holding up her left hand that had all her fingers broken in every which way. Sure, Cordelia hated that Rowena had gained the upper hand, but breaking her fingers? That wasn’t even creative, let alone painful for Cordelia. It was no more than a flea bite in the back of her mind.

“And yet, I’ll break them all and start again,” a smirk grew on the witch’s face as she waved her hand, breaking the index finger on Cordelia’s right hand, “You don’t think this is the real torture, do you?”

Cordelia chuckled an exasperated chuckle, not even flinching at the breaking of her finger, “Honestly? It wouldn’t have surprised me if you had run out of ideas.”

The corners of Rowena’s mouth tightened out of displeasure. It was a gesture that Cordelia had grown accustomed to in her time knowing the witch. It wasn’t a sign of submissiveness, but of faltering confidence. Oh, how Cordelia loved fucking with Rowena’s mind.

“But tell me,” Cordelia leaned forward, scanning the woman in front of her, “You rat me out to your son? You magically decide to become a good mommy all of a sudden?”

Rowena furrowed her brows before laughing. Cordelia leaned back, raising a hesitant brow. Rowena found a certain aspect of humor in Cordelia’s words. To be quite frank, Cordelia wasn’t fully aware of Rowena’s relationship with her son, but over the course of Cordelia’s relationship with the witch, she’d learned that Rowena and Crowley didn’t exactly have that mother-son bond others did.

“You think I told Fergus that you were going to kill him?” Rowena laughed a bit more before her face fell serious, she waved her hand, breaking Cordelia’s middle finger, “I hate my son. You were doing me a favor by killing him.”

“And yet?” Cordelia tilted her head, “That spell you gave me, the one that would sear symbols into our skin if anyone ratted me out? Didn’t work, someone told.”

Rowena shrugged. She leaned back, crossing her arms. Her stance was a little too nonchalant for Cordelia’s own liking. She was treating this like it wasn’t a serious thing. Crowley could be tracking her at that very moment, and then everyone in the outfit would be dead.

“I didn’t interfere with your spell, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rowena stated simply, “Must’ve been another person. Who else did you tell?”

Cordelia opened her mouth to give up the names before biting her tongue. Of course, that’s exactly what Ketch wanted. He wanted her to spill her connections. Not likely. Cordelia sat back smugly, scanning Rowena as she chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, I’m not telling.” Cordelia cocked her head to the side.

Rowena rolled her eyes, waving her hand and breaking Cordelia’s ring finger, “Honestly, darling. You think I’m just wanting names out of you?”

“I think Ketch is wanting names out of me and you’re his bitch,” Cordelia supplied, “Why are you working with hunters anyways? I thought you were staying out of the war. Preserving yourself and whatnot.”

Rowena cleared her throat, “Well, I was staying out of the war. Funny thing about witches, though; We don’t exactly have free will with one of these on.”

Rowena scooted her chair back on the linoleum, pulling up the hem of her deep green dress that reached to the floor. Cordelia squinted as her eyes fell on a metal ankle bracelet that was locked around her right ankle. No, not metal, steel. With sigils engraved into it. Cordelia looked up at her as she let go of her dress, letting it fall to the floor again.

“I thought those went around your neck.” Cordelia smirked at the thought of Rowena being controlled by a hunter.

Rowena let out a short huffed breath, breaking Cordelia’s thumb and pinkie in one foul swoop. Cordelia muttered a swear under breath. Rowena leaned back in her chair, brushing her hair out of her face.

“How’d they get one on you anyways?” Cordelia asked, “They’d really have to get one over on you for that.”

Rowena raised her brows, looking away. Cordelia leaned forward, genuinely invested at this point. Even Cordelia couldn’t get that close to Rowena. One around the neck? Cordelia could understand that one, they could sneak up behind her, it made sense. But around the ankle? The only way she could think of a hunter getting that close was if she was asleep. But then, Rowena has spells cast on her place of living. Kidnapping her? No, not likely. That meant-

“Oh my God. You slept with one of the hunters.” Cordelia coughed.

Rowena’s eyes darted to look at Cordelia then she looked back away. Oh Luci, Cordelia was right. She’d gotten in bed with one of the hunters here. Oh, this was amusing, much more amusing than Rowena being used like this. Oh, karma was a bitch, and Cordelia was there for it.

“Which one?” Cordelia asked, looking outside the window across from her. She could hardly see the hunters walking around outside. She could see Charlie, the one she liked from earlier. As fruity as Charlie was, she wasn’t Rowena’s type, that was for sure.

Ketch knocked on the door as he opened it and walked in, “Rowena, we got the wire from Karen, she’s with Sam. You can, uhm, unbreak her fingers and such, I suppose.”

Rowena nodded, “I still don’t have names.”

“Sam is going to make the trek here,” Ketch replied, “He’ll tell us what we need to know. Go ahead and patch her up.”

Ketch walked out, shutting the door behind him. Rowena waved her hand begrudgingly, repairing all of the broken bones on Cordelia’s hands. Cordelia looked at the door then back at Rowena.

“Ketch?” Cordelia laughed, “You fucked Ketch? I mean, that British accent is sexy, but come on Rowena. You can do so much better than that piece of shit.”

Rowena rolled her eyes, “I think you’ve got much larger things to worry about than who I’ve been in the sack with.”

“You know Crowley’s on his way here, right?” Cordelia asked, pulling her legs on top of the bunk she was sitting on, sitting criss-crossed. Rowena stood up, flattening out the skirt of her dress. She shook her head as she walked towards the door.

“Fergus isn’t coming anywhere near here,” Rowena began, “I cast a charm, he can sense you’re in the vicinity, but not here. Just because you and I were fighting the last we saw of each other doesn’t mean I’m a monstrous bitch who wants to watch you get killed by my son.”

“Ketch made you cast the charm, didn’t he?” Cordelia asked. Rowena didn’t protect anyone but herself. Self preservation was on the top of her to-do list, people like Cordelia were merely an afterthought for her.

“Of course Ketch made me cast the charm, you think I care what happens to these hunter lowlifes? You?” Rowena snapped.

Rowena gathered her books that were sitting beside the door. She held them close to her chest, turning the doorknob. Cordelia watched as she began to walk out.

“Rowena,” Cordelia called. The witch stopped momentarily, holding the door open with her free hand.

“You know I’m sorry, right?” Cordelia asked.

“I know,” Rowena replied before she walked out.

Chapter Text

“Irresponsible,” Zachariah muttered, “Irresponsible and reckless. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

Ralph had met Zachariah in a frenzy of getting him and Jack through medical processing to ensure they hadn’t been bitten or harmed in any way. From what Ralph could gather, Zachariah was an angel, or, well, he was? It was unclear when he had been rushed through a meeting into a large office. The office that Zachariah called home had large bookshelves that towered over Ralph and Jack and made Ralph feel quite uneasy. They looked to threaten toppling over if hit the wrong way and it didn’t set well with Ralph.

Zachariah rubbed the bridge of his nose, most certainly trying to relieve the headache that he’d gotten. Meg was standing to his right, arms crossed as she stared at the ceiling that was patterned with gold and silver. Ralph sat in front of the large mahogany desk that both Zachariah and Meg were leaning against. To his right, Jack, who was staring at Zachariah blankly. To his left, Rufus, who had his head hung in shame.

“I told you bringing Ralph in here was going to disrupt the natural flow of things-” Meg started, looking over her shoulder at Zachariah.

“Meg.” He said flatly before continuing, “I’m utterly appalled. I had my trust in you and then you pull a stunt like this I mean,” he forced a laugh, “How am I supposed to run a refugee camp like this?”

Ralph furrowed his brow when Zachariah referred to it as a refugee camp. Kidnapping people was hardly a refugee camp. Him treating it as such, it made him sick. They weren’t going to brainwash him the way they'd brainwashed the others. Ralph was resilient, his parents had taught him in sustaining torture classes.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” Jack started, “I just wanted to show Ralph the lights and-”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not even talking to you yet,” Zachariah held up a hand to cut the kid off, “Rufus, you’re lucky we don’t kick you out. You not only let two of our most valuable out when we were on high alert, but you fell asleep on guard. Which isn’t the first time it’s happened!”

“Zachariah, please,” Rufus started.

Zachariah let out a pained laugh, “I- Wha- What am I supposed to do with you, Rufus? You’re hurting this camp more than you’re helping,” the forced smile faded off his face, “You’re our weak link at the moment.”

“You could kill him,” Meg muttered, staring at her nails.

“Meg.” Zachariah warned flatly through gritted teeth, then turned back to Rufus, “Kitchen duty for a month.”

Rufus stood up quickly, his fingers intertwined, “Thank you, Zachariah. Really, thank you I- I don’t know if I could’ve survived out there, the war and all.”

“Yes, yes, grovel elsewhere,” Zachariah rolled his eyes, shooing the older man away.

Ralph watched as Rufus rushed out of the library to his kitchen duty. He could’ve had freedom, he could’ve been allowed out of the camp. But he wanted to stay? He wanted to be a part of a POW Camp? He felt like a nice person, maybe he was brainwashed too. Ralph slowly turned to look back at Zachariah.

“Jack, you’re our strongest Nephilim,” Zachariah began, “When you do half-witted stuff like this, it makes us question if you really belong on our forces.”

Jack stood up quickly, the lights in the library flickering, “No, please, sir. I belong here, I’m part of the Anarchists, please.”

Zachariah pushed himself off the desk, walking away. Not far enough to cause Jack to panic more than he already was, but enough to taunt the possibility of him leaving entirely.

“You’re not being a team player, Jack,” Zachariah continued, “I’m concerned that you’re going to get someone killed. You don’t want to end up like Mercy, do you?”

Jack shook his head, following after Zachariah, “No, please. I promise, I’m a team player. Please don’t kick me out, this is my home.”

“Oh, God,” Meg rolled her eyes, dropping her hands to her sides, “Just get the kid to shut up.”

Zachariah turned back to look at Jack. Ralph could tell he was toying with him. Zachariah had this whole camp wrapped around his finger. It was almost sickening to think about. Ralph looked down at the cuffs around his wrists, then back up at Zachariah.

“You’re going to have latrine duties,” Zachariah told Jack, “Consider yourself lucky.”

Jack nodded fervently, “Latrine duties over kitchen duties any day, sir. Thank you so much, sir.”

“Leave,” Meg groaned, crossing her arms and hanging her head.

Jack nodded, jogging out of the library. Ralph watched as he walked out. Was Ralph next? Was Zachariah going to try to pull the same shtick on him? It wasn’t going to work. Zachariah wasn’t going to pull the same type of response out of Ralph that he had pulled out of Rufus and Jack. Ralph wasn’t conditioned to see this man as a saint. Angels didn’t mean good. Ralph had learned that the hard way.

Zachariah sat in the weathered leather chair behind the desk. He rested his elbows on the top, setting his chin on his hands. His pale green eyes scanned Ralph up and down. Meg seemed to grow tired of the silence as she let out an audibly loud groan.

“Ralph, you’re not like the others,” Zachariah started, “You’re a lot harder to crack than the rest. They took us two, three days most? But not you, no. You’re resilient in ways I’ve not seen since my days in Heaven.”

Ralph squinted, leaning back in his chair. Was he supposed to take that as a compliment? It didn’t feel like a compliment. It felt backhanded. And the term crack? They were trying to brainwash him, weren’t they?

“I know you don’t want to be here,” Zachariah started, “But it’s safer for everyone involved that you stay in the camp.”

Ralph raised his eyebrows in protest. Staying in the camp couldn’t possibly be safer for anyone involved. He’d literally been attacked by rugaru less than twelve hours prior. This camp felt unsafe, whether he was there or not. There was no way in hell he was staying. If Zachariah gave him the option, he was taking the out.

“Since we need you, and you need us,” Zachariah continued, “You need to feel a little more… at home.”

At home? At home would be Ralph eating his canned beans in his apartment rereading Mark Twain for the umpteenth time. At home would be making his trek to work every morning, walking past the rotting corpses in the street. At home would be setting his traps, pretending that there wasn’t a war going on outside. At home would be falling asleep to the dull sounds of guns and bombings.

This? This wasn’t home. This was a prison. He was wearing handcuffs, he had to be buddied with Jack at all times. He wasn’t allowed to leave camp, to roam. If he wasn’t in the bunk house, he was in the mess tent eating. He couldn’t go anywhere. He couldn’t do anything. There was no security here. The bombings at home offered him more safety than the shallow guards here.

This wasn’t home. This was never going to be a home. Not to Ralph. Not now, not ever. Ralph would hate this place until the day he inevitably died, because no one lived in this day and age anymore. Ralph had accepted his fate long before Meg and Alastair had taken him. Had snatched him from his home .

“We did our research on you,” Zachariah lowered his arms, leaning forward, “Mommy and Daddy forced you into hunting, yes? Which Battalion were you again? Meg?”

“Third,” Meg supplied the answer the angel had been seeking. Meg pushed herself off the desk, walking around to stand behind Zachariah. The large leather chair gave off the illusion that both of them were towering over him. Ralph hadn’t been in a position like this since he fumbled that vamp nest and–

“You know, the Angelics blew up that post,” Zachariah said, “A year or so after you left. No survivors.”

Ralph’s heart tugged a bit. But not enough for him to notice or care. Outposts got destroyed all the time, and Ralph would be lying if he said that the practices at the Third Hunter Battalion were moral. Ralph still had the scars from his training. His parents were gone, it was sad, of course, but he didn’t feel the grief he probably should have.

“I met some of the people at that outpost,” Zachariah said, “Believe it or not, Jo was from there.”

He stood up, walking around to be in front of the desk. Ralph leaned back, feeling as though he needed to put some space between the angel and himself.

“I’m going to assign you to Balthazar,” Zachariah continued, “He should remind you of home, if only a bit. Besides, it gets you off of Meg’s back and out of Jack’s bad influence. As much as I love the kid, he has the overwhelming tendency to make poor decisions. I blame his father for it.”

Ralph squinted. Balthazar. Sounded like a douche bag. Ralph wasn’t sure if he was going to love or hate the guy, but if he was anything like Zachariah, he was about ready to hate him.

“Go, he’ll find you,” Meg rolled her eyes, “He’s around camp somewhere .”

Ralph stood up slightly reluctantly. It still felt off, felt wrong. But he started walking slowly toward the large doors Rufus and Jack had rushed out of. His head was down, his eyes focused on the cuffs that were tight around his wrists. As he shuffled out, he heard Zachariah turn to Meg and whisper: “Does that kid talk at all?”

Chapter Text

The gates to heaven were hidden within a heavy wooded thicket. It was made that way so no random hunter or monster would stumble upon it. So no demon would. It was a mostly foolproof idea, only a few demon stragglers had found their way in and they were easily taken care of quickly and quietly. Orion hadn’t been there for that– of course–, but he had heard that it was the quickest anyone had taken out demons since the war started.

Kevin and Orion approached the large spruce tree that the gates were hidden behind. Orion was relieved to see that Anna and Duma were still fooling around somewhere. If they were truly after him, they wouldn’t hesitate to turn him in, or even kill him. Then Kevin wouldn’t get his soul back.

Orion patted the pocket that held the sphere with Kevin’s soul gently, making sure he still had it. Of course he hadn’t lost it, that would be out of character for him. But he just wanted to ensure its safety. He didn’t want to risk losing Kevin’s soul.

“A huge pine tree?” Kevin asked, raising a brow. He seemed unimpressed by the tree. Not that trees were particularly impressive in the first place, but he seemed almost disinterested.

“Yes,” Orion nodded, “It is inconspicuous. Most people ignore it.”

Kevin shrugged, “I can see why.”

Orion rolled his vessel's eyes. He hadn’t been in Heaven in a hot minute, he wasn’t sure what state of disrepair it was in at the moment. From what Hannah had said, it wasn’t too bad, but Hannah had the tendency to lie about what was going on to boost morale. Virgil did the same thing.

“So what? We just walk into the tree? Platform 9 and ¾ style?” Kevin asked, looking at Orion.

“No, that would be moronic,” Orion shook his head, “Just touch it.”

“Touch it?” Kevin looked at the tree, then Orion, “I just- I actually just? Touch it? Like-”

Kevin placed his right hand open-palmed on the tree trunk. There was a bright flash of blue light as he disappeared into Heaven. Orion cracked a smile, something he had been doing a little more as of late.

“Yes, like that.” Orion let out a gentle laugh under his breath. It was very faint, but it was there.

Orion approached the trunk, touching it himself. The lack of Kevin’s screams had indicated to him that the prophet was going to be waiting for him on the other side. Which he was right. When he appeared in Heaven’s stark white halls, the prophet was spinning around, examining the place. Orion placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping him from continuing to spin in circles, examining the halls.

Kevin looked at Orion, then at the long hall of doors they were in. Heaven felt colder than the last time Orion was there. Like there were less souls. He knew angels had been dying, but souls? Souls were always in Heaven. This wasn’t normal. But he wasn’t about to worry Kevin. Not that he thought Kevin could get worried without his soul. Uh, but- no, not that- not that he cared if Kevin was worried. It wasn’t his problem if he prophet got freaked out or worried or-

Orion shook the thoughts away.

“Come on, the Library is this way.” Orion began the long hall. Kevin was a few paces behind him, his eyes scanning all the doors. They were all doors to personal heavens. They were in the Tonya Smiths at that moment, a hallway dedicated to all the Tonya Smiths in existence. It seemed to boggle Kevin’s mind as his jaw dropped slightly as each name was the same. Orion missed Kevin’s aura at this moment, then he’d have an easier time deciphering what the prophet was feeling.

Orion took a right turn down the next hallway. The corridors were empty, it bothered him. Something about the way he could hear his footsteps, then Kevin’s, just echoing there. It made him uneasy. Most of the angels were on Earth, but this was unnerving. It wasn’t the way he remembered. It didn’t sit well with him in the least.

The doors of the Library felt larger than the last time Orion was in Heaven. They felt more menacing. Kevin joined Orion’s side, craning his neck to take in the doors.

“Looks ominous,” Kevin muttered before quickly running up to the door, swinging them open.

“Kevin, wait!” Orion ran after him, catching the doors before they slammed shut. The last thing he wanted was for the other angels to be alerted to their presence.

Orion shut the doors gently before turning around to breathe in the Library. Kevin was walking around stacks, mounds of books. He was looking around in awe. This wasn’t right. The Library was always clean, pristine. Faith had to be in here somewhere, right? She wouldn’t just quit her duties as a librarian. As the librarian. This place was a wreck, it was disorganized. The Faith Orion knew would never leave such a wreck.

Kevin was of course unfazed by this. He’d probably never seen so many books in his existence. Orion took a couple cautious steps into the Library as the prophet picked up the pace of his exploration. Kevin jogged up the stairs to the second level of the Library. He leaned over the railing, calling down to Orion.

“This place is sick!” Kevin cheered, “You see all these books?”

“They’re mostly written in Enochian,” Orion called as the prophet disappeared behind a stack of books, “You can’t read them.”

Orion took a few more steps forward. His eyes scanned the vicinity for Faith. She had to be nearby. Orion would just find her, make sure everything was going smoothly, then ask about the myths. He wasn’t certain of where the myths were within the Library, but he knew they were there. He’d heard about them being there.

“Dude, here’s a WHOLE section on you,” Kevin called, “You’re apparently ‘heaven’s light’. How corny is that?”

Orion started up the nearest staircase to join Kevin, “Do not read those, Kevin. They’re actually rather embarrassing, Castiel penned them.”

There weren’t many stairs to the second level, but when Orion reached it he felt a chill roll down his spine. Something was off. He let his angel blade slide down his sleeve into his hand, gripping it tightly. He walked quietly and carefully into the section where Kevin had been. No Kevin, just an open book sitting on a stack of other books. Orion’s stomach pitted. Maybe Kevin had moved on, maybe he was doing that thing that hunters did. Play a prank, was it?

“Kevin?” Orion called out for the prophet. He walked into the section, picking up the book he was reading. It was just about the hierarchy of the angels, nothing too interesting. Orion expected Kevin to pop around the corner at any second to try and scare him to death, but when he rounded the corner, there was no Kevin to be seen.

A Kevin with an aura would’ve been great in that moment. Then Orion would’ve been able to know where he was simply by where his aura was coming from. But alas, the angel was tasked with trying to find the squirrely prophet in the massive Library.

“Kevin?” Orion called again, walking the length of the shelves. It was probably pointless, trying to find Kevin in the labyrinth that was the Library. Kevin would find his way back to Orion eventually.

Most likely.

Maybe.

Perhaps it was more improbable than Orion had originally assumed. Even with a soul, Kevin wasn’t the brightest. Without a soul? Well, now he had no morals telling him which way to go. For all Orion knew, the prophet was loose in Heaven. Oh, Castiel would have his head for that-

“Kevin, please, I’ll get in trouble,” Orion called as he jogged down the stairs. He looked around, taking a gentle step forward when he felt the tip of an angel blade pressed against his lower back. Maybe it was Faith. Maybe she’d come out of hiding.

“Is that an angel blade in hand? Or are you just happy to see me?” A familiar voice asked from behind. It wasn’t Faith. It most definitely was not Faith. No, this was a voice he hadn’t heard in eons. One that he and most every other angel thought was gone. Orion swallowed hard before he replied.

“Metatron.”

Chapter Text

“That was a stupid thing to do, Myst,” Garth grumbled as he climbed the stairs beside the Captain. Claire was going to lead them to the exit that Crowley had assumed Cordelia to have taken. At this rate, Myst didn’t care how they were getting out of Hell so long as they were. They didn’t have any cuffs on them, no restraints whatsoever. Sure, there were charms cast on them to disallow them from betrayal, but it wasn’t too terrible.

“Garth, riddle me this: Would you rather be trapped in Hell, possibly enslaved, or would you rather kill some low life demon who we were probably going to kill on a mission anyways?” Myst offered up the options to Garth who grimaced at the thought. Myst couldn’t understand how he didn’t grasp this. They had to kill one demon and they’d be free. She didn’t trust Crowley anymore than he did, but she read the contract from top to bottom, there was nothing she saw that screamed scam.

“It’s not right, there were other ways,” Garth replied, stumbling over the top stair. He regained his balance, scratching his head before he continued to walk.

“Garth, King of Hell,” Myst said, “Need I remind you what he’s capable of?”

Garth looked at Myst before looking away. At this rate, she didn’t care if he hated her. It wasn’t her problem. Claire looked over her shoulder, shifting her grip on her gun as she scanned the perimeter. Myst looked down at her feet then back up at Garth. She could tell the conversation was off the table. It didn’t bother her, the less she had to talk to him the better.

“You two have no idea what you’re getting mixed up in,” Claire said as she approached an archway. She stood beside it, facing the two hunters. Her eyes kept darting to check her surroundings. From what Myst could tell, this wasn’t a safe area. There were less houses on the level they were on than previous ones, and more shadows. Something about it made Myst feel suspicious. 

“The King of Hell, I get it, I’ve gotten mixed up in worse,” Myst muttered. She began to step through the archway when Claire grabbed her forearm roughly, jerking her back. Myst ripped her arm away, taking a step back to put space between the young girl and her.

“I may be Hellian by choice,” Claire started, “But that’s not to say I don’t want out at times.”

“Why don’t you just leave then?” Myst rolled up her sleeves, crossing her arms, “Garth was with the Angelics before we recruited him. Now we get angel bombing every now and then, but it’s not terrible.”

Garth let out a short huff of air, crossing his arms at the mention of his time with the Angelics. He didn’t like when people brought it up, Myst was fully aware. But she needed it to make a point, besides, it was mostly not her problem if Garth was slightly uncomfortable.

“I can’t leave,” Claire pulled her shirt away from her neck to show a symbol that was branded onto her clavicle, “Corio and Crowley own me now. I don’t mind for the most part, but they're not known for being generous, okay?”

Claire released her shirt allowing it to cover her brand again. Myst scanned her trying to better read the young girl. It wasn’t out of the ordinary in the war. Being owned, that is. But someone as young as Claire was hardly someone you’d want on your team. She was a liability in any context. Corio and Crowley got no gain from owning the poor thing.

“It’s not like that, Claire,” Myst shot back defensively, “Garth and I are going to hold up our ends of the deal and-”

“And you think Crowley will magically hold up his?” Claire finished. She shook her head and Myst furrowed her brows. This little girl thought she knew so much about the world, but she was nothing more than naive. Myst, though not proud to admit it, had worked with demons before. Bargains were always kept, deals weren’t broken.

“I held up my end of the deal with Crowley too,” Claire explained, “But I still haven’t gotten my dad back. ‘Made his best efforts’. Demons aren’t honest, they find loopholes.”

Myst bit the inside of her cheek, turning the thought over in her head. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t quite right either. At least, not in any sense that Myst was willing to concede to.

“Come on, let’s get you two surfaced,” Claire beckoned the hunters to the archway, “I’ll be tagging along with you, my cover is that you’ve just recruited me from the Hellians.”

“Might want to keep that brand covered if that’s your story,” Myst quipped before she was promptly shoved through the archway by the butt of Claire’s gun.

The transportation from Hell to Earth wasn’t anything special. There was no blinding bright light, there were no trumpets signaling their arrival. Myst was just in Hell one second and walked through into Earth. She wasn’t sure if she was expecting something more than that. A loud fanfare, a giant neon sign saying that they’d just entered. 

Looking around, Myst could tell they were in a desert of sorts. Fabulous, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost. If that were only the truth. It was nightfall and Garth joined her side. He didn’t bother to look at her, to acknowledge her. She could sense the anguish coming off of him in waves. He probably hated her.

Honestly?

Myst didn’t care. She was doing what was right for the team. She took a bullet for them. She was the one who signed the contract, not Garth. Myst was the one putting everything on the line and Garth had the audacity to think she was in the wrong ? It was preposterous, laughable even. She’d saved their asses and he was playing poor pitiful victim.

Probably because of how often General Singer let him do it on base.

“How far away is your next battalion?” Claire asked as she joined Myst’s side.

“Roughly fifty miles North of here,” Myst replied, “A two or three day’s walk, depending on if we run into an active war zone and if Garth can keep up.”

Garth shot Myst a quick look of disdain before looking away again.

“Then let’s start heading out,” Claire said. She searched the sky quickly for the North star before she caught sight of it, beginning to walk. Myst followed after her and Garth trudged behind the two of them.

Chapter Text

Of all of the hunters at the Fourth Hunter Battalion, Cordelia liked Charlie the most. There was something different about the red-headed hunter that gave Cordelia the sense of familiarity. She was kinder than the others. Not that she could use Ellen or Ketch as a gauge as to how nice a hunter should be seeing as both of them still referred to her as black-eyed. But when she had to be paired with one of the hunters because the others were going for a supply run, Cordelia had considered herself relieved to have been paired with Charlie.

The younger hunter was walking the perimeter with her, steering her around any devil’s traps that had been placed for fortification. Cordelia kept quiet. Ketch was still inside the old Victorian home that was sat in the desolate desert. Cordelia never bothered to question why such a house was sitting by its lonesome, but she’d been there for a bit, and the placement just felt off to her. Rowena was inside the house as well, waiting for the imminent arrival of the Winchesters. Everything was either about to go really well or really wrong, Cordelia could sense it.

“Devil’s Trap.” Charlie pointed to a poorly placed tarp. Cordelia walked around it, giving the hunter a nod of thanks before continuing on her trek.

Charlie was usually a quiet person, at least around Cordelia. The hunter seemed to open up more around the others, joking, laughing. Cordelia couldn’t remember the last time she had people like that. Hell, even a singular person like that. Not even her relationship with Rowena, before that had crumbled and burned. Not Ruby, Ruby and her had only been roommates, they’d barely seen much of one another.

As they continued to walk, Charlie rounded a corner. Now, Cordelia could see the faint purple tint of where Rowena’s charm ended. But she was unsure if Charlie could see it as well or if she just knew the property that well. Chances were Charlie had been here for the better half of the war.

“So, how’d you piss off Crowley?” Charlie asked, swinging her shotgun aimlessly at her side.

Cordelia looked up at the hunter. She was almost caught off guard by the question. Not that she should’ve been, she should’ve expected it more than she did. Charlie kept her eyes on the barren ground, watching her steps gently.

“Was gonna kill him and Corio,” Cordelia shrugged, “Hell’s not exactly my choice of life.”

Charlie let out a half chuckle, “Why didn’t you just tell the Colonel that? Why let Rowena torture you?”

Cordelia cocked her head at the hunter who steered her away from another Devil’s Trap. Charlie was a bit more talkative than before, not that Cordelia minded, she didn’t care one way or another.

“I like fucking with the Brits, what can I say?” Cordelia smirked.

Charlie laughed, nodding. She got it. Rowena got it too, the way she stared daggers at Ketch all the time. But it wasn’t just Rowena. It was all the hunters. Every hunter there was fed up with Ketch. She’d seen Ellen shoot him those looks of pure hatred. Why stay? There were at least eight hunter battalions. They couldn’t transfer to one of those?

“Holy water puddle,” Charlie steered Cordelia away from a puddle on the ground. Cordelia looked at the puddle slightly impressed.

“You’re really fortified, aren’t you?” Cordelia said, “All of this Ketch’s doing?”

“Ketch? No,” Charlie smiled, shaking her head, “The Men of Letters couldn’t even begin to imagine hunter logic. This was all Ellen and Jo.”

“Jo?” Cordelia echoed as she stepped around another Devil’s Trap, “I haven’t met her. Is she out on a hunt or something?”

Charlie bit her lip, her eyes darting away. It was a sensitive topic, Cordelia could tell. Maybe she should’ve dropped it, she didn’t want to cause any more discourse than she already had. She was already lucky that they hadn’t killed her.

“Jo was transferred to another battalion,” Charlie said, “Ketch said Ellen was too distracted with her here.”

Cordelia’s stomach pitted, there was something more to it than that. A transfer didn’t warrant this lack of eye contact. The head hanging slightly. The color drained from her face. No.

“The Third Battalion,” Charlie explained, “It was bombed. No survivors.”

Cordelia could sense the heaviness in Charlie's voice. She and Jo must’ve been close. War was tearing this world apart. It was tearing all the worlds apart. Heaven, Hell, Earth, the veil. If Cordelia didn’t think Purgatory was a myth, that too. But there was no end in sight, there was never an end in sight.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia muttered. It was a mostly genuine apology, Cordelia understood the feeling of loss from her time as a human. It was a long time ago, but she still understood the pain it held.

“Looks like the perimeter is secure,” Charlie interrupted the train of conversation, turning to head back toward the house, “The Colonel will want an update.”

Cordelia jogged after Charlie, joining her side as she returned to the house. The porch of the house was rotting in most places, Cordelia had to watch her step. There weren’t many carpenters in the war, unless Jesus had spontaneously decided to come back for the reckoning. Unlikely.

Since most of the base was on a supply run or a hunt, when Charlie and Cordelia entered, there was no one in their way. Cordelia went to the dining hall, one of the few rooms in the house that didn’t have warding sigils to keep her out. Hunters didn’t work with demons a lot she supposed.

Cordelia sat on top of the table, grabbing one of the books that was sprawled across what she assumed to be Rowena’s work area. The book was full of beginner spells, stuff Cordelia could do with her eyes closed. It seemed a bit out of character for Rowena to be studying one of these books. A natural born witch going back to the basics? She must’ve been concocting something. Cordelia flipped through the pages as Rowena entered. The witch snatched the book out of Cordelia’s hands, tossing it down on the table as she took a seat. She smoothed her skirt, brushing her hair out of her eyes as she began to read one of the spell books that was open.

“Back to the basics? That’s not quite the Rowena I know,” Cordelia muttered, teasing the wiccan. She pulled her legs atop the table, spinning so she could sit criss-cross as she studied Rowena.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m doing research,” Rowena replied, not bothering to look up at Cordelia as she spoke.

“ On… ” Cordelia tilted her head, craning her neck to read the cover of one of the books, “‘ A Witch’s Guide to Simple Spells and Potions’ ? Down right riveting.”

Rowena looked up at Cordelia, then back down at the books she was reading. She tapped her fingers shortly on the finished oak table. She was clearly thinking of what to say. She wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Ketch didn’t know she was doing this. Oh, this was golden.

“You can’t tell Ketch,” Rowena started, sliding a couple of the simpler books off the table and into her lap.

“Oh yeah, cross my heart and hope to be exorcized.” Cordelia gave a token motion over her chest to mark her loyalty to Rowena. She nodded stoically, suppressing the sneer that was threatening to form on her face.

Rowena looked through the archways to ensure Ketch wasn’t nearby. She gently set the simple spell books on the floor, looking up at Cordelia.

“There is a wee rumour spreading ‘round the witches pool that there may be an incantation to bring the war to an end,” Rowena spoke in a low voice.

Cordelia raised a brow, not fully buying it, “An incantation? To stop the end of a twenty year war between Heaven, Hell, and those in the crossfires?”

Rowena nodded. She reached across the table, sliding a book that was very obviously written in Latin. She began flipping the pages to find a specific segment.

“I love you Rowena, I really do, believe it or not,” Cordelia started, “But you expect me to believe this ? Why are you just hearing about it now? Why not two decades ago?”

Rowena slid the book to Cordelia, pointing at the page. The segment wasn’t long, but Cordelia still scooped up the book. She pulled the page close to her eyes so she had an easier time reading. Cordelia furrowed her brows as she continued to read.

“This is…” Cordelia trailed off.

“It could change the world,” Rowena said, “It would mean no more war.”

“Balance would be restored,” Cordelia muttered, “Would it work?”

“I don’t know,” Rowena replied, taking the book back, “And you can’t mention this to any of the hunters. The second they figure out that I may have a way to fix this, they’ll never let me leave.”

Cordelia muttered, nodding. She understood. But this could fix everything. This could be the turning point.

Chapter Text

Ralph liked Balthazar. Well, in the grand scheme of things. He’d run into the angel about ten minutes into wandering the camp aimlessly. The drunken angel had grabbed him roughly by the wrist and pulled him to the very edge of the camp, shoving him into his tent. Ralph had sat in the tent for close to an hour, Balthazar jotting notes down on his notepad, before Balthazar even bothered to acknowledge he was there.

“I’m supposed to, uh,” Balthazar scratched his head in thought, “Get you to open up or something. I’ll be honest, kid, I don’t care.”

Ralph really appreciated this angel. He didn’t have a stick up his ass like Zachariah. Of course, he wasn’t going to be friendly to the guy, but he didn’t hate him. Ralph could probably spend the rest of his time at this camp with Balthazar and he wouldn’t complain.

“Zachariah and I? Not exactly buddies,” Balthazar explained, returning to scribbling in his notepad, “But it’s safer for me in the, uh, the ‘walls’,” he used air quotations, “Than out there in the field, no grace and all.”

Ralph looked at the angel in curiosity, but he didn’t do or say anything. If this was supposed to be getting him to open up, it was having that effect on the wrong person.

“I hate angels. All dicks. Every last one of ‘em,” Balthazar continued, “Nephilim? No better. That Jack kid? Castiel- Put an angel blade through my skull, please and thank you.”

This elicited a soft chuckle from Ralph who felt his originally tensed muscles relax, if only slightly. Something about a presence like this was different from the others. Balthazar found this camp as a means to an end. He was here out of necessity, not out of want. He wasn’t brainwashed like the others. But could an angel brainwash another angel?

“Don’t get me started on demons. Cambion? Forget it.” Balthazar rolled his eyes, writing a few more things on his notepad before he promptly turned the page, continuing his writing.

“But you, RaLpH ,” Balthazar prattled on, “You’re the best of both worlds, aren’t you? Not quite angel, not quite demon. You land somewhere,” He set his pencil down, booping Ralph’s nose, “Right in the middle.”

Balthazar returned to his writing and Ralph rubbed his nose where the angel had touched it. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going on about. Sure, he was quite obviously drunk, but this was a whole new level of drunk rambling. Ralph had been used to his father’s late night, drunken stupor ramblings, but this was different. He was saying everything and nothing at once. It was an eerie mix of calming and disturbing.

“Elioud,” Balthazar muttered, “We didn’t think you to be real. Castiel and I, we used to be buds. Until his inflated ego. Yeah, well. Here we are. You lose your grace and suddenly you're nothing but your own best friend.”

Balthazar stopped his writing to pour himself more alcohol. Ralph couldn’t tell if it was scotch or whiskey, but he filled the glass to the brim. He downed the alcohol in one gulp, setting the glass down. He returned to writing, writing for a few minutes in complete silence before he ripped the page out of the notepad, handing it to Ralph. He grabbed his bottle of alcohol, taking a swig out of it.

Ralph looked down at the writing, Enochian. He wasn’t going to be able to read it if he tried. He looked back up at Balthazar who had positioned himself to be looking at Ralph, his right ankle resting on his left knee. Ralph looked between the paper and the angel as the angel took another drink of his alcohol. Did he think Ralph could read it?

“Right, you’re- okay,” Balthazar leaned forward, setting his bottle on the table, “You’re going to want to give that to Meg, it’ll get those pesky handcuffs off.”

Ralph furrowed his brow, looking down at the paper. What the hell did this man do in this camp? He held enough power to get his cuffs removed? But he couldn’t survive out of the double walled existence?  The math wasn’t adding up, but Ralph wasn’t sure he was bothered by it. Getting these cuffs removed would be the first step in breaking out of the camp.

“What are- get out of here,” Balthazar muttered, “You got what you needed, Meg’s in the armory, they’re getting ready for an ambush on an Angelic camp.”

Ralph didn’t wait a second more, heading out of the canvas tent. He didn’t realize how stuffy it was in that tent until he stepped into the cool air. He felt rain and looking around at the skies, it looked like it was ready to rain soon. Which didn’t bother him in the slightest. He headed onwards to the heart of camp where people were running about, getting things in order for the ambush Balthazar had mentioned. Ralph had the note gripped tightly in his left hand, it was slightly wrinkled, but he didn’t have time to care about that.

A few of the POW bumped into him as they rushed to the weaponry. Half genuine apologies were muttered, but no one cared. Ralph was unbothered by that. He approached the Armory and inside was more hectic than he’d assumed. A handful of guards were in there holding one of the girls down while Meg was rushing around, barking orders. But Ralph knew the girl. It was the one from the other night. The one who had secluded herself in the corner, he could tell. She wasn’t like the others, she didn’t want to be there.

The door swung open, almost hitting Ralph but he stepped out of the way in time for another guard to walk in. They made a b-line for the guns.

“What is the issue?” Meg snapped as she approached the girl who was being restrained by the guards.

“She doesn’t want to go,” One of the guards spoke up.

“Well, then, we’ll call off the whole ambush,” Meg said flatly. The girl stopped fighting, staring blankly at Meg.

“Make. Her. Go.” Meg hissed, “With Jack out of commission and Mercy not even in camp anymore, we need her.”

“Can’t we just use that Elioud kid? Doesn’t he have more power than Jane and Jack combined?” A second guard spoke up.

Meg’s eyes flickered black as she stared daggers at the guard, “Are you done giving stupid suggestions? Or do you want to join Mercy in the wasteland?”

The guard shook his head fervently, muttering apologies under his breath as he tightened his grip on the girl.

“Good,” Meg shot back. She began storming towards the door where Ralph was waiting quietly. She caught sight of him, letting out a long and tired groan. Ralph gave her a look of subtle disgust, scanning her. He officially hated this bitch. He handed her the partially crumpled paper that Balthazar had written out. Meg snatched it from his hands, scanning the Enochian. She had to squint her eyes a few times to read a couple of the words.

“Cleared for battle?” Meg muttered as she read, “No cuffs? No-,” she fell silent for a few moments, her facial expression growing harder as she read on, “He said you’re… Not dangerous? Not dangerous my ass- BALTHAZAR!”

Ralph stared at the demon as she shoved the paper at his chest. He grabbed it, looking down at it then back at Meg.

“Oh, I’m killing this son of a bitch,” Meg grabbed the handle of the door roughly. She ripped it open, storming out of the building. Jo, who happened to be in the corner of the room, shoved through the people, following after Meg.

“MEG,” she called, rushing after the demon, “MEG, DON’T BE STUPID!!!”

Ralph watched both of the women disappear out of his line of sight as the doors swung shut. He looked down at the note and the cuffs still locked tightly around his wrists. One of the guards from the cluster around the girl tapped her forehead lightly, the girl stumbling over as she passed out. Ralph furrowed his brows as a second guard approached him. This one was a young woman, her deep brown hair pulled back into a low bun.

“Let me see the note.” She held out a hand and Ralph handed it to her, his eyes still on the girl that was now out cold. The guard in front of him pulled out a key with Enochian symbols carved into it, extending her hands as she took the cuffs around Ralph’s wrists a tad it roughly, pulling him close enough so she could unlock it for him. She did just that, shoving the note in her pocket.

“I’m Eileen,” the guard said as she placed her key in her pocket. She carefully removed the handcuffs, cuffing them to her belt. Ralph’s focus was still on the girl. Refugee camp his ass.

Eileen followed his gaze, looking at the girl.

“She’ll be okay,” Eileen said, looking back at Ralph, “They just knocked her out. Once she’s on the battlefield, she won’t even remember her anxiety.”

Ralph didn’t know if he liked the sound of that. It felt like they were… using her. But why? What had Balthazar referred to Jack as? A Nephilim? Yes, Ralph had heard the term. Along with Cambion. So the girl must’ve been one of those. How many people in this camp were Nephilim and Cambion? Were all the people in the bunkhouse hybrids? That couldn’t be possible, right? What would Zachariah want with a bunch of half-breeds?

If this was true… If all these people were hybrids. And Balthazar had used the term Elioud for Ralph… What did that make Ralph? Who was he?

What was he?

Chapter Text

Orion was tied to a chair beside Faith who had a gag in her mouth. To his left, Kevin who was tied up, but out cold. Metatron was rooting through the books like he’d been for the previous hours. He’d read a few pages, then toss it aside. Orion knew full well the ropes were meant to bind his grace to his vessel meaning he couldn’t just blink out and find another one. Damn Metatron and his inventions.

“You know, it’s here somewhere, I know it is,” Metatron said, his voice leaning towards instability, “I have been searching for days.”

“How did you get in here?” Orion asked, struggling against the rope that only pulsated a dull blue and tightened as he did.

“Oh, it was a little bit of work,” Metatron started, looking over his shoulder before turning back to the dwindling pile of books, “They were guarding the doors for so long, wanted to keep me out. I waited for Anna and Duma to slack off as per usual and snuck in. There’s, like, five people in here, how wouldn’t I get in?”

Orion bit his vessel’s lip in frustration. Their lack of troops walking the halls allowed a breach of security. Phenomenal. Orion looked over at Kevin who was beginning to stir. Orion fought the ropes again, them just tightening more, continuing to glow.

“What are you looking for, Metatron?” Orion asked, looking over at Faith who had panic in her eyes.

“This is how I know you don't understand the severity of the situation,” Metatron tossed a book aside, moving onto the next shelf, “This war is getting out of hand, Orion. I need to fix it.”

Kevin lifted his head, looking around. His eyes met with Orion’s who shook his head. Kevin looked down at the ropes that bound him to the chair. Orion could tell that the ropes that bound Kevin were regular ropes. Why would Metatron need to use his Grace Ropes on a human? This was good, this meant Kevin could get free.

“Why do you think I brought the prophet?” Orion asked.

“Kevin?” Metatron scoffed, “He’s hardly a prophet. Can’t read my writing? Doesn’t get visions? How’d you get him into Heaven anyways? No living soul can enter and he’s not dead.”

Orion watched as Metatron tossed aside book after book. The pile of discarded books was growing by the minute, it was clear Metatron had no idea where to look. Then it struck Orion, Metatron may not even know what he was looking for. He didn’t kill Faith. That meant he needed her.

“Soul Catcher. The name ring a bell?” Orion countered. Orion always felt a small sense of pride when he used the phrases that the hunters used properly. It made him feel like he belonged on a deeper level.

“You’re kidding,” Metatron looked at a book longer than the others before tossing it to the side, “That’s supposed to kill the person you take the soul out of.”

“We made some major adjustments,” Orion replied flatly. Metatron scoffed as if disbelieving Orion’s words.

Orion looked over at Kevin who had something in his hand and was moving his hands rather… rhythmically against the rope. He was cutting it, for sure. Orion looked back at Metatron who had grabbed a book and was walking straight up to him. Orion struggled against the ropes, them tightening more. At this rate, the circulation was being cut off from his vessel’s limbs. Orion could feel his vessel’s fingertips going cold. He disliked the feeling.

“You see this?” Metatron opened the book, pointing to the Enochian text. Of course Orion saw it, what a trivial question. Orion leaned back, feeling as though his space was being invaded. Per personal preference, he’d have liked Metatron a few feet back and the book not inches from his face.

“We have thousands of volumes on,” Meatron leaned back, pulling the book to his face so he could read it, “How Castiel formed the stars. But none on ending Armageddon take two.”

Orion watched as Metaron pelted the book into the growing pile letting out a sarcastic laugh. Metatron walked away, turning his back to the three tied up, returning to the shelf. Orion looked over at Kevin who was almost done cutting through the rope that bound him to the chair. Orion just needed to distract Metatron a little longer.

“So what’s your grand plan? Invade Heaven, find a book, then what?” Orion asked as Kevin broke free of his ropes.

“Well, when I find the book,” Metatron grabbed a book, not even bothering to look at it before he tossed it aside, “I end the war. Life goes back to normal, I go back to living as Marv and you angels go back to being angels.”

“What makes you so confident in this plan? What book are you even looking for?” Orion prodded as Kevin snuck to his side, beginning to untie the angel’s ropes, “I mean, you’ve already gone through half of the library.”

Metatron let out a forced laugh, “I’ll know it when I see it. What, you and the human boy knew what you were looking for when you came in here?”

“His name is Kevin,” Orion rolled his vessel’s eyes as the ropes fell from around him, he mouthed a thanks to Kevin before he turned to Faith and began to help untie her, “And yeah, we know what we’re looking for.”

Orion slid his angel blade towards Kevin who grasped it tightly in his left hand. Faith’s ropes were looser than Orion’s had been, presumably because she didn’t struggle as much as Orion did. As he untied her, he pulled the gag out of her mouth, pressing his index finger to his vessel’s lips to shush her. Faith nodded, panic clearly in her eyes.

“Potato, potato,” Metatron mused, “He’s not a real prophet, you’re not a real angel. Quite frankly, Orion, you’re lucky I even refer to you. Should we discuss your complete disappointment?”

“You were literally exiled from Heaven for treason, Metatron,” Orion grumbled, pulling the ropes away from Faith, “I doubt you have a leg to stand on in this.”

“Maybe that’s so,” Metatron shrugged, “But even so, defending the human?”

Orion diverted his attention looking over at Metatron. Kevin was only a foot or two behind the angel, angel blade in hand and raised. Orion bit his vessel’s lip as he held out his hand for Faith’s angel blade. Faith handed it over hesitantly and delicately. Orion stood up, crouched slightly, beginning to creep towards Metatron who tossed another book aside.

“Oh, Orion,” Metatron shook his head, “I’m honestly disappointed in you. Did you really think you could get one over on me?”

Metatron spun around, grabbing the angel blade in Kevin’s hand. Kevin put up a fight, but Metatron kicked his knee, the kneecap crunching from his force. Kevin let out a cry of pain, stumbling back and letting go of the angel blade. Orion gripped Faith’s angel blade fiercely, rushing towards Metatron, raising the blade. Meatron shook his head, shoving Orion out of the way as he approached. He threw the blade at Faith who was frozen in shock. The blade plunged into her chest, her face and eyes glowering a bit before she slumped forward. She fell off the chair and– though Kevin couldn’t see it– her amber wings caught fire, burning their imprints into the floor.

“Metatron–” Orion gripped the angel blade in his hand, approaching the angel with force. Orion shoved him against the bookshelf, books shaking and falling off from the sheer force. Orion pressed the blade to his throat, threatening to slice it at any moment.

“Oh, slow down,” Metatron held up his hands, “You can’t kill me!”

“Actually, I can, and most definitely will,” Orion pressed the blade harder, threatening the draw of blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, Orion could see Kevin limping to the pile of books. He knelt on his good knee, sifting through the pile. He slid most of them out of the way, as if he was digging for something specifically. Orion was careful not to take his eyes, any of them, off of Metatron who was trying his best to ignore the prophet as well.

“Kevin, what are you doing?” Orion asked.

Kevin picked up a tattered old book, the cover falling off and the pages falling out. Orion allowed himself to turn his vessel’s head to look at Kevin. The old book looked less of a novel and more like a journal that someone had taken notes in.

“This one,” Kevin held it up as he stood. He limped over to Orion’s side holding the tattered journal up to Metatron’s face. He flipped through a few of the pages and Metatron grimaced at it. The words weren’t in Enochian. At least, not the version Orion knew.

“You missed it,” Orion grumbled, looking back at Metatron who quickly became panicked.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Metatron looked between Orion and Kevin.

“That depends,” Kevin said, lowering the book, “Can you read it or not?”

Metaron’s eyes darted between the angel holding the blade to his throat and the prophet that was clutching dearly to the tattered old book. He definitely had the option to lie, but given the situation he was in, Orion would’ve been able to call his bluff. He couldn’t even find the book he was looking for, what made him think Kevin or Orion were going to believe he could read it? Metatron swallowed nervously, his lips parting as he tried to think of a way out of the situation he was in.

“Not exactly,” Metatron started slowly.

“Good enough for me,” Orion pulled the angel blade away from Metatron’s neck, preparing to plunge it into his chest instead. Metatron’s eyes widened in fear. 

“Nonononono,” he said quickly, “I can’t read it, but I can take you to someone who can. I can take you to an Archangel. Oh, the wonder. Oh, the splendor.”

“Can it,” Kevin rolled his eyes, turning to Orion, “We needed someone to find us Gabriel anyways.”

Metatron scrunched his nose, “Gabriel? No, I was going to take you to Michael. Gabriel’s gone, Loki took over.”

Orion replaced the blade against Metatron’s throat, “Michael’s dead.”

“Rumors, rumors,” Metatron looked between Orion and Kevin, “Look, it’s dangerous to take you to Gabriel when we have an archangel who’s in his sane mind and-”

“Gabriel wrote the journal,” Kevin looked up from the book, but Orion could sense that the prophet wasn’t being honest, “I can’t read Broken Enochian, but I can make out his handwriting.”

“You’re going to take us to Gabriel,” Orion threatened, “But first, heal Kevin’s knee.”

Orion knew Metatron could tell there was no way to get out of this deal. He let out a long and heavy sigh, pushing Orion away. Metatron approached Kevin who took a hesitant step back. The scribe shot him an incredulous look before kneeling. He hovered his hand in front of the human’s knee, his hand glowing a dull blue as he healed it.

Kevin grumbled a half hearted thanks, handing the tattered book to Orion. Orion shoved the journal in one of the inside pockets of his vessel’s jacket. They both looked back up at Metatron, waiting for his response.

“I’ll take you,” Metatron nodded, “But grab your winter coats, the mountains are cold this time of year.”

Chapter Text

Myst didn’t think Garth was physically capable of holding a grudge. She’d assumed the Corporal to be too nice, too sensitive. But the entire journey to the Fourth Battalion, Claire was the only person he’d even acknowledge. Myst went unbothered by this, she didn’t like Garth anyway, the less he spoke to her, the better. If Myst was honest with herself, every passing minute spent being ignored was her own form of bliss.

It was the middle of the second night and despite the fact that Claire tried to insist that they make camp, Myst knew they weren’t that far from the base. Claire complained a bit, and Garth would’ve too had he not been giving the Captain the silent treatment. Claire was a few paces behind Myst and Garth a few paces behind Claire. None of them still wanted to be walking but they were too close to stop.

The wind was kicking up some dust in the desert as they walked. Myst was lucky enough for the sand to not go in her eyes but when she checked over her shoulder a couple times she could see that Claire had gotten an eyeful of it. No matter, it wasn’t Myst’s problem. Myst carried on walking.

“Claire,” Garth said behind her, “There’s something you said that’s been bothering me, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But what did you mean when you said you still haven’t gotten your dad back?”

Myst could hear the young Hellian let out a long, weighted sigh. She didn’t bother to look over her shoulder or to slow down her pace. The quicker they got to the Fourth Hunter Battalion, the quicker Myst could slip away.

“When the whole war started, Castiel needed a vessel,” Claire began, “I guess my dad was the ideal vessel, he took my dad’s body.”

“Castiel would be? Some angel?” Garth asked. Myst raised a brow at the conversation but she didn’t utter a word.

“I wish,” Claire huffed, “Try God.”

This almost caused Myst to stop walking entirely. To this point, God was presumed an omnipotent being that just noped the hell out of the war. But according to Claire he had walked on Earth, in her father’s body nonetheless.

“G-god? Like the God?” Garth stammered, stumbling over his own words.

“Yes, Garth,” Claire grumbled, “He’s not exactly the nicest guy on the planet, given he stole my dad.”

Claire had met God. The God. It felt almost surreal. Not entirely unlikely, they were in a goddamn war and they’d met the King of Hell. One of them at least. Myst wasn’t sure why it sounded so foreign to her, Claire meeting God. Maybe it was the concept of God existing, Myst hadn’t been particularly religious before the war, let alone during it.

“If you met God,” Garth started, “Why didn’t you just work with the Angelics? They had your dad-”

Myst could hear the disruption of Claire’s clothes as she shrugged her shoulders, “Garth, tell me, have you ever had something you really cared about taken from you?” There was a pause of silence before Claire continued, “Then you understand why I wouldn’t want to side with the creeps that took my dad from me.”

Myst furrowed her brows, looking over her shoulder, her words were quiet but she ensured they were loud enough that Claire could hear, “I’ve lost someone to this war. We’ve all lost someone, Claire. Respectfully, you’re not special. In this war, you’re just like everyone else. I suggest you learn to accept that.”

Myst didn’t have to watch to know Claire’s face had fallen. People. What was it with people in this war and acting like they were victims? People died. People got their bodies taken. People watched those they loved get eaten alive by a pack of ghouls and couldn’t do anything more than just watch, panic stricken.

…

…

…

Up on the top of a distant hill, Myst could see the glowering lights of the base. They were almost there. Good, she could finally break free from these self victimized imbeciles and relax with some of her own. The relief was more than enough for the Captain who was fed up with the sappy nature of her, for lack of a better word, companions .

As Myst and the group approached the property, Myst noticed the plethora of devil’s traps scattered around the property. She knew it was their alternative to the salt walls that they had built up at the Eighth Battalion. And Myst knew full well about the holy water moat around the First Battalion. That one was quite the feat and Myst was rather impressed herself when she saw it. Devil’s traps around the property were fine too, she supposed. They were functional.    

The porch of the large Victorian home felt unsafe to Myst. She could see where termites were eating away the railing and she didn’t like it. It hadn’t been this bad the last time she was there. She tried to put it out of her mind as she raised her hand to knock on the door. She knocked thrice, taking a step back to wait for the door to open. There were muffled yells from inside, people saying they were going to open the door. It took a few moments and it sounded like something toppled over as someone attempted to make it to the door.

The door swung open, a familiar face staring at Myst, confused.

“Myst?” She asked as if she didn’t believe it.

“Deanna,” Myst said shortly.

Deanna quickly splashed holy water on Myst’s face. Myst blinked in an unamused fashion, wiping the water out of her eyes. Deanna quickly slashed a silver knife across the Captain’s right forearm. Myst shot the Major a disapproving look that didn’t last long before she was pulled into a tight hug.

“We thought you were dead,” Deanna muttered.

“Well, I’m not,” Myst pushed the eager Major away, “Neither of us are.”

Deanna looked over Myst’s shoulder at Garth who was standing there awkwardly. She shot the Corporal a half-forced smile before ushering the group in. She did the rudimentary holy water and silver checks on both Claire and Garth, keeping the group in the main room.

“Why are you here?” Myst asked, looking around the house for any sign of a demon being nearby, in the house or having been there. It didn’t seem like anything was affected by the supernatural.

“Oh, one of the demons Sam made a deal with,” Deanna explained, crossing her arms over her chest, “She got into some deep shit with people yadda yadda, long story short, we’re stopping Ellen from slitting her throat.”

Deanna led them into the dining room where a woman with fiery red hair sat, her hair pulled up into a bun atop her head. She didn’t seem to acknowledge the group as they walked in to take their seats. Myst scanned the woman, something about her felt familiar yet distant at the same time. She didn’t like it.

“This is Rowena,” Deanna said, taking a seat next to Myst, “But why are you and Garth here and… uh, who’s the blonde chick?”

“This is Claire,” Garth started. Myst shot him a quick look of warning to not mention the ambush and their little free trip to Hell. Deanna would flip if she knew.

“I, uh, helped them out of a sticky situation,” Claire interrupted, “You mentioned a demon?”

Smooth. Myst did appreciate the covering her and Garth’s ass with the lie. Maybe this Claire wasn’t so bad. Maybe Myst could move past the whole ‘poor pitiful me’ vibe that the girl gave off.

“Oh, yeah,” Deanna nodded, “Sammy’s talking to her in the other room. He doesn’t like working with demons if he doesn’t have to.”

“None of us do, usually ,” Garth muttered under his breath. Myst shot him another look. If she didn’t need him at that moment, she’d probably have led him outside and put a bullet in his head. Not that she had a gun, no, because that was taken from her in the ambush. Which, if Myst remembered, was Garth’s fault.

“Claire, was it? I really hate to put you in this position,” Deanna started, “But you’re going to have to go check in with Ketch, not my rules. I can take you to him, he’s going to ask you some routine questions.”

Deanna stood up, approaching Claire. She grabbed the young girl’s upper arm lightly, trying to pull her to her feet. Claire looked between Deanna, Garth, and Myst. Myst could tell she wanted to stay but Myst wasn’t one to interfere with protocol. Myst knew where her priorities were. So Deanna made off with the only girl who knew what this demon looked like. Luckily, Garth and Myst both knew her name and they just had to wait for someone to say it.

“I got the gizzard,” A young woman mumbled as she entered the room. Her stark black hair fell mid back and she was holding a brown paper bag a length away from her face, looking at it disgusted.

“Thank you, Cordelia.” Rowena nodded, taking the bag from her.

Cordelia.

Chapter Text

The two new hunters in the room caused Cordelia’s stomach to turn. Something about them was off putting and she didn’t like it in the slightest. She sat down beside Rowena– normally she would’ve sat on the table but with two other people present she decided against it– looking at the spell the witch had been drafting together. She had at least three books open to various pages, two of them in Latin. Not to mention the notepad she was scratching information down on.

“So, you’re Cordelia,” the male hunter spoke up. Cordelia looked up at him, skeptical of why he was speaking to her. She hadn’t said anything to him. Most hunters worked on a ‘speak when spoken to’ basis.

“Oh, I’m Garth,” he introduced himself, “This is-”

“Captain Johnson of the Eighth Hunter Battalion,” the female hunter interjected quickly.

Cordelia looked between the two hunters. She forced a smile, nodding softly. Weirdos- The weirdest pair of hunters she’d met by far.

“Sounds like you’ve got a stick up your ass,” Cordelia muttered, trying to sound as polite as she could with her choice of words.

The hunter gave her a look of disgust, not bothering to acknowledge her words. The hunter turned to her, more polite, male counterpart. She whispered some things that Cordelia couldn’t hear and didn’t bother to try to hear. Cordelia turned her attention back to Rowena who was scrawling and then scribbling out symbols. 

Cordelia would probably be lying if she said she had faith in the chances of actually creating a spell to end the war. Rowena and her had been keeping it hush hush and no one seemed to question anything going on with Rowena and the spell books. Apparently Rowena often read spell books for shits and giggles, that’s how the hunters made it seem at least.

“Hey, uh, Rowena.” Sam tapped lightly on the door frame. He was as awkward and gawky as usual, Cordelia almost missed the socially awkward hunter. Almost .

Johnson and Garth looked up at him and he gave them a slight wave of recognition. Rowena looked up from her book, setting her pencil down.

“Samuel,” Rowena acknowledged his presence. Sam smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he shoved his left hand in his pocket.

“Uh, Ketch asked me to tell you to update the protection charm around the place, Charlie was walking the perimeter and noticed some faults in the spell,” Sam explained, using his hand gestures to make his point.

“He owns me,” Rowena said, returning to her books as she flipped the pages, “He can tell me to do it himself.”

“He’s preoccupied,” Sam replied shortly.

Rowena’s chest fell with a long sigh. She slammed one of her basic spell books shut, sliding it off the table into her arms as she stood up. She grabbed her herb satchel, slinging it over her shoulder as she approached Sam who took a large and hesitant step back.

“Fine!” Rowena spoke, “Not like I’m doing anything important anyways!”

Sam laughed shortly with much tension as he scanned the witch. They’d only met when Deanna and Sam had arrived to talk to Ketch about Cordelia. But the utter fear that Sam seemed to have around Rowena felt like it had been instilled over years of murder attempts.

Rowena disappeared as she headed towards the front door, presumably. Cordelia watched with deep intrigue. Knowing Rowena, it could’ve gone one of two ways.

“Come on, Samuel,” Rowena called, “If you’re going to bother me like this you’ll have to at least be of service.”

Sam tilted his head, looking at Cordelia to see if Rowena was being serious. Cordelia nodded, shooing him after her. He nodded, jogging after the witch. Cordelia smiled, sliding her seat over to be in front of Rowena’s work area. She had enough of a working knowledge of magic to know roughly how far Rowena had gotten and what she still needed to work on.

Cordelia flipped through the pages of the notepad. Most of the writing was in Latin, a piece of cake for her as she was fluent, but some of the writing was in a language Cordelia couldn’t understand in the slightest. No worries, though, Cordelia would just discuss it when she and Rowena were more… alone.

The stares from the hunters across the table were starting to get on her nerves. She could sense there was a question on the tips of their tongues that they just couldn’t fully articulate. She tried to ignore them as she scanned through the book of advanced spells, but it became a task to focus.

“You’re a demon,” Johnson said quickly. Cordelia looked caught off guard by the accusation. She wasn’t wrong but that didn’t make it okay to throw the accusation out like that.

“Excuse me?” Cordelia stared blankly at the hunter. No, she wasn’t offended by the observation. She just found it inappropriate. But then again, it was a hunter, what was she supposed to expect?

Garth forced a smile, jabbing Johnson in her side, “My partner’s just razzing you.”

“Corporal, please,” Johnson rolled her eyes, “Christo.”

Cordelia flinched instinctually at the word. Damn hunters and their basic concept of Latin. Cordelia sighed, her eyes sliding between the two hunters as she thought of the reasons why they might care about her being a demon. They couldn’t have been with Corio or Crowley, no brands that she could see or sense. Maybe they were just very attuned hunters because they sure as hell weren’t demons. Nor angels. So what were their fascinations with her being one.

“Sorry, I don’t see how it matters if I’m a demon or not, I’m working with one of yours, aren’t I?” Cordelia leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms, tipping her chair back casually to give off the illusion of nonchalance.

“Yeah, the key word in all of this is demon ,” Johnson said shortly, standing up from her seat. Garth grabbed her forearm roughly, trying to pull her back down to her seat.

“You’re demon racist?” Cordelia snorted, “Can we really afford to be racist towards demons and angels in this day and age?”

“Seeing as you are the reason we’re in this day and age, I’m placing all bets on yes,” Johnson raised her voice slightly. Garth tried to hush her but she brushed him off.

Cordelia stood up, placing her left hand on the table as she leaned forward, pointing at Johnson, “Listen here little hunter. I already fought a war for this damn country in my life. Don’t you dare say that I’m the reason this war started. This isn’t on the little people, okay? This is about the dickheads upstairs and the asshats downstairs. So instead of projecting your insecurities on me because someone you loved died, and trust me I can smell it all over you, why don’t you accept accountability for the hundreds you’ve killed solely because our eyes turn black when we blink?”

Johnson pursed her lips, sitting down slowly. Cordelia wasn’t sure if she’d humbled the hunter or not, but it seemed she was going to keep her mouth shut. Cordelia sunk back into her seat, looking back at Rowena’s book. Looking at the spell, it looked like the witch was making good progress on this. Maybe world peace was closer than Cordelia had originally thought. It was about damn time too, it had been far too many years since Cordelia had been allowed to relax in Hell. Too many years since she had been a mere button pusher. She missed that existence.

Deanna guided someone into the room out of Cordelia’s peripheral vision and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Cordelia set the book down, looking up at Deanna. She instantly recognized the girl with the hunter. She blinked her eyes black, standing up quickly as she backed against the wall. Johnson and Garth stood up defensively as Cordelia stared at the girl who backed away. Damn, she was a good actress but not good enough.

“Claire,” Cordelia muttered, trying to find a weapon for defense.

“Wait, you know her?” Deanna looked at Claire.

There was a sense of panic in Claire’s eyes. She was trying to make up an excuse as to why she’d know Cordelia. Of course, it made sense. Crowley couldn’t track down Cordelia, so he’d send Claire after her instead. She’d pose as an innocent girl, oh, how could Cordelia be so naive? She was mentally beating herself up over it. Luci, how could she let this happen?

“Uh, yeah,” Claire swallowed, “She was one of the demons that attacked me and your hunter friends.”

Cordelia’s nostrils flared, “Bitch. You lying bitch.”

Cordelia stormed around the table. She’d fist fight the girl if she had to. Forget getting a damn weapon.

“Hey, it’s your word over mine, black eyed cunt,” Claire sniped back. She grabbed her pocket knife. Cordelia could tell it wasn’t a demon blade nor an angel blade. So she was going to be safe. But the knife would still do at least some damage and Claire was well aware of that. Deanna pulled Claire away from Cordelia, Claire fighting against her grasp.

“I didn’t lay a finger on you or the hunters,” Cordelia shot back, “I’m working with one, why would I risk it? Why don’t you tell them you work for Crowley?”

Deanna shot Garth and Johnson a look and Garth looked away. Johnson just stared back. They were in on it. They were working for Crowley too, Cordelia could sense it.

“I am not working with Crowley,” Claire forced a laugh, “You’re demented!”

“ I’M DEMENTED?!” Cordelia yelled. She waved her arms out, sending the spell books on the table flying.

“I’m the demented one?!” Cordelia yelled, taking a step closer to Claire, “Take a look in the mirror, you’re working for a King of Hell.”

This was about the time where Johnson stepped in, pulling Cordelia away from Claire. Well, she tried to at least. But the demon quickly shook the hunter off her arm, sending Johnson into the table where she heard her rib crack.

“Lying demonic bitch,” Claire yelled back, “You have no proof!”

Deanna tried to pull Claire farther back, but the girl kept pushing forward. Cordelia’s blood boiled as the girl was insistent on her own innocence and Cordelia’s guilt.

“Look at her neck!” Cordelia called, “She’s got a Hellian brand, I can sense it!”

“Calm down, the both of you!” Deanna yelled.

“Deanna,” Cordelia started, “I had a deal with Sam, you think I would really hurt him? You think I’d betray him like that?”

Deanna shook her head, “I don’t know, Cordelia. All I know is I’m looking at a black-eyes who just threatened a young girl who’s been through hell.”

“Quite literally, because she WORKS THERE !” Cordelia yelled the latter half of her statement.

“That’s it,” Deanna grumbled, “We’re taking this up with Ketch.”

Cordelia stamped her foot firmly, “You do that and that is unfair, you know as well as I do, Deanna. Ketch doesn’t like demons.”

“No one likes demons,” Claire shot back.

“Funny, because you’re pretty buddy buddy with them,” Cordelia snapped, she blinked her eyes back to normal.

Deanna let Claire go as she stopped fighting against her restraint.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not one,” Claire said shortly before leaving the room. Deanna rushed to check on Johnson who was clutching her side from where she hit the table. Garth followed after Claire. And Cordelia? She slipped out the back door.

Chapter Text

Ralph felt relieved when he got the cuffs off. It meant he could spend time devising a more efficient plan to get out of the camp. Was that what he was doing at that moment? No. He was trying to sneak into the library. Zachariah was inside, behind his desk. Ralph was spying through a window at the back of the building. One of those thousands of books had to have an answer to what the hell an Elioud was. No doubt.

Unfortunately for Ralph, it seemed as though Zachariah never left the library. There had to be some way to draw him out. It didn’t even look like he was doing anything important. Just sitting there, staring off into space. Ralph already thought him to be an odd man, but this was something else.

“What are you doing?” Jack’s voice startled Ralph. He turned to look at Jack who smelled less than good. Jack was covered from head to toe in dirt. Ralph scrunched his nose at the sight, looking back at the window. Jack invaded his space, looking through the window as well.

“Oh,” Jack muttered, “He’s listening to angel radio, he does that for the most part. Why do you care?”

Ralph rolled his eyes, sliding off the small mound of dirt he’d been standing on. He walked away from Jack, wrapping around the building to look for a second entrance inside. The POW Camp was mostly empty due to the ambush. Ralph guessed they cleared out quickly and stayed gone for a while. They’d been gone for an hour or two at that point. But the absence of guards didn’t bother him, he just didn’t have to sneak around at that rate. Jack chased after Ralph as he examined the library walls.

“You want in the library, don’t you?” Jack whispered loudly, “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

Ralph looked over his shoulder. Of course he knew how dangerous it was. What kind of dumb question was that? Jack seemed to ask a lot of those, though. Dumb questions, that is. Ralph ran his hands along the walls, feeling the bricks beneath his fingers as he tried to find a possible entrance. Jack was a few paces behind him, staring at him.

“Oh, jeez, I’m going to get in trouble for this,” Jack whispered. The kid looked up at a streetlight, squinting his eyes. For a moment, Ralph thought he was going to have an aneurysm. The kid looked wholly enthralled by the lamp. But after a few moments, the light bulb shattered. And then one a few feet away. Then on and on around the camp.

Ralph looked over at Jack in confusion. Sure, it was a sick party trick, but what was the point? Jack pointed to the window with a look of satisfaction on his face. Ralph walked back over to the window, looking in the library. Zachariah, who had been behind his desk, was quick to his feet, speeding toward the doors. Jack’s little party trick must’ve interfered with his angel radio. Ralph looked back over at the Nephilim in thanks.

“You owe me one,” Jack said, beginning to walk towards the doors, “I can distract him for about thirty minutes.”

Ralph watched as Zachariah stormed out of the library. Ralph hugged the wall of the building, trying not to be noticed. Zachariah entered the main circle of the base, Jack walking up to him. Ralph hoped for the kid’s sake he didn’t get in too much trouble. As much as Jack was brainwashed, Ralph was convinced the kid couldn’t survive outside of the makeshift walls of the POW Camp.

Ralph had to ration his steps, too much movement towards the door would alert Zachariah to his presence. Jack didn’t just risk his safety for Ralph to get caught.

“Jack, was this you?” Zachariah motioned his hands at the broken streetlights. Ralph took a few light steps towards the large doors.

Jack smiled, “Yes.”

Zachariah hung his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Jack, why would you destroy our means of warding off the lurkers?”

Ralph took a few more steps towards the doors. He could probably make it from there with a  good run, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Ralph would risk it for himself, sure, but he’d never risk it for someone else.

“Confetti?” Jack replied, clearly unsure in his answer. Maybe the dickhead angel would buy it.

Ralph grabbed hold of the door handle, pulling it open slowly, stepping in. He shut the door as softly as possible behind him before turning to the shelves of books. There were far too many to go through in thirty minutes. But on Zachariah’s desk, piles of books as well. Ralph let himself stew in the overwhelming amount of books for a very short moment before he dove in.

Part of the way through scanning the tall, foreboding shelves, Ralph realized he had a poor concept of time. What was thirty minutes? He could barely figure fifteen from an hour. Then, it hit Ralph. What was he looking for? If Ralph was this Elioud , and no one knew anything about it. Where else would it be than on the desk of the person who ran this supposed refugee camp?

Ralph rushed to Zachariah’s desk, scrambling through the piles of books. Had it been ten minutes? Twenty? Ralph’s stomach churned in fear. Had he overstayed his time? Ralph bit his lip, sliding books aside frantically. He wished he could just throw them, but that would be too loud. That was assuming he hadn’t run out of time. He hadn’t, right? Jeez, he wished time could just freeze until he found what he was looking for.

Ralph’s eyes ran quickly over the books on Zachariah’s desk. One of these things was not like the others. The question: Which one was it?

Ralph sorted the books as quickly as he could. His hands shook from the concern of how much time had passed. But he tried to remain calm, reading the covers. It wasn’t until halfway through one of the stacks beside the large desk when Ralph knew he’d found what he needed. He set the two other books in his hands on the floor, picking up the aged book. He ran his hand over the cover, the title etched in golden text. 

Mythical Creatures and Unlikely Hybrids: Gadreel’s Handbook to Handling the Unlikely and Unknown .

Ralph stared curiously at the book for a few moments. Whoever this Gadreel was, he wrote what Ralph was looking for. Ralph cracked open the cover, forgetting about the time constraint, if only for a moment. The words? Sure, they were definitely there. Helpful? If you could read Enochian. To Ralph’s luck, there were a few words in English and there were pictures. It wasn’t perfect, but Ralph could definitely find a way to translate the text.

Ralph was pulled out of his zone at the sound of Zachariah’s yelling resuming. Ralph rushed to the doors, opening them gently. He peeked outside to where Zachariah still had his back turned to the library. He was berating Jack and Ralph took this as an opportunity to slink out of the library. The door shut softly behind him and Ralph hugged the wall, keeping the book between him and the bricks.

Once Ralph was safely out of sight of Zachariah, he cracked open the book, flipping the pages. He flipped for a while until he was about halfway through the pages. His eyes landed on the rough sketch of a being that resembled a demon, but had multiple sets of wings. Ralph ran his fingers gently over the very crude sketch, reading the text that was written above it in English:

ELIOUD .

Chapter Text

Orion regretted not killing Metatron when he had the chance. The interesting thing about Heaven was that there was more than one entrance. Now, Orion knew this, he was well aware of it. Kevin learned pretty quickly. And Metatron? Oh, Orion didn’t want to get started on Metatron.

That being said, the mismatched trio had been walking through the halls of Heaven to get to the exit closest to the Rocky Mountains. Seeing as they started a hell of a ways away, yeah, they’d been walking for a damn while. The only good part of all of this was the lack of angels in Heaven that Orion had to worry about catching him and Metatron. The bad part was Metatron.

The Scribe hadn’t just annoyed the prophet that was a few paces behind. Kevin could just tune him out, space out to think about other things. That’s what Orion assumed he did anyhow, the glassy eyed look he had. If Kevin still had his aura, Orion would’ve had an easier time telling. Orion, in contrast, had no means of tuning him out. His only option was tuning into Angel Radio. Which, low and behold, Angel Radio was just death counts at this rate.

“I’m honestly perplexed by you, Orion,” Metatron started up again, his voice felt like nails on a chalkboard to Orion. Did he not know how to shut the hell up? Orion thought it was simple: He just needed to shut his vessel's mouth and never open it again.

“You’re traveling with a useless prophet, no?” Metaron continued, “Why? Why do you: A. Travel with him and B. Care about what happens to this war? You’re not a soldier .”

Orion glared at the Scribe. If he glared hard enough, what were the chances that his head would explode? Probably not. Orion didn’t hold that kind of power. But Castiel, Metatron was getting on his nerves.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Kevin is not useless,” Orion began, “He’s the one that tweaked your soul catcher. As for the war, I do care. More than you might think… why do you care?”

“Why do you think?” Metatron shot back, “Stories. Orion, have you bothered to pick up a book? Worlds, universes, in their own divine nature. All created by humans. There’s hardly any humans left. What am I supposed to read when there’s no human left? When there’s nothing new to consume?”

Orion squinted at the angel. It felt like a petty reason. Orion looked away, focusing on the stark hallway ahead of them. Kevin jogged a few paces, poking his head between Orion and Metatron to look at the Scribe.

“You like stories?” Kevin said, “You wanna hear one?”

Metatron squinted at the human. Most likely judging him. Of course Metatron would be quick to judge Kevin. Most angels were. Kevin was an acquired taste. You didn’t grow to like him instantly. He was something that exposure helped. 

Orion blinked, realizing he was thinking about Kevin a little too much. He focused on matching the pace that Metatron was walking.

“Here’s a story,” Kevin started, “I was born into this God forsaken war, was magically gifted as a prophet. I lost my mom. I lost my dad. I lost any friends I possibly had. Why? I want you to guess.”

Metatron opened his mouth, but the raged prophet interrupted him.

“Because you junkless angels decided to kill my parents,” Kevin snapped, “Because they were supposedly in my way.”

Orion looked at Kevin momentarily before returning to look ahead. Orion had heard about the murder of the Trans. If he had remembered correctly, Io had been assigned to their murders. There was no way that Kevin knew that, though. Aside from Orion, Io was the only angel in the camp that would even acknowledge the human’s existence.

“So while you’re wanting to end this war because of your stupid stories,” Kevin continued, “I’m ending this war so my parents didn’t die in vain. I’m ending this war so no more kids have to lose their families.”

Orion looked at the human again. He wasn’t necessarily angry. He couldn’t be. No soul meant no emotions. But no soul also meant no filter. The regular Kevin that Orion knew wouldn’t have ever said something like that. In fact, Kevin with a soul would probably have just let Metatron ramble on about his stories. And while Orion found this version of Kevin, the version with balls, to be rather… captivating . Orion knew that the mild mannered prophet that mostly kept to himself and was gaudy and loud in his aura was more of Orion’s acquired taste.

One would think that after Kevin’s display, Metatron would shut his mouth, at least for the most part. But, Castiel, Metatron had such an ego, didn’t he? Orion let out a weighted sigh. He didn’t even care that as an angel he didn’t need to breathe. At this rate he was hoping anything would make Metatron take the hint.

“Oh, I see why you’re traveling with him,” Metatron jabbed Orion in his side. Orion wished he could shove the Scribe through the fucking wall.

Orion thanked Castiel for self control.

“The not-so-odd couple,” Metatron exclaimed, “An angel that can’t fly and a prophet that can’t translate the ancient texts. Match made in, well-”

Metatron motioned to the halls around them.

Orion felt his vessel’s cheeks burn at his words. It was a reaction he wasn’t used to. He didn’t understand it and, therefore, didn’t like it. Orion looked down, hoping the feeling would cease. Metatron seemed to pick up on how he was feeling because he smiled smugly, his wings flaring with satisfaction.

“Orion, you good?” Kevin looked at Orion, confused, “Your face is all red.”

This observation only made Orion’s vessel’s face feel hotter. Orion cleared his throat, looking away. He hated this vessel. If there were any possible vessels left, Orion might’ve switched this one out for another. Maybe that other one wouldn’t be defective. That’s what this was, Orion had convinced himself, a defective vessel.

“I’m fine,” Orion’s words came out forced. He ran a quick hand through his vessel’s hair, brushing it out of his face.

Metatron’s smug smile grew a bit wider. Orion wished he could wipe the smile off his vessel’s face. This wasn’t funny, his vessel was malfunctioning. It hadn’t done this before; it was actually quite concerning. 

“Right,” Kevin muttered. Kevin’s eyes lingered on Orion for far longer than he would’ve liked before the prophet slowed his steps, falling a few paces behind again.

Slowly, but surely, the heat left Orion’s vessel’s face and he was feeling much less… odd . He couldn’t find a word for it. He didn’t like the feeling, it was foreign to him. It made it hard for him to focus on anything but how weird he felt in his vessel. It was decided, after they ended this war, Orion would find himself a new vessel.

“Here,” Metatron took a right turn down a stark hallway. Orion followed quickly after him, Kevin having to jog a few paces to catch up.

At the end corridor was a plain door, like all the others. As the trio approached the door, Kevin was the first to try to open it. Metatron smacked the human’s hand down from the silver doorknob. Kevin looked up at Metatron, feigning offense, but Orion knew he wasn’t offended. No soul, of course. It was just a display for Metatron’s sake.

“You can’t just go walking through random doors,” Metatron grumbled, pushing Kevin away from the door. Kevin huffed, pushing his black hair out of his dark eyes. Orion scanned the prophet’s demeanor.

“You said it was this door, no?” Kevin replied. He folded his arms over his chest, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Just because I say it’s here, doesn’t mean it’s this door,” Metatron shot back, pausing before continuing, “But yes, it’s this door.”

Kevin scrunched his nose in frustration. Of course, the Scribe was just screwing with Kevin. Orion knew the angel’s methods. Generally, just to screw with people. For a little more personal pleasure from what Orion knew. But Kevin was unamused.

“So I can use the door?” Kevin replied shortly.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Metatron muttered, “Just be careful, don’t fall to your inevitable death.”

Kevin nodded, grabbing for the door. He opened it, closing it softly behind him. Orion let out a short breath, beginning to head for the door himself. Metatron grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the door. Orion stared blankly at the angel. His own feathers rustled out of discontentment.

“Orion, I can tell you have your uncanny attachment to the kid,” Metatron started.

“He’s hardly a kid,” Orion shot back.

“Either way,” Metatron shook his head, “The longer you keep that soul out of his body, the worse it’s going to be for him to put it back in.”

Orion furrowed his brow, staring at Metatron, “What do you mean?”

“The soul catcher? Yeah, it’s meant to remove a soul for the angel to consume its power,” Metatron explained, “The soul was never intended to be returned to sender.”

“What are you saying?” Orion asked. He could infer what the angel meant, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like what it meant. He thought that asking for a clarification might change the meaning. He knew it wouldn’t. But one could hope.

Orion slid his hand into the pocket of his vessel’s coat, pulling out the spherical soul catcher. He stared down at it. The life force it had been giving off previously had dulled. The bright white that was seeping out of the woodworking was just leaking out. Orion looked back up at Metatron.

“The longer you keep that soul out of his body, the less of a soul that’ll be left for him to take back,” Metatron continued, “I only tell you because you care about him.”

Orion shook his head, dismissing the notion entirely. Maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be true. Orion pocketed the sphere again, crossing his arms.

“It's fine,” Orion shook his head, “Kevin will have more than enough soul when I return it to him.”

“Why not return it to him on the mountain? We’ll no longer be in Heaven,” Metatron reasoned as Orion reached for the door.

“We might need to return,” Orion murmured, his head down, “I don’t need to defend my actions to a traitor.”

Orion opened the door swiftly, stepping through onto the sharply cold mountain.

Chapter Text

Myst winced as Charlie wrapped the ace bandage tightly around her ribcage. Cordelia’s little outburst had resulted in a broken rib or three on Myst’s end. Garth had insisted that she’d provoked Cordelia, but Myst figured the demon to be temperamental, most demons were. Charlie muttered an apology as Myst flinched from the pain.

“You get used to the compression,” Garth said as he reentered, handing Myst a piece of bread.

Myst grabbed the bread, taking a small bite. Charlie finished wrapping up Myst’s torso, taking a step back. Myst set her bread down beside her on the table she was sitting on top of. She put her shirt back on, picking up the bread and resuming eating it.

“You break ribs a lot?” Charlie asked Garth, gathering up her first aid supplies.

“No, he just wears ace bandages,” Myst replied out of habit. Sometimes she forgot that not everyone knew Garth was trans. Myst had grown so accustomed to people being aware, it slipped her mind that Charlie wouldn’t have that knowledge. Not that she particularly cared, at that moment she just wanted to eat and breathe as best as she could.

Charlie gave Garth a questioning look, but she didn’t press the matter. Respectful little hunter, Myst thought to herself. Not prying? She’d improved from the last time Myst had seen her. They needed more people in their troops like her. No nonsense. Too many people were too in touch with their feelings and everyone else’s feelings. Myst hated it. It was inefficient.

“I’m going to go tell Ketch you’re patched up,” Charlie nodded. And there went any respect Myst may have had for the hunter. What was it with her troops and dropping titles? Major, Captain, General, Colonel. They were assigned intentionally. They were ranks. They created a sense of order. Myst was proud of her role as a Captain. Yet all these other hunters were out here erasing the ranks they’d earned.

Charlie left the mission room and Myst sat forward, exhaling heavily. The bandages were wrapped tightly round Myst’s torso and she felt as though her lungs were slowly being compressed. Garth pulled up a chair beside the table Myst was sitting on top of. He rested his left elbow atop the table, holding his own bread in his right hand as he pulled pieces off of it with his left hand, eating it slowly. It was a tactic they often used when there wasn’t enough food for everyone to eat enough, so eating slower made them feel more full.

“Provoking Cordelia like that was risky,” Garth said, looking up at Myst, “You got her riled up and so when Claire entered she was already pissed.”

Myst rolled her eyes, looking away from the Corporal. Of course he would find some way to pin it on her. He always did. Garth just wanted to make her the bad guy and so be it. She crossed her arms indignantly.

“You’re going to blow your cover and while I don’t want to be in this situation in the first place,” Garth began, trying to grab Myst’s attention but Myst ignored his attempts, “You need to watch yourself, Crowley will knife you if you don’t knife Cordelia first.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Myst snapped. She slid off the table, clutching her side as she winced at the pain. Myst took another bite of her bread, ignoring Garth. She wasn’t in the mood to have this conversation. Well, if she was honest, chances were she would never be in the mood to have any conversation involving the Corporal.

“Myst, you’re walking a thin line here,” Garth warned, “This is already a risky situation, but this is the demon Sam’s been working with. And you think that Karen let alone Sam or Deanna are going to let you lay a finger on her?”

Myst approached one of the bookshelves along the wall, she ran her fingers along the dusty book spines. This clearly wasn’t a research outfit anymore. They must’ve been more combat heavy than research since she’d left. Myst’s outfit was a nice happy medium, sometimes it slipped Myst’s mind that not every outfit specialized in the same department.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Myst rolled her eyes, looking over at Garth who was very obviously unamused, “My bad, don’t get your boxers in a twist.”

Myst’s correction didn’t change Garth’s state of amusement. Myst wouldn’t expect him to find her jokes funny either way, but it would’ve been nice if he had given her a courtesy smile. Myst took another bite of her bread, walking back to stand in front of Garth. She’d pretend breathing wasn’t a difficult task at that moment.

“I have a plan, don’t worry about it,” Myst waved a hand to be dismissive of Garth’s trivial fears, “We get Colonel Ketch to send us out with her, we stage it like she turned on us–”

“Sam won’t buy it,” Garth interrupted. Myst hated when he cut her off. He had little care for what she had to say.

“She’s a demon,” Myst shot back quickly, “Anyone who thinks she wouldn’t stab us in the back in a heartbeat is delusional. Look what she did to Corio and Crowley.”

Garth stood up quickly, “Myst, they were corrupt, that’s an entirely different story!”

Myst turned away from Garth, heading to the mission board that was on the wall. It was a simple corkboard, like the one they had back at their base, but it had much fewer missions tacked to it. Myst’s eyes tracked the missions, nothing special, mostly vamp nests or ghoul dugouts. Nothing too strenuous.

“Myst,” Garth continued, “This is reckless. You’re going to get us in trouble with Karen. And then, as if it’s not enough, you’ll get us killed by Crowley. You signed our souls away because you wanted the easy way out.”

“Jeez, I miss when you were ignoring me, do you ever shut up?” Myst snapped, turning to face the Corporal quickly, “The easy way out? Corporal, when did you become so daring? I made a deal so you and I wouldn’t rot in a fucking cell in Hell. If you have a problem with it, you can get Claire to walk you back to Hell so you can be fucking enslaved by the Kings of Hell, okay?”

What Myst had expected from this was for Garth to shut his mouth, hang his head, and cede to her orders. She was his superior, she had final say on what they did. Garth’s opinions? Insignificant. His wishes? Fuck them. She was in charge in this situation.

But that’s not what Garth did. Garth didn’t shut his mouth. He didn’t hang his head. He didn’t follow her orders. In fact, he took a bold step forward. His face hardened in frustration. Myst was caught off guard as he opened his mouth in protest.

“I’m not daring ,” Garth hissed, “Just because I have morals and you don’t doesn’t mean you’re right and I’m wrong. We would've broken out of Hell. We would’ve found a way somehow. Ever since we lost Autumn to those ghouls, you haven’t been able to think about anyone other than yourself. And your ‘self preservation’ was fine for the first fucking year of this seven year bullshit.”

“Don’t you fucking bring her into this,” Myst retaliated, “Autumn has nothing to do with this. It’s not self preservation, it’s the smart choice. You’re clouded by all your stupid empathy. You can’t handle hurting someone to protect a lot of people.”

“You and I, Myst?” Garth raised his voice, “ We are hardly ‘a lot of people’. We’re not even a handful of people. You care about no one but yourself because you can't comprehend your own emotions. So you bury yourself in this war and you tell yourself you’re protecting others but you’re not, Myst.”

Myst clenched her fists in rage, her jaw in pure frustration. She couldn’t hurt him. Not that she didn’t want to. She wanted to knock him down a peg or eight. But then he’d definitely expose her to Deanna and Sam. General Singer? She’d be dead meat in that war alone. She needed a troop. She couldn’t survive without the other Hunters. She’d be lost in that war and she’d die alone.

“You’re either going to do this my way or I’ll tell Claire to take you to Crowley and he can decide what he wants to do with you,” Myst growled through her teeth, pointing sternly at the Corporal.

She didn’t bother to linger to continue the conversation. She stormed out of the mission room, heading towards the stairs to go downstairs. She didn’t get far before Garth yelled after her.

“You’re not intimidating, Myst,” Garth’s voice strained to be heard from a distance, “You’re a broken person and until you help yourself, no one’s going to help you.”

Myst’s body shook from anger. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. As she jogged down the stairs, ignoring the pain in her ribs, she put a hole through the drywall. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she didn’t care. She needed to get the hell out of the house. She felt like she was suffocating.

Chapter Text

Cordelia walked the Devil’s Trap she was stuck in. She had luckily caught herself in a large one so she had more leg room. For an hour or so, she had been sitting on the ground, but her legs had fallen asleep. Cordelia didn’t even know that it was possible for her to have her legs fall asleep at that point. She was a demon, but maybe it was just her vessel. 

The sun was beginning to come up and the sky was beginning to lighten. It’d been a while since Cordleia had actually bothered to watch a sunrise. She was usually either in Hell or too busy to care about it. But that wasn’t to say she disliked sunrises. She actually had quite the affinity for them. She just rarely took the time to watch them anymore.

“Ooohh, looks like we’ve caught ourselves in a wee trap, have we?” Cordelia turned, looking over her shoulder at Rowena who was treading the rough terrain. Sam was a few paces behind her, his arms crossed.

“Why don’t you hike up your skirt, Rowena?” Cordelia cooed, winking at the witch. Rowena rolled her eyes, approaching the Devil’s Trap. She crossed her arms in taunting, mocking Cordelia being trapped.

“At least take me to dinner first,” Rowena replied simply.

Sam joined her side, smiling stiffly and waving awkwardly at Cordelia. Cordelia replied with a stiff smile before crossing her arms and matching the stance of Rowena in front of her.

“You come here just to mock me? Or are you going to help me out of this?” Cordelia snided.

Rowena smiled. Of course she would, she knew damn well how much power she had in that moment. Rowena was a whore for power. And just about anyone who would put out for her. Cordelia’s dark eyes fell on Sam who had his hands shoved awkwardly in his jeans. Gawky mother fucker. But he was sweet, Cordelia liked the kid, he had spunk.

“Oh, I would, but-” Rowena extended her arms in mocking.

“Knock it off, Rowena,” Cordelia snapped, “All you have to do is kick the dirt. You don’t want to get mud on your heels?”

“She literally can’t,” Sam muttered, approaching the Devil's Trap as he disturbed the lining, “Ketch forbade her.”

Cordelia stepped out of the trap, giving Sam a nod of thanks, “You really pissed the Brit off, eh?”

“Me? Pissed him off?” Rowena scoffed, “ You pissed him off.”

Cordelia scrunched her nose in confusion. She looked between Sam and Rowena. She’d pissed off the tempermental Brit? Cordelia had. Was it? Oh…

It clicked.

Ketch was mad about what had happened with Claire. Ridiculous. Claire had started it all. Claire had the audacity to try and pose as an innocent victim of the war. All these hunters couldn’t even begin to fathom the amount of people she’d killed. Not just angels. Humans. Civvies. People who didn’t deserve to die. Even Cordelia, being a demon, knew there was a line. Hellians didn’t care, and Claire wasn’t some magical exception.

Cordelia looked up at Sam, shaking her head, “Sam, believe you me, Claire isn't some innocent girl. I knew her when I was working for Corio and Crowley.”

Sam motioned for Cordelia and Rowena to begin walking towards the house. Sam steered Cordelia away from the Devil’s Traps, ensuring she didn’t get caught in any more. Rowena stayed a few paces behind Cordelia and Sam, her arms crossed from discontentment.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Sam replied, scratching his head, “But my word is no better than Scum to Ketch.”

“I know,” Cordelia shrugged, folding her arms over her chest as the wind picked up, “But I can’t go back to Hell, okay? If they send me back, I’d be grateful to be killed.”

Sam nodded. He understood. Of course he understood, he knew what it was like to prefer death over other punishments. If Cordelia was right, he’d been killed at least three times by the time she’d met him. Double death didn’t sound so bad compared to being left to Crowley. No, she wouldn’t even get the luxury of Crowley torturing her. She’d have to be torture by Asmodeus, no doubt.

Cordelia shuddered at the thought.

When they got inside, Rowena branched off, heading back towards her half finished spell. Instead of allowing her to break off, Sam grabbed Cordelia by her wrist, roughly, pulling her up the stairs. Cordelia tried to tug her arm away, and she could’ve if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to hurt Sam.

“Didn’t take you for the kinky type,” Cordelia laughed a forced laugh.

Sam shook his head, continuing to pull her up the stairs. He pulled her into a door by the top of the staircase. Upon walking in, Cordelia quickly realized Sam had pulled her into Ketch’s office. Ketch was sitting smugly behind his large desk, his hands folded and his elbows resting on his desktop. Claire sat across from him in a faded floral patterned chair, her arms crossed as she bounced her leg. Cordelia let out a long and tarried sigh. Sam was on her side, but he was still a hunter that followed orders.

“Take a seat, Cordelia,” Ketch beckoned for Cordelia to take the seat beside Claire.

Cordelia huffed, flopping in the chair. She felt partially betrayed. Sam was supposed to be on her side and here he was delivering her to the Brit himself. She couldn’t blame him, she would’ve had to talk to Ketch anyways. Cordelia rolled her eyes, sinking down in her chair as the door behind her opened and closed.

“Sorry I’m late,” Deanna’s voice sounded behind her.

“There’s blood on your shirt,” Sam whispered a little loudly.

“Yeah, Myst got upset,” Deanna shot back through hissed teeth.

Ketch cleared his throat, trying to pull the attention back to him. Attention Whore. That's what Cordelia thought to herself. She didn’t believe it, not entirely. She was just pissed at this whole situation. The blatant bigotry simply because she was a demon. She hadn’t fought a war to end slavery for this country to treat her like scum.

“What do you want from me?” Cordelia shook her head, just wanting the meeting to be over.

“With that attitude I might as well have Major Winchester knife you here and now,” Ketch raised a brow. Luci, he was on a power trip. Cordelia guessed you could afford to be when you were in charge of a bunch of Castiel-fearing humans.

“As if I hadn’t already thought about doing that,” Deanna scoffed.

Cordelia looked up at the Winchester that was standing in a way that screamed ‘daddy issues’. Cordelia wasn’t entirely sure how one could stand like that, but Deanna seemed to be a master of the trade.

Ketch cleared his throat, drawing Cordelia’s attention back to him.

“Claire here says that you attacked her, Captain Johnson, and Corporal Fitzgerald,” Ketch explained, “And we’re inclined to believe her.”

“Because she’s a human and you’re a British bigot,” Cordelia rolled her eyes, “You blame me because it’s easier to put the blame on someone who doesn’t have a soul than to accept the fact that one of your own could possibly be corrupted.”

Sam chuckled awkwardly and Cordelia looked up at him, “Not siding with Ketch here, but that would mean that not only Claire is working with Crowley and or Corio, but Myst and Garth are as well.”

“Then ginger is named Myst?” Cordelia squinted, “Huh, wouldn’t have expected that from her.”

“Anyways,” Ketch tried to put the conversation back on track, “Cordelia, until we can get this story straight, we’re going to have to put you in a Devil’s Trap. That’s just how it has to be.”

“Bullshit!” Cordelia yelled, “And what? Claire gets to walk around scott free?”

“You’re a security risk,” Deanna snapped.

“And you’re a straight girl,” Cordelia shot back, “Since we’re playing a game of telling lies now.”

Deanna squinted at Cordelia, as if trying to proccess her words. The Winchesters had the tendency to have slower mental processing than others. Though sometimes, Cordelia thought it was hunters as a collective that were the morons.

“Claire is not a threat to our safety,” Ketch replied shortly.

Cordelia stood up quickly, looking over her shoulder at Sam for support. He was supposed to be backing her up on this and he had hardly said a word. She could see the gears turning in his head. He was trying to decide what to do. She needed his help.

“Cordelia’s right, if you’re going to chain her up, you have to do the same for Claire,” Sam defended Cordelia. Cordelia looked back at Ketch, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

“I’m not an animal,” Claire protested, “I don’t need to be chained up or restrained.”

“And I do?” Cordelia shot back.

“Yes,” Deanna snapped, “What kind of question is that? Of course you need to be chained up, you’re a. De. Mon.”

Cordelia stared furiously at Deanna, “Don’t you think that if I was gonna hurt you I’d have already done so? Since I’m such a monster apparently.”

“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” Ketch shook his head, pulling a demon blade out of his pocket.

Cordelia searched Sam's face for support. But the younger Winchester took a step back, hanging his head.

Chapter Text

When Ralph snuck back into the bunk hall, he had the book stashed under his Gas n Sip vest. Ralph had found it strange that the demons had taken the time to kidnap him but not give him a change of clothes. He had to remind himself this was a POW camp. Well… it was supposed to be a POW camp anyways, but he wasn’t so sure that it was anymore.

Jack was sitting on their bunk at the far wall. His head was hung and Ralph looked around the bunk house to make sure no one was there. Ralph pulled the book out from beneath his vest, jogging towards Jack. He took a seat on the bunk parallel to the one Jack was sitting on, holding the book out for Jack to take a look at.

The bunkhouse felt more empty than the rest of the camp. There was another person in the hall, sleeping on their bunk, but Ralph wasn’t even sure if they were still alive as they hadn’t moved Ralph’s entire time being at the camp. The ambush cleared out a great deal of the people that were part of the camp.

Ralph nudged Jack with his foot, trying to get the Nephilim to look up at him, but the kid wouldn’t move. Ralph furrowed his brow in frustration. Jack wouldn’t even talk. He was alive, Ralph could tell by the rise and fall of his back. The kid was breathing, so he was fine. He was just ignoring Ralph. Perhaps Zachariah had punished him harder than Jack had originally assumed he would.

Ralph set the book on the seat beside him. Ralph was never good with words, or helping people. But he was ready to do one of those if necessary.

Lucky for Ralph, Jack looked up. His eyes looked tired, lacking the regular energy he had. Around his neck, a metal collar that had Enochian symbols carved into them. Ralph tilted his head. Zachariah was pissed, wasn’t he? A collar? What the fuck did he think Jack was? A dog?

“You found what you needed?” Jack asked, looking at the book. Ralph looked at it as well, nodding before handing the book to him hesitantly. Jack cracked the book open before looking up at Ralph.

“It’s in Enochian,” Jack said, looking between Ralph and the book before he snapped it shut, handing it back, “I can’t read it.”

Ralph looked at the book, then at Jack. He couldn’t read it? That didn’t seem right. How the Hell was he supposed to find out what an Elioud was? He needed Jack to be able to read it. He needed someone to translate the text for him. There was no one who would. Everyone else would question why he had the book; how he’d gotten his hands on it. Ralph wasn’t prepared for that quite yet.

“Okay, file in,” Meg’s voice called from the door, “You did good today, you’ll be fed in three hours.”

Ralph looked up, the rest of the camp shuffling in, looking drained. Ralph quickly slid the book under the bunk he was sitting on. The herd of tired Nephilim and Cambion herded themselves into the hall. Ralph stood up off the bunk he was sitting on, stepping away as one of the girls flopped down on it. Ralph stepped beside Jack who hung his head again.

Meg approached them, scratches and bruises covering her face and arms. She folded her arms, scanning both the boys. She cocked her hip, raising an eyebrow. Jack looked up and Meg must've caught sight of the collar around his neck. That or she’d already checked in with Zachariah.

“You got yourself into a bit of trouble while we were gone,” Meg tilted her head, her hair shifting to the side as it fell over her shoulder, “What are we going to do with you?”

“I dunno,” Jack muttered softly, “Probably gonna kick me out.”

Ralph’s stare at Meg hardened. He didn’t like her. This made him like her even less. Ralph shifted his weight between his feet, glaring at the demon.

“You’re too important for that,” Meg softened her stance, rolling her eyes, “Zachariah put the collar on you?”

“Yeah,” Jack muttered, “Stop me from using my powers until I’m fully recharged.”

Ralph was listening to the conversation, that’s what he told himself, but his eyes drifted off– and his mind as well– when a handful of guards entered, the girl from earlier was being led in. She was barely conscious from what Ralph could see, which was about how he’d seen her before. But that one guard who had taken his cuffs off was with her, staying by her side after the others had left. Eileen, was it?

Ralph looked at Meg, she was still chastising Jack. She wasn’t at all interested in Ralph. So he slipped away, walking to the other corner of the hall. He approached Eileen slowly, waving once he’d caught her attention. The girl was fully unconscious, though still breathing. Eileen waved back, smiling.

“Hi, Ralph,” she said, before taking the girl’s pulse and writing in her own notepad.

Ralph looked at the girl on the bed, then up at Eileen. Eileen was doing her own thing for a bit before she looked at Ralph with confusion. Ralph looked back at the girl then met Eileen’s eyes again.

“Jane?” Eileen asked, “She’s going to be alright, she spent most of her power and energy on taking out the Angelics.”

Eileen pulled up two stools. She took a seat on one then offered the other to Ralph. Ralph took the metal stool, sitting next to Eileen. Eileen was one of the few in the camp that Ralph didn’t absolutely hate or feel was out to get him. She was gentle and never questioned why he didn’t speak. She was a nice change of pace from the other guards and soldiers.

Eileen seemed to take great care with Jane. She was gentle and made sure the girl was comfortable. She was taking notes as she watched the young girl. Ralph looked at Eileen, she was nice. He didn’t think that nice people really existed anymore.

“The ambush went well,” Eileen looked at him, “In case you were curious. We took them all out.”

Ralph nodded. He didn’t care. He wasn’t curious. Well, he was curious as to why Jane–that was the girl, right? –was out cold. He wouldn’t ask, though. Ralph studied the girl, letting out a long sigh before he scanned the rest of the room. All the people who had gone out were wiped out, sleeping. They never slept. Yet there they were, crashed out on their bunks. Eileen had said the ambush had drained Jane’s power.

Why did they need all the hybrids for an ambush?

Why were all the hybrids so tired?

Ralph looked back at Eileen, his brow furrowed. Something was off about all of this. This just made Ralph feel more uneasy. This didn’t feel like a POW camp anymore… 

These kids… They weren’t prisoners. Him, Jack, Jane. The copious amounts of Nephilim and Cambion. They weren’t prisoners in the war. Zachariah wasn't building up a trade of prisoners. He was building up an army.

They weren’t prisoners of war.

They were weapons.

Chapter Text

When Metatron had said the mountain was cold, he wasn’t underselling it. Orion could feel the icicles forming on his wings. Metatron was a great few paces in front of him and Kevin, leading them to the supposed cabin. Kevin was beside Orion, actively freezing. No soul meant he didn’t react to how cold he was, but the guy was ready to keel over from hypothermia. Orion peeled his vessel’s coat off, handing it to Kevin.

“Here,” Orion offered, waiting for the prophet to take the coat that was most definitely too large for him.

Kevin looked at the offered jacket as if it were a dead rat in Orion’s hand. Of course a soulless Kevin would be so ungrateful. Orion found it unassuming, he wasn’t about to let the prophet freeze to death on the Rocky Mountains.

“Take the coat,” Orion muttered.

Kevin took the coat reluctantly, putting it on. The jacket swam around the lanky prophet who awkwardly buttoned it up, shoving his hands in his pockets. Kevin scanned Orion a bit before looking ahead again.

“You have very defined muscles,” Kevin muttered.

Orion’s vessel’s face burned furiously. His vessel was doing the thing again. He hated it when his vessel malfunctioned. But this time it wasn’t just his vessel. When meeting Kevin’s eyes, Orion’s main pair of wings flared out widely. Orion’s eyes widened in confusion and embarrassment. There was something truly wrong with not just his vessel, but him too. Maybe this was all Metatron’s fault.

Metatron looked over his shoulder, shaking his head at the sight of Orion’s wings flared out. Orion felt his vessel’s face burn even more. Why was this happening to him of all angels?

“Those wings aren't going to fold in on their own,” Metatron called, not looking over his shoulder again.

Orion’s face hardened as he folded his wings back in gently, a bit of strength required. He hoped they were almost to the cabin. Orion was unsure how much more of this he could take. The quicker they found Gabriel– Loki? –the quicker they could get rid of Metatron. That’d be the highlight of his century.

Metatron led the group down a path that twisted and turned. It wasn’t a visual path, it couldn’t be seen. It was a path that Metatron had most certainly taken more than once. He knew which places to step to not horribly disturb the rocks or snow. He had it down to a learned science. This wasn’t his first time visiting the archangel.

Metatron turned left, pulling to a stop at a small cabin. Orion stood behind the scribe, scanning the cabin. There were windows, but they were all boarded up haphazardly. When Orion looked a little harder at the log that made up the walls, he could see sigils painted– no, burned into them. But they weren’t warding sigils to keep people out, or angels or demons, from what Orion could see of the various symbols, they were meant to keep something in.

“Don’t worry, they’re not meant for us.” Metatron looked at Orion, answering the question on the tip of his tongue.

“Archangel and God sigils,” Metatron explained, “Meant to keep Gabriel and Loki in. Can’t hurt anyone if you can’t bust out.”

Metatron approached the cabin door, reaching to take the knob. Kevin jogged forward, grabbing Metatron’s wrist, pulling the angel away from the door. Abrasive. Maybe this version of Kevin wasn’t completely terrible.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Kevin said shortly.

Metatron scoffed, “So what if I have? Gabriel and I are buds.”

“So then Gabriel is still Gabriel,” Orion took a step forward, the snow crunching under his vessel's boots.

Metatron held his breath, “You’ll see, if you’d just let me go in?”

Orion’s eyes met Kevin’s. Orion gave him a nod to let the angel go. Kevin hesitated before letting Metatron’s wrist go. Meatron fixed his sweater, feigning pain. He turned back to Orion and Kevin before opening the door slowly. The cabin was dark and there was silence as the group walked in. Orion looked around, half the cabin was covered in a layer of dust and his feathers rustled in apprehension. He used one of his right wings to gently guide Kevin closer to him. For protection.

The sounds of glass bottles clinking, then one falling and rolling across the hardwood floor. Orion thought of how Kevin’s aura might have shifted if he still had his soul. If he could still feel fear. Metatron seemed comfortable, though. His wings stayed stiff, not trembling in the slightest. He’d been here more than a few times. The compulsive liar.

Footsteps fell heavily on the floor. Orion could hear the flaring of wings, so another angel was there. He hoped, at least. The footsteps grew louder and Orion squinted as a figure stepped forward. Orion could make out the shape of their wings, the two visible sets.

“Metatron?” A voice asked gruffly.

“Gabriel?” Metatron echoed.

There was a moment of silence. Then two. Then three. Then the lights of the cabin turned on and Orion caught Kevin blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden light. Orion looked at the man in front of them. Gabriel. He looked like the portraits he’d seen lining the walls of the throne room. Not that Orion was often in the throne room. A time or two, never to speak with Castiel.

Gabriel was hesitant before he looked at the rest of the group, “You brought others this time.”

“Orion and Kevin,” Metatron motioned to them respectively.

“I know who they are,” Gabriel replied, stepping forward, giving a nod of acknowledgement towards the angel. Orion squinted, tilting his head curiously. Nothing seemed off about the Archangel. Maybe it was all just a story. A fairytale to stop the angels from trying to seek him out.

“How long have you got?” Metatron asked, taking a seat on one of the leather chairs by the fireplace in the center of the far wall. Orion meandered in slowly once he’d watched Gabriel take a seat across from Metatron. Kevin followed cautiously after Orion. Orion opted to stand, but Kevin flopped down in the seat beside Metatron.

“Not sure, I knocked him out pretty good with the last fight,” Gabriel muttered, leaning back on the couch he was seated upon. He let his wings fan out their full span. They were a gorgeous mahogany, Orion was almost jealous of them. Almost, he still had an affinity for his own wings.

“But what did you need?” Gabriel asked. He seemed so nonchalant for someone who had himself locked away in the cabin. Well, his only visitor was Metatron. One of them had to be relaxed. And Metatron tended to have a stick up his ass. The hunters had taught Orion that one too. Generally from people referring to him with it, but still.

Metatron motioned for Kevin to hand the book to Gabriel. Kevin pulled the old journal out of one of the inner pockets of Orion’s coat, extending it to Gabriel. Gabriel leaned forward, tucking his wings in partially as he took the tattered journal. Gabriel looked at the cover before flipping open the book. He flipped through a couple of pages, scanning the words as he did.

“Broken Enochian,” Gabriel flipped through the book quickly, “This is Dad’s handwriting.”

“Wait, Castiel’s writing?” Metatron raised a brow in questioning. He shot a quick look at Kevin, “You told me it was Gabriel’s writing.”

“So I lied to get us here,” Kevin shrugged, “Sue me.”

Orion smiled softly, looking down. The prophet had lied. Orion had sensed it in the library, but he didn’t think he’d actually done it.

“Does it matter?” Gabriel interrupted, “I just need to know what you want me to do with it.”

“Translate it,” Orion spoke up, “There’s a way to end the war in there, somewhere.”

Gabriel folded his wings flat against his back, leaning forward, “Where’d you hear that from? All of this is Dad bragging about his plunders.”

Metatron looked over at Kevin who rubbed his neck awkwardly. An angel on his deathbed wasn’t exactly a reliable source. Orion shifted his wings nervously, looking down at the prophet. Hopefully soulless Kevin would be better at lying than Kevin with a soul. Oh, Castiel, Kevin was a terrible liar.

“A source,” Kevin cleared his throat, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, well,” Gabriel raised his brows, shrugging, “There is a section in here that talks about a charm that Pandora could do to end superficial discourse.”

“But this is no longer superficial,” Metatron replied quickly, “I mean, this is eighty levels of all hell breaking loose. Superficial is an understatement.”

Gabriel shrugged, scanning the pages again. He flipped a few more pages, his right index finger lining the text. He tapped his foot as read. He looked up, opening his mouth to say something before his head snapped back down. The book slid out of his hands as his aura faded from Orion’s view. Orion shot Metatron a quick look.

Metatron was already to his feet trying to herd the group out.

“What the hell?” Kevin hissed as Metatron grabbed the prophet roughly by his upper arm, pulling him towards the door.

“Trust me, you don’t want to be here when he comes around,” Metatron said hurriedly, “Gabriel is fun and games but-”

Gabriel snapped his head up, standing. His posture was poised, his eyes scanning Metatron. Orion was frozen by the chairs still, watching as Metatron was trying to get away. Something about Gabriel was different. He felt more… sophisticated. Less… nonchalant.

“Metatron.” Gabriel took a step forward, his hands folded behind his back. Metatron stopped, letting go of Kevin who quickly side stepped away from the scribe. Metatron turned around slowly, holding his breath.

“The least you could do is say goodbye before you leave me,” Gabriel smirked.

“Loki,” Metatron hissed, taking a step back.

“I rarely get company anymore,” he replied, “Why don’t you and your friends stay for a bit?”

Chapter Text

Deanna was sitting beside Myst on a chair, her hand resting gently on Myst’s thigh. Myst said nothing, she never did. She was bent over the table, ignoring the pain in her bandaged left hand as she tried to make sense of the Latin writing Rowena had left behind. Myst had enough knowledge of Latin to read about every fourth word, but she couldn’t figure out what the writing was all about. She only looked up a bit as Sam walked in with Garth, waving awkwardly. Garth flopped down in a chair, crossing his arms and looking at the floor. No, glaring at the floor.

Sam furrowed his brows, looking at the books on the table, then at Myst. He walked around the table and as he did, Deanna slid her hand off Myst’s thigh, placing it in her own lap. Sam leaned over, trying to read Latin himself.

“What’s this?” Sam asked softly. Myst looked up then back at the paper.

“Something the witch left behind,” Myst replied shortly. Sam looked at Myst before grabbing the notepad, turning it over to be face down. Deanna looked up at her brother, frustrated.

“What the hell, Sam?” Deanna shot at him. Sam took a step back. Myst wasn’t as heart broken as Deanna obviously was, she was more preoccupied than trying to kill Cordelia.

“Deanna,” Sam started, pinching the bridge of his nose, “This isn't our problem. Our problem is getting Cordelia out of trouble.”

Deanna rolled her eyes, looking away. Myst shifted a bit uncomfortably in her seat, clearing her throat. Sam was unfortunately one of the few hunters in this outfit that believed that Cordelia was innocent. Which, by technicality, Myst supposed she was.

“You know she’s innocent, Deanna,” Sam snapped, “Why are you out here saying she isn't?”

“Uh, because she’s a demon?” Deanna shot back, looking back at Sam with a rigid look, “Demons killed Dad, Sam. They killed Mom.”

Sam looked away. Myst hung her head, feeling as though she was interrupting. She didn’t usually care, but this felt rather personal compared to the other fights she’d sat in on. Myst had a thing about confidentiality, she wasn’t planning on breaking her own moral code. Which, contrary to common belief, she had.

“Sam, I don’t understand why you trust her so much,” Deanna raised her voice slightly but when Myst tried to stand up to leave, Deanna grabbed her forearm, forcing her to stay put. Lovely .

“Maybe because she actually understands me,” Sam quipped, “You don’t even try, Deanna. You just sit there and drown yourself in work until you pass out from exhaustion. Then you wake up and repeat the same shit.”

Deanna removed her hand from Myst’s forearm as she stood up. She took this as an opportunity to slip away from the arguing siblings. Myst stepped into the kitchen quickly, pressing her back against the wall. She listened as the sibling argued for a bit. It’s not that she wasn’t used to it, she’d heard Deanna and Sam fight more than she’d probably been on hunts. But in the preceding weeks it had felt like it had become more frequent. They’d fight about just about anything and they didn’t need a reason to at this rate. Siblings were one thing, Myst understood siblings, she could relate. This? This was wildly unprofessional and rather childish.

After a few moments, Myst took a breath, scanning the kitchen. Most of the counters were covered in various food scraps. Most of which were rotting, beginning to rot, or growing mold. Ketch had never run a very clean unit, even when Myst had been there, but this was something else. 

Not that it smelled particularly rank, no, Myst was sure the Colonel had requested Rowena cast a quick charm, but Myst thought that could’ve been better allotted to other things. Either way, it’s not like it was her outfit. But when she inevitably got one, she’d be running it in a way that was much more efficient than this garbage.

Myst walked past the mounds of decomposition, finding the back door. She couldn’t exactly leave the property, but she could take a breather. So she approached the door, looking over her shoulder as Deanna yelled about more familial issues. So unprofessional.

Myst stepped outside onto the back porch. Ellen looked over her shoulder, giving a half wave to Myst before turning back to face the backyard where Screechers were lurking. Screechers didn’t offer that much of a threat, especially not with the way Ketch had the yard set up. The pockets of holy water and salt, the Screechers didn’t stand a chance reaching the house. Though Myst did find it entertaining, the way the Screechers would melt when stepping in a pile of salt. It was quite the sight. Myst liked watching their suffering.

She stepped beside Ellen, leaning over the porch railing the way her older counterpart was. Ellen didn’t say much as she watched another Screecher step forward into a mound of salt, melting into a bubbling white goo. Myst brushed her overgrown bangs out of her face, letting out a slow sigh. It was partially humid, not much could be said for Nevada that time of year. But the air felt a lot less stale than that of the air inside the house. 

“The numbnuts fighting again?” Ellen asked, looking at Myst. Myst knew Ellen from her brief time in the Eighth Battalion. It was very short-lived before she was transferred to Ketch, but Myst had worked a case or two with her and Jo. Myst was rather unbothered when she’d heard about Jo being killed in the bombings. She had actually been quite relieved. She never mentioned it to anyone, of course.

“Always,” Myst shrugged, looking at the Major, “What do you expect from them?”

Ellen forced a chuckle, looking back at the yard, “I expected them to grow up a little bit from the last time I’d seen them.”

Myst nodded, “You’d think, and yet.”

Ellen cracked a half smile, looking down. She hadn’t been the same since Jo died, Myst could tell. Jo was the only thing Ellen had left and then she was gone. Myst rubbed her hands together awkwardly. Usually she liked silence, but not this kind. This kind of silence was uncomfortable. Because even though there were no words being said, a thousand words were being spoken.

“So, did that black eyed bitch actually attack you and Mr. Fizzles in there?” Ellen questioned, nodding towards the door. Myst bit her lip.

“Affirmative,” Myst nodded, “Major, I’m convinced that this demon needs to be put down. I mean, is she really contributing that much to hunters as a collective?”

Ellen stood up straight, stretching a bit, “I dunno, Sam seems to stand by her. As much as I hate the black eyed bastards, they’re better than the winged folk, you know?”

Myst nodded. Of course Ellen thought that. Angelics had killed her daughter, Myst could almost sympathize. Almost.

Ellen leaned against the railing again, her back facing the yard. She crossed her arms, staring a bit blankly at the house before looking over at the Captain again.

“I heard about your sister,” Ellen said softly, “She was so young.”

Myst’s throat stung at the thought. She mimicked the Major’s position as she leaned against the railing herself. She didn’t really discuss it. She didn’t really like discussing it. It wasn’t a subject she often broached, nor did anyone in the Eighth Battalion.

“This war’s taken so much from so many people,” Ellen shook her head, looking away then quickly looking back at Myst, “Hopefully it’ll end soon. I’m tired of gunning down people. What used to be people, at least. No one’s really a person anymore, you understand?”

The Captain raised her brows in silent agreement, nodding softly. No one was anyone. People were vampires or werewolves or shifters. The very unlucky three or four were turned into Screechers instead of given the sweet relief of death. Not to mention the possessions. The demons were getting more intelligent, finding that hunters were less likely to kill them if they were possessing some poor kid. Not that there were that many kids anymore.

The truth was, Myst saw no end to the war. Not that she would’ve known how to handle an end to the war. She was a soldier now. She only knew how to follow orders at this point. She wasn’t sure how she’d cope with the end of the war if it ever came. Not that it would. And not that it would matter if she didn’t put an end to Cordelia.

“Major,” Myst started, “This is going to sound very out of pocket.”

Ellen raised a brow, looking over at Myst slowly. Myst knew this was a great risk to take, but she had to. Garth wasn’t on her side, so she needed to get someone else. Someone who had clout there. Someone who was important and had pull with the Colonel.

“Help me kill Cordelia.”

Chapter Text

Cordelia had fought as best as she could to not get chained up. Ketch had served her with a double whammy. First he chained her with special cuffs to cut off her power supply. Lovely, not her first time being chained up. Then he threw her into a room at the end of the hall coated in demon warding sigils as well as way too many Devil’s Traps. Even more lovely.

From what Cordelia could see in the dim lighting, this room got its fair amount of use. There were blood markings on the wall trying to counteract the various sigils. None of them had worked, obviously. As well as a bed or two that had most definitely been made up from people sleeping in there. She didn’t want to know how long those people were in the room for.

She had her back pressed against the cold wall. She was caught in a trap beside the door. She’d been in there for a while, maybe a day. She couldn’t tell. She just wanted out. Sam hadn’t bothered to show his face, she hoped it was because he was defending her honor, but she knew the likelihood of that.

The doorknob twisted, someone was trying to get in. But from the struggle with the locked nature of the knob, it wasn’t someone that was supposed to be in there. There was a bit more of a struggle against the locked door before silence fell. Cordelia opened her eyes, turning her head to the right as she looked at the door.

The door unlocked and then slowly creaked open. Cordelia sat up, leaning forward in disbelief. Rowena entered, motioning another person in. She expected it to be Sam. But instead, it was Garth. Wasn’t he supposed to be against her? No, the math wasn’t adding up. This must’ve been a setup. Cordelia slid away from the door slightly as Garth clicked the door shut behind him.

“Bringing the reason I’m in here, love you too, Rowena,” Cordelia sniped, looking crookedly at Rowena.

Garth rubbed his neck, crouching at the edge of the Devil’s Trap, Rowena crouching beside him. He pulled out a pocket knife, beginning to scratch at the Devil’s Trap.

“He’s here to help, darling,” Rowena replied, “Believe it or not, not everyone in this world hates you.”

“You hate me,” Cordelia said shortly, leaning forward smugly at the witch. Her eyes searched Rowena for a semblance of actual care but was unable to find any. So she leaned back again.

“I hate everyone, it’s not personal,” Rowena countered smugly.

Garth finished scratching the Devil’s Trap, motioning for Cordelia to approach him. Cordelia hesitated, he could knife her. If he wanted, he could probably kill her. But Rowena was there. Was the hunter dumb enough to do something in front of the witch? Maybe, maybe not.

Cordelia scooted forward and Garth gently took the handcuffs that were slapped crudely on her wrists, beginning to pick the lock with his pocket knife. Cordelia shot Rowena a confused and– if she had less of an ego– concerned look. The one who had been bent on killing her prior was out here helping her. This felt all wrong to the seasoned demon.

“Aren’t you going to get me in a whole hell of a lot of trouble? Aren’t you going to get yourself in a whole hell of a lot of trouble?” Cordelia looked up at Rowena. Garth accidentally tugged at the cuffs, pulling Cordelia forward. Cordelia pulled her hands back roughly, causing Garth to lose his footing and stumble forward. He pushed himself off the floor, dusting himself off before resuming his attempts to unlock the cuffs.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” Rowena replied, “Ketch wants to kill you and we can't have that happen.”

“Oh, are you saying I’m important to you Rowena?” Cordelia smiled cockily. Teasing the witch was a pastime she rather liked. She found that bothering the witch came with a form of entertainment she could rarely get elsewhere. Cordelia liked that.

“I’m saying I need you for that spell,” Rowena said quickly, rolling her eyes. She was unamused. Good. That was the whole point.

“So I am, to some degree, important,” Cordelia cooed, “Almost as if I’m needed.”

Rowena let out a huffed breath. Cordelia smirked. If she was getting Rowena to regret decisions she’d done her job properly. Garth stuck out his tongue through concentration. Cordelia scanned the hunter. He was odd, different. She didn’t dislike him, it was too early on to tell, but he reminded her of Sam. She couldn’t put her finger on it, though.

“So if you’re freeing me, why the mercenary?” Cordelia locked eyes with Rowena, gesturing to Garth with a head nod.

“I was essentially forbidden from assisting you in any way,” Rowena explained, “Ketch said nothing about assisting people to assist you.”

“Color me almost impressed,” Cordelia snided, “Why not get Sam to help me? He’s already on            my side.”

Rowena smiled, “I do like the Goliath. No, I couldn’t use Samuel, he was preoccupied with the brunette girl who yells a lot.”

“Deanna?” Cordelia chortled.

“Yes,” Rowena nodded, “No, the kid here said he’d like to help.”

Cordelia looked at Garth who smiled quickly before returning to trying to unlock the cuffs. A couple times he had to remove the blade, wipe it off and start again. But the hunter seemed determined to get the cuffs off her wrists. Cordelia leaned forwards, watching as Garth continued to try and pick the lock.

“I apologize if this sounds rather, well, brash,” Cordelia muttered as Garth got closer to her cuffs, trying to focus more, “But you were sent to kill me, no?”

“It’s complicated,” Garth began, he looked up at Cordelia quickly before looking back down at the cuffs, “I never signed the contract, Myst signed for me. Which, by most laws of most sets of courts, means I’m not bound by that contract.”

“I’m a demon?” Cordelia countered, “You don’t wanna, just, spill my guts?”

Garth looked up, furrowing his brow and scrunching his nose, “You haven’t hurt anyone. You were actually going to help us by killing Corio and Crowely.”

Cordelia’s face fell. She didn’t know how to reply. A level headed hunter. It was a rare thing. She couldn’t fathom how he was so unbiased toward her. She was a demon . Demons had slaughtered so many and yet–

“Aha!” Garth exclaimed as the cuffs unlocked, snapping open. He slipped them off her wrists, holding them up in triumph. He got to his feet, offering Cordelia a hand. Cordelia looked up, hesitating before taking his hand. He helped her to her feet. Cordelia folded her arms awkwardly, nodding.

“I don’t think you deserve to die just because you’re a demon,” Garth said, offering Rowena a hand but she slapped it away, “I’ve met humans who have done worse than you. I’ve met angels who have done worse than you.”

Rowena stood, smoothing her skirt out gently. Cordelia shifted her weight between her feet, listening intently to Garth’s words.

“I couldn’t care less what color your eyes turn,” Garth shrugged, “You could be a Knight of Hell but as long as you had good intentions and didn’t hurt anyone on purpose, I wouldn’t care. Unlike some of the others here, I’m not shallow.”

Cordelia smiled. Even Sam had given her more of a fuss than this. He did the whole interrogation and holy water and salt and threat of exorcism. But Garth didn’t give a shit. Unconditional trust. Cordelia liked it, it made her feel warm inside.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Rowena said quickly, approaching the door.

Chapter Text

Ralph was still grappling with his realization as he stared at the spring wires that supported the bunk above him. For a while he had hoped he was merely being paranoid. That his assumptions were based on false pretenses. Yet the more Ralph thought about it, the more it made sense. And the more it made sense, the more Ralph felt sick thinking about it. 

Zachariah was here building up an arsenal and it was sickening. Most of these kids were his age, if not younger. And they were being lied to, told that this place was a refuge from the war. How could Zachariah lie to them? Ralph could conceptualize Alastair and Meg lying. Rufus? Eileen? They probably had no idea what was going on. Jo? Ralph didn’t know. Balthazar was too drunk to acknowledge shit.

Ralph turned over, facing the rows of bunks, his back to the wall. The people who were usually up all night, were out cold, still reeling from the ambush. Eileen had traded off with Jo who was taking constant notes by Jane’s side. Ralph didn’t know why they were taking notes. Maybe they genuinely cared about her, but Ralph didn’t think it likely.

He sat up, it didn’t make too much noise, but enough to alert Jo to the fact that he was awake. He didn’t have a reason to sleep. He never slept outside of his apartment, and, when he was living in the bunker, his bedroom. Jo looked at him shortly, not saying a word. She turned back to monitoring Jane. Ralph let out a short breath before sliding out of his bed.

He crouched, looking beneath the bunk parallel to his. The book from earlier was still there, hidden safely beneath the bunk. He might be able to grab it, but he could already see that Jo was actively dividing her attention between Jane and Ralph. It was a risky chance to take. Which is why Ralph wasn’t going to take it.

Jack was!

Ralph quietly climbed up the metal rungs. Jack was curled up facing the wall quietly. Ralph knew he wasn’t asleep, he could tell by his breathing. It was forcibly even, Jack wanted Ralph to think he was asleep. Ralph knew better.

Ralph pulled gently on his leg, trying to get him to climb down. Jack didn’t move the first or second time. But the third time, he must’ve been fed up because he shot up, leaning forward. His face was inches from Ralph’s, his eyes darting between him and Jo.

“Ralph, I’m already in trouble, I don’t want to get kicked out,” there was desperation in the kid’s voice as he spoke.

Ralph nodded, he understood. But he also understood that getting Jack kicked out would save him. Of course Jack wouldn’t understand that. Zachariah seemed to make a camp run smoothly through brainwashing. Jack was one of his many victims.

Ralph let out a long breath. He didn’t want to have to do this. But he knew it had to come to it. Ralph grabbed a hold of Jack’s ankle and Jack gasped from the force.

“What are you doing?!” Jack hissed quietly, “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

Then so be it. Ralph used his grasp to pull Jack to the ladder. Jack had no other choice than to climb down or get pulled to the floor. Ralph hopped off the ladder, taking a few steps back. Jack climbed down, glaring furiously at Ralph. He crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.

“What is this about?” Jack whispered loudly.

Ralph pointed to the book under the bed then Jo. Jack let out a heavy sigh as Jo tilted her head looking at the two. Jack knew exactly what Ralph meant. He let his arms fall to either side of his body. He hung his head, shrugging. Ralph hoped he’d be up for it, after what happened with Zachariah he wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t want to.

“Alright, fine,” Jack shrugged, beginning to walk towards Jo.

No, no, that was wrong. That’s not what Ralph meant at all. He quickly grabbed Jack’s wrist, pulling him back. Jack spun round, facing Ralph. His face was painted in confusion. Jack looked over his shoulder at Jo who was looking at the boys with confusion herself. Jack pulled his arm away, rubbing it where Ralph had his hand wrapped around it.

“What?” Jack whispered, tilting his head, “I was helping.”

Not the right way, he wasn’t. What didn’t he understand?

Ralph pointed to the book, then the door. Jack’s gaze followed Ralph’s motions and Ralph widened his eyes hoping the Nephilim understood what he was trying to say. Jack nodded slowly.

“Okay, I think I understand,” Jack nodded, “I really wish you’d talk. I’ll meet you outside, yeah?”

Ralph snapped his fingers, pointing finger guns at Jack. He’d finally gotten it. Jack nodded, crouching by the bunk. Things were finally falling into place, Ralph had confidence.

He jogged quickly over to Jo while Jack waited for her to be preoccupied. Jo looked up at Ralph who pulled up a metal stool, sitting next to her. He smiled, waving. Jo smiled awkwardly, waving back.

“You’re chipper,” Jo muttered, scribbling notes in her notepad. It was different from the notepad Eileen had, this one was less weathered. Almost as if it never got used.

Ralph watched as Jack slowly inched toward the exit. He looked back down Jane, then Jo’s notepad. Anything to distract her long enough. Just enough.

“You’re probably confused by our methods,” Jo said softly, not looking up from her notes, “We’re not like the hunters.”

Ralph nodded. Hunters didn’t brainwash innocent people into being weaponry. Hunters had more morals than that.

“I knew your parents, you know,” Jo looked up at Ralph, “They were… interesting. They had unique methods.”

Ralph scrunched his face in curiosity. Ralph’s perspective on his parents was biased towards the: ‘possibly psychotic’ end of the spectrum. Jo’s perspective should’ve been vastly different from his.

“You know, the day they found you,” Jo looked back down, “They told me, it looked like a bomb had been dropped. Just desolate for a five mile radius. Then you.”

Ralph paused, hearing the door open and shut quietly. Ralph had figured he wasn’t his parent’s biological kid. Especially with the whole Elioud thing coming to light. But something about that description made his head ache and his stomach churn. He bit the inside of his cheek, processing what the woman was telling him.

“Your parents meant well, even if they didn’t show it,” Jo nodded, “They died caring about you.”

Ralph blinked rapidly, looking down. Even though he wanted to believe it, his heart screamed it wasn’t true. He knew better. His parents knew he was dangerous, or thought he was dangerous. That’s why they locked him up, they trained him to be emotionless. Ralph didn’t grow up in a war, he grew up in a prison. He’d grown to accept that after he’d finally gotten free.

Ralph didn’t bother to fake a smile or wave goodbye when he left. He just slid the stool away when he stood up and approached the doors.

“The Latrine’s to the left,” Jo called as he walked out.

The air outside had a sweet breeze when Ralph stepped out. Jack was flipping through the pages of the book with his back leaned against the building. He looked up at Ralph, waving softly before snapping the book shut. Ralph looked over his shoulder before approaching Jack. He extended his hand, taking the book from Jack. Ralph wasn’t entirely sure if Jack had been trying to read the book or just flipping through the pages out of boredom. If he had been trying to read it, he must’ve been straining his eyes as the only light was the moonlight.

Ralph motioned for Jack to follow him before beginning to sneak through the camp. There were a handful of guards doing their rounds, but if Ralph was smart about this, he and Jack could sneak through without an issue. Jack was a few paces behind Ralph at any given moment. Ralph needed the book to be read, and the only person he trusted there who could read the book, was on the outskirts of the camp.

Ralph rushed past a pair of guards, Jack following after him shortly. He waited a few moments before rushing toward the first set of gates. They weren’t locked, lucky for the boys. Ralph looked over his shoulders, making sure no one was nearby before pushing the gate opened. The gate moaned in protest at being opened, it probably hadn’t been oiled in decades, but Ralph tried to ignore the loud noise.

He grabbed Jack’s wrist, pulling him towards the canvas tent that sat by the wired fence. There was a dull light glowing from it, lucky for them.

Balthazar was still awake.

Chapter Text

Orion, Metatron, and Kevin had been forced to sit around a long dining table. Kevin was to the right of Orion, both of them belted into their chairs, gags in their mouths. Metatron hadn’t been quite as unfortunate. The Scribe was seated to the right of Loki who had his feet propped up on the table. The Demi-God tipped back in his chair, and if Orion was any less of an angel and any more of a hunter he would’ve wished for the bastard to tip back too far and bust his head open.

Metatron leaned forward awkwardly, resting his elbows on the off-white table cloth. Kevin’s eyes scanned all the food that ran the length of the table. Orion realized he didn’t know the last time the Prophet had eaten. Orion furrowed his brows, looking up at Metatron whose wings were trembling slightly as Loki picked at his teeth.

“Loki,” Metatron started, “You don’t have to bind the angel and human up, okay? They’re practically harmless.”

Loki pulled his feet off the table, placing them flat on the floor with two thuds before he leaned forward. He waved widely towards Orion and Kevin before looking at Metatron.

“ Practically ?” Loki echoed, “Practically implies some form of harm, no?”

Metatron let out a short sigh, “At least let them talk?”

“Metatron, dear,” Loki stood up, waving his hands, removing the restraints from Orion and Kevin, “Do you know how long I was cramped up in there for?”

Loki walked behind Metatron, wrapping his arms around the angel whose wings flared in response. Loki leaned over, tilting his head to the left to meet Metatron’s eyes. Orion scrunched his nose as he watched the Demi-God, Kevin did as well. Orion looked at the prophet, wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

Metatron bit his lip, looking away from Loki. Loki smirked, resting his chin on Metatron’s shoulder.

“Weeks,” he whispered, “From the last time we saw each other. Do you realize how cramped it is in here?”

Metatron’s eyes darted from the floor to the table. Orion didn’t quite understand what he was doing, but he thought that he might’ve been meant to interrupt. He looked over at Kevin who was watching the scene mesmerized. The prophet leaned over, whispering to him.

“This feels oddly intimate,” Kevin said under his breath, looking up at Orion. Orion bit his lip, looking back at Loki who’d let go of Metatron, walking away.

“I don’t disagree.” Orion nodded gently.

Loki snapped his fingers, the table and chairs disappearing. They’d returned to the cabin, Orion and Kevin sitting on the leather chairs, Metatron on the couch. Loki walked about the cabin. What had originally been an aged flannel and jeans for his outfit, was changed to be a dress shirt tucked into black slacks with a matching vest over top. Orion watched as Loki ran a hand through his hair, snapping a mirror into existence, staring at himself for a bit.

“Uh, Loki, was it?” Kevin asked. Orion shot the prophet a look. He didn’t want to chance Kevin getting himself in trouble with the Demi-God.

Loki looked over at Kevin, tilting his head in curiosity. Orion grasped his angel blade in his hand tightly. He wasn’t sure it would do any actual damage to Loki, but he’d make him feel a bit of pain at the very least.

Loki approached Kevin, leaning forward. His face was inches from Kevin’s, Orion gripped his angel blade tighter. He squinted intently at the Demi-God. One wrong move and he’d slash the bastard’s neck. That’d definitely slow him down, at least a bit.

“And you might be?” Loki whispered. Kevin leaned back, looking at the man in a disgusted fashion.

“Kevin,” Kevin replied shortly. He looked Loki up and down. Soulless Kevin meant lack of fear. Orion didn’t know how to feel about that. Not that he felt. Feeling would be a human thing, angels didn’t feel.

“Kevin, right,” Loki pulled away, folding his hands behind his back, “You’re not like other humans. You’re missing a little piece right in the middle.”

Loki approached Kevin, pressing his finger in Kevin’s chest. He shoved at the prophet who just looked up, offended. Orion clenched his vessel’s teeth, his core burned with something he didn’t like. Something he didn’t know that well… something different.

“Not having a soul has that effect,” Kevin replied shortly, “You’d know, you don’t have a soul yourself.”

Loki pulled away, turning to Metatron, “Feisty bugger, innit he?”

“Loki, please, we need Gabriel,” Metatron spoke up, looking up at Loki who snapped his fingers, a pipe appearing in hand. Loki lit the pipe, pulling up a chair and smoking from it. He crossed his left leg over his right, leaning forward.

“Why do you need Gabriel?” Loki tilted his head, “Do I not meet your standards? Quite frankly, I’m hurt, my dear.”

Metatron rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He stood up, approaching Loki gently. He folded his wings flat against his back. Orion shifted in his seat, readjusting his grip on his angel blade.

“Loki, we need Gabriel to end the war,” Metatron started, “If we end the war, Gabriel leaves your body, we’re all happy.”

Loki tapped his chin, his foot sitting gently on the floor as he leaned forward. Metatron stood back, watching the Demi-God quietly. Loki seemed to be mulling over the information in his mind. Orion got to his feet slowly, creeping up beside Metatron. Orion repositioned the angel blade in his hand. Metatron raised a hand, telling Orion to wait. Orion didn’t trust Loki, he didn’t want to wait.

“I’m not happy unless I’m in control,” Loki remarked, “Why would I let Gabriel resume his joyride of my body?”

“Because giving up control once could mean a lifetime of control?” Kevin piped up. He stood up and Orion quickly motioned for him to sit. Kevin waved his hand, refusing to sit back down as he took a few cautious steps forward.

“See, this is how I know you don’t understand,” Loki stood up swiftly, “Gabriel told me he’d let me have my body back after everything died down with Lucifer the first time. Then he didn’t. So he promised after Lucifer came back, Armegedeon. And he didn’t. He’s still here with me. What makes you think that I think he’d let it go?”

“Because we could talk him into it, we could force his hand,” Kevin countered, standing beside Orion who instinctively put a wing around him. Kevin looked directly at the wing, but he couldn’t see it, no. He could feel it, but he’d never be able to see it.

Loki took a step forward, looking down at Kevin. He gripped Kevin’s shoulder tightly and Kevin buckled slightly from the pressure, but his facial expression didn’t waver. Stone cold and unimpressed by the man’s display of power. Orion took another step forward, shoving himself between Kevin and Metatron as he stared intently at Loki. He pulled his wing closer to his torso, guiding Kevin with it.

“How would an insignificant,” Loki pressed harder into Kevin’s shoulder, “Little human like you ever manage to convince an Archangel to let me live in my body in peace?”

Kevin opened his mouth to speak but Loki cut him off, “You have no idea how loud he is. He’s screaming so loud I can feel him in every fiber of my being.”

“Ripping,” Loki tightened his grip.

“Me,” Loki continued and Kevin let out a small cry of pain.

“Apart.”

Orion had enough, he folded his wing back to his back, shoving Metatron out of his way. He gripped his angel blade, backing Loki into the cabin wall. Orion raised the blade in his hand and Loki looked at it. He seemed to be confused at first before he began to laugh. His laugh started as a slow rhythmic chuckle before slowly devolving into a full cackle.

“That blade will do nothing to me,” Loki said between laughs, “Besides, an angel protecting a human. This is a development. I know I’ve been on the backburner for a bit, but–”

“No, you’re right,” Orion nodded, lowering his blade, “The blade will do nothing to you. But it’ll kill Metatron.”

Orion waved the blade in front of Loki’s face. Loki’s eyes darted between Orion and Metatron. Orion flared out his wings, blocking the Demi-God’s view of the Scribe. Orion watched as Loki clicked his tongue. He let out a short breath, smiling before he hung his head. He looked back up, blinking a bit before he laid his eyes on the Angel Blade.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he put his hands up in defense, “Gabriel here, don’t attempt to kill me. Thank you.”

Orion backed away, pulling his wings back in. Gabriel pushed himself off the wall, looking down at his clothes. He let out a disgusted sigh, snapping his fingers as he changed them to his regular flannel and jeans. Gabriel let out a short breath, crossing his arms.

“Loki’s letting me take control for a bit,” Gabriel nodded, “Let’s see this book.”

Chapter Text

Ellen had pulled Myst into the bunk she shared with Charlie. Ellen was pacing the room gently as Myst sat on the bunk, her arms crossed. Ellen had been in thought for a rough hour. Myst was fully aware that her offer came out of left field, but Ellen didn’t automatically say no, which resulted in Myst getting a soft yes from the Major.

Ellen stopped pacing, rubbing a hand over her face slowly, “Okay, so you and Corporal Fitzgerald got taken hostage, and the only way out of the situation was to sign a contract with Crowley, who’s one of the Kings of Hell, to take out Cordelia?”

“Correct,” Myst confirmed. Ellen gave the Captain a quick look as she took a seat beside her. Myst understood the severity of the situation fully well, but she also understood her ass was on the line if she didn’t put an end to that demon. Ellen hated demons just as much as the next hunter, she should’ve been more than willing to assist Myst. Yet here Ellen was, going over her options as if Myst had any of her own.

“Captain,” Ellen began, “I hate black eyes as much as the next, but you’ve gotta understand we’re keeping Cordelia as a prisoner of war, yeah? POW’s generally result in compensation on our parts, you realize that right?”

Myst nodded, “I understand that, yes. But the Corporal and I are in serious danger of losing our lives here. Killing one demon, in the grand scheme of things. Hell, Colonel Ketch wants the bitch dead anyways.”

Ellen nodded, leaning forward. Myst knew that Cordelia was at the end of the hall, chained to the walls. Myst heard quick footsteps past the door and down the stairs, it caused her to lose her train of thought for a moment before turning back to Ellen. Ellen was thinking about the situation, Myst could practically see the gears turning in her head.

Myst looked down at her feet. She needed to get out of the mess she’d– No, Garth had gotten her into. This was all Garth’s fault, of course. If he’d have just let her smoke out the joint, exorcize half the demons, kill the other half. They wouldn’t be in that situation if Myst had just taken charge. If she hadn’t cared so much and been goddamn shallow about not wanting to be reported. At this rate, she would’ve preferred a report over the situation she was in at that moment.

“We’d have to be tactical,” Ellen began, “We can’t just go into the room and kill her, we’d get dismissed, and that’s if we were lucky.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Myst shot the Major a short look before she stood up, stretching her body from sitting for a while, “I just can’t figure a way to paint the situation to be in our favor.”

Myst walked up to the aged dresser, looking curiously at the journals and notebooks that littered the top of it. She flipped a few of them open, skimming the pages. Ellen didn’t stop her, so it must’ve been fine. From what Myst could tell, they were all logs that Charlie had written about the going ons of the camp, nothing all too special. Myst gained quick disinterest in them once Ellen started talking again.

“We could take her to walk the perimeter again, pretend that a Screecher got her or somethin’,” Ellen offered and Myst couldn’t help but scoff. Sometimes the Captain forgot how stupid other people were. She wished people had the same intelligence levels as her, and yet here she was.

“Except Screechers dissolve their victims,” Myst shot back, “So unless you have acid and lye mixed with some bile, I suggest we find another option.”

“Sorry Miss Rainbow and Sunshine, I forgot that I’m only good for bad solutions,” Ellen huffed. Myst rolled her eyes, so dramatic. Jeez, didn’t the woman know how to take a breath? Myst didn’t say anything particularly offensive or rude. Some people.

“We could stage an attack,” Myst offered, “It’s not ideal, but-”

“It would work,” Ellen finished Myst’s sentence, nodding in agreement. Ellen stood up, stepping beside the Captain. Myst turned to look at Ellen as she began to pace again. 

Myst didn’t quite understand the whole pacing thing, did it help people think? Did it speed up the thought process? Myst found it trivial and silly, as with most things her fellow hunters did.

“But how would we do that?” Ellen stopped pacing, looking over at the Captain. Myst hadn’t thought that far ahead. She paused to mull it over. They’d need to access her and stage it as though she attacked them. Myst tapped her chin gently, thinking it over. Maybe if they… nothing seemed right.

Ellen leaned against a nearby wall as she waited for a response from the hunter. Myst bit her lip, it felt as though the Major was staring through her very being, judging her. Not that Myst particularly cared about judgment or anything like that, of course she didn’t. But being watched made it hard for her to work, her brain fogged. This was important, if she couldn’t figure this out, she could’ve just doomed herself.

“We pretend we’re feeding her, that’d work,” Myst said quickly, something about the cover felt wrong, like it wasn’t a sound reason but she couldn’t pin why, “We say we were going to give her food, as per her rights as a POW, claim we found she’d gotten free from her restraints and had a weapon on her. We killed her in self defense.”

Ellen paused, her look hardening as she thought about it. Myst waited as patiently as she could for the go ahead. Ellen’s nodding was slow and subtle at first, Myst almost didn’t catch it, but it slowly quickened before the older hunter proceeded.

“I think that would work, I think we could do that,” Ellen nodded, grabbing a demon blade from a nearby shelf. She slid it into the hilt of her belt, “Time’s a wastin’, most everyone’s out right now, we can do this quick like.”

Myst nodded, grabbing the demon blade from her own hip with a firm grasp. Ellen led Myst down the hall. Myst treaded lightly, even though most everyone was off base, Myst knew that Sam, Deanna, and Garth would all be downstairs. Myst watched where she stepped, she’d remembered that different floorboards were unsafe to walk over in the base, no carpenters in the war, it made enough sense.

At the end of the hall sat the door with sigils carved into it. Sigils for demons, angels, and anything in between. Myst had to admit they were rather thorough on this base, always had been. Ellen pulled out her ring of keys, flipping through them to an old rusted one. Something felt off to Myst, she looked over her shoulder, no one was there. She looked back at the door as it swung open. She gripped her knife tightly, stepping in behind Ellen and–

Nothing.

No one, nothing.

It was empty.

Chapter Text

Cordelia was long gone from base. Rowena couldn’t join her, which bothered Cordelia, but she had played it off as a joke, saying it was fine. Garth had needed to stay behind as well, which had a similar effect on Cordelia that Rowena being unable to accompany her had. Cordelia would’ve preferred to have gotten to know Garth a little bit more if she was being honest with herself. But she understood the severity of her situation and didn’t feel the need to put anyone at risk, especially Rowena who was owned by Ketch and Garth who was owned by Crowley (so to speak).

Once Cordelia had gotten off of the property and out of the charm range that Rowea had set, she was able to quickly teleport to the door to Hell she’d last exited. The door was there, Cordelia was circling it. It was open, which was slightly concerning, an open door meant that anyone– any thing could get into Hell. Worse, could get out of Hell.

Cordelia sucked in a short breath before promptly stepping through the door. She had her dark eyes shut tightly, and the moment she stepped through, she knew returning to Hell was a bad choice. She let out a bated breath, opening her eyes slowly. Crowley had his arms crossed, staring at Cordelia. Surrounding the demon were fifteen, maybe twenty other demons around her. Some had their weapons raised, others didn’t. To Crowley’s left was Ruby, standing, avoiding making eye contact with Cordelia.

“Well, the son of a bitch makes a reappearance,” Crowley smarmed, “You really thought returning would be a smart idea?”

Cordelia gritted her teeth as two demons grabbed her arms on either side. She only tried to fight them once before they held a demon blade up and she stopped herself. She tried to hang her head but the demon on the right of her grabbed a handful of her thick black hair, pulling her head back so she’d look up at Crowley.

“Ruby, please,” Cordelia’s eyes flickered to Ruby, desperate for support from her roommate. Someone who was supposed to be her best friend. Ruby looked at Cordelia, meeting her eyes before looking away swiftly, taking a step back as if to distance herself from the situation.

“Oh, please,” Crowley scoffed, unfolding his arms as he took a step forward, “She’s the one who told me about your treason.”

Crowley placed a hand gently under Cordelia’s chin, pulling her towards him. Cordelia scrunched her face in disgust, trying to pull away. Crowley tightened his grip, turning her head back and forth to get a better look at the demon. Cordelia thought about kicking the King, but decided to play it safe, otherwise she might put more at risk than already was.

“Darling, please,” A new voice called from afar. Crowley lowered his hand, taking a step back. Crowley appeared to be displeased, rolling his eyes as he turned to look at the person approached. It took a few moments for Cordelia to recognize the demon, from his pale skin, to his long dirty blond hair pulled back. She hadn’t seen him in, well, she’d never seen him, but his energy gave everything away.

“Corio, dear,” Crowley muttered through gritted teeth, “I was speaking with the traitor, you’re interrupting and undermining me again.”

“Fergus,” Corio rolled his eyes, shoving Crowley out of his way, “Please, we’re not children in Hell.”

Corio approached Cordelia, scanning her. Cordelia scanned the King in return. He towered over her, not that it intimidated her. Cordelia rarely found size an indication of whether or not she should be scared. Corio radiated a cold energy that wasn’t different from other demons, but this energy wasn’t just cold. It had heat hidden beneath the cold exterior. As if he could rage out at any point and kill everyone in his proximity.

Corio ran a gentle hand over Cordelia’s cheek despite her trying to pull away. He was more gentle than Crowley. Cordelia didn’t like not being able to sense what kind of demon he was. It made her uneasy.

“I recognize you,” Corio’s hands found their way to her long black locks, twirling his fingers through them, “You sold your soul when you were alive.”

“Not to scum like you,” Cordelia forced a laugh which got a surprisingly gentle tug out of Corio with her hair. She’d expected him to be far rougher.

“No, I know you,” Corio’s eyes scanned Cordelia closely, “I remember you, you were the Private that fought tooth and nail to not get dragged to Hell.”

Cordelia tried to pull away. Luci, of course he was going to bring up her human life. She’d done all she could to bury her past. She’d killed innocent people, she wasn’t really a person back then. Then again, she wasn’t really a person anymore as she was a demon. But it was a different type of evil when you were killing people who you knew. People who you’d had dinner with before. She told herself she had to, she–

“Private Walter James, that’s right,” Corio smiled a crooked smile and Cordelia blinked, her eyes flickering black, “Oh, I remember you, you sold your soul to end the war, didn’t you? Noble cause, most people wouldn’t do that. They’d sell their soul for wealth, prosperity, et cetera, et cetera.”

Cordelia bit her lip, “Shut up.”

“It took a lot of strings being pulled,” Corio pulled away, “But it happened and we ended your petty little war. Really, though. I have no idea why your country still had slavery, most everyone else abolished it.”

Cordelia looked between Corio and Crowley, who appeared to be upset. Was he mad at Corio? Cordelia had to think about other things to not laugh at the thought. Crowley was butt hurt because Corio had interrupted his power move. Corio looked over at Crowley who was pouting to himself.

“Crowley, dear,” Corio started, “Didn’t you send Claire and that pair of hunters to kill her?”

“Yes, my love,” Crowley stepped forward, “I heard of complications setting in, the, uh… Winchesters and–”

“The Winchesters?” Corio snapped, “You mean the pesky two who keep getting in the way? Why haven’t we eliminated them yet, dear?”

“Well, I, uh–” Crowley stumbled over his words, trying to find an excuse. Cordelia looked at all the other Demons who were waiting in bated breath. Corio’s horns budded out of his head, spiraling as he turned toward Crowley. He inhaled deeply and Cordelia tilted her head out of curiosity.

“I don’t want excuses,” Corio started softly before snapping entirely, “I WANT THEM DEAD.”

All the spare demons slowly blinked away, including the ones that were restraining Cordelia. Ruby hesitated a moment, though, slowly walking around Crowley and Corio. Crowley was genuinely quivering from Corio’s burst of anger. Cordelia felt amused at first before quickly realizing Corio’s anger could end poorly not just for Crowley, but her as well.

“Darling, if we even killed a Winchester, hell, if we attempted to, we’d have a swarm of hunters on our asses,” Crowley replied shortly, “We’d have an active war zone.”

“Do I look like I care?” Corio snapped, “You send our best, you kill them. Or die trying.”

“Corio,” Crowley started, but Corio waved a hand, cutting him off. 

“A highly active warzone could mean an end to our world as we know it,” Ruby spoke up, “I’ve met the Winchesters, they’ll stop at nothing to save the world, the goody two-shoes.”

“Oh, interesting Ruby,” Corio turned to the lower level demon, towering over her as an attempt to be menacing, “No one asked for you to pipe up. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, the adults are speaking.”

Ruby furrowed her brow and Corio turned away. But Cordelia knew that look that was on her face, it was the look of rebellion. Ruby wasn’t known for following the rules or contracts or anything semi-related.

“Corio, you’re not going to push me around, okay?” Ruby took a step forward, “I’m not a pawn in your game, I deserve respect. I caught Cordelia for you! I told you she was planning on killing you and Crowley! I have done nothing but help you two sons of bitches and this is how you repay me? No.”

Corio stopped, looking over his shoulder. The ground shook slightly as the tyrant approached Ruby slowly, backing her against the wall of a nearby pillar.

“You are a peasant, you are nothing more than a bug beneath my shoe,” Corio replied, “And as I see it, you’ve served your purpose. I don’t need you anymore.”

Corio snapped his fingers, Ruby exploding into a dark red paste that splattered everywhere. Corio paused momentarily, turning to look at Cordelia. He approached her slowly, pinning her against a pillar as well. Cordelia scanned the demon before her.

“If you don’t want to end up like Ruby over here and there and everywhere ,” Corio started, “You’re going to do what I say.”

Chapter Text

Balthazar didn’t appreciate the boys dropping by unannounced. Sure, he was in a drunken stupor, but when Jack and Ralph pushed a book his way, Balthazar let out a groan of protest, grabbing a whiskey bottle, downing the thing. Ralph had found it amusing to a point, watching the ex-angel so drunk. Jack sat quietly, unsure what to think, but Jack had been quiet since they’d put that collar on him. Ralph felt bad, it was his fault.

“Okay, I think I’m properly drunk to read this,” Balthazar took a swig from his bottle of vodka, “What is this?”

Jack handed over the aged book gently and Balthazar squinted his eyes at the cover. He took another drink before he set his alcohol down on the table. He flipped through the pages, having to pull the book close to his face to be able to make out some of the words. Ralph sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for Balthazar to read it off for him. He was practically dying to finally figure out what he was and why he was so desirable.

“Sorry, I have no idea what you want me to read here,” Balthazar looked up from the book, scanning Jack, “Where’d you come from?”

Jack tilted his head, confused by Balthazar’s words, “Uh… I came with Ralph?”

“With-” Balthazar looked over at Ralph, “RALPH! When did you get here?! I was just talking with my bud, Casti–”

Balthazar looked around the tent, tilting his head slowly, “Fuck, I was imagining things again.”

Balthazar took a drink of his vodka, shaking his head, “What can I help you two with?”

“The book?” Jack asked, pointing to the opened book in the fallen angel’s hands. Balthazar looked down at his hands. His jaw dropped at the book, closing the cover as he read the title. He seemed rather amazed by the book and the amusement from before was gone from Ralph’s body.

“Where’d that come from?” Balthazar looked up, amazed, “Anyways, this was written by Gadreel, I knew him when I was in Heaven.”

“So you can help?” Jack asked, looking at Ralph for support. Ralph would’ve supported, but he was too dazed by what the hell Balthazar was at that moment. Balthazar nodded, grabbing his bottle. He drank the last few drops of it before tossing it to the side. His personal graveyard, Ralph assumed. Which, it was just a pile of empty liquor bottles.

“Yeah, sure,” Balthazar grabbed a half full bottle of what looked like gin, taking a long drink from it, “What am I helping you with?”

Jack looked over at Ralph then at Balthazar, “The book?”

“What book?” Balthazar asked, before looking down, “OH! Where’d this come from?!”

Ralph hung his head, letting out a long sigh. Balthazar was about to be the death of him. He bit his tongue, not that he was likely to say anything anyways. Jack was very clearly suffering as much as Ralph. The boys shared a short look before Jack turned back to Balthazar.

“There’s a section in that book about Eliouds,” Jack explained, “Ralph’s an-”

“An Elioud, yes, I remember,” Balthazar cut him off, “I don’t need a book to tell you what the hell an Elioud is.”

Jack raised a brow and Ralph leaned forward in anticipation. Ralph bit his lip as Balthazar took another drink of gin. Jack was excited as well, but much less so. The collar had really beaten and dimmed down his confidence and personality. Ralph actually hated to see it go. Even if he’d never admit it, he missed the annoying Jack that would keep him up all night talking about Heaven and the Earth and spread all those lies his dad told him. Maybe Balthazar would be able to help him get it off.

“Okay, how old are you two?” Balthazar looked at the boys in an attempt to gauge their ages. Ralph shot Jack a look. Balthazar was being quite the challenge compared to the last time Ralph had seen him. Maybe it was that the man was more drunk this time around, or maybe it was the late hour. Either way, Ralph was slightly concerned at the prospect of working with him this time around.

“Okay, when a mommy and a daddy–” Balthazar started. Jack raised a hand to cut him off.

“We’re– not that young. We know about that,” Jack replied with a very faint smile. Balthazar nodded slowly, still processing what was going on.

“We? You’re not alone?” Balthazar looked over at Ralph, “OH! YOU’RE HERE TOO!”

Ralph shook his head and Jack let out a long sigh. By the time they had everything figured out, the war would be over and them being in the camp would be pointless. Balthazar took a long drink, swilling his bottle before he set it back down.

“So an Elioud, right,” Balthazar cleared his throat, “Basically the offspring of an angel and a demon. Pretty powerful shit.”

Ralph’s eyes grew wide at the explanation. It made a strange form of sense, while not making any sense at the same time. Ralph tried to process the thought but everytime it made sense, he questioned it again. If he truly was the offspring of an angel and a demon, why didn’t he have any powers? And if he didn’t have powers, why would the camp want him? Unless he did have powers. Then why couldn’t he use them?

Jack looked at Ralph, then at Balthazar. Ralph couldn’t figure the emotion on the boy’s face. Because there wasn’t one. Jack’s face remained emotionless and Ralph didn’t know how to feel about it. Jack was the closest thing he had to a friend at this camp, if something were to change that… Ralph didn’t want to think about losing an ally in the war.

“You know, this whole camp’s full of Nephilim and Cambion,” Balthazar muttered, taking a swig of his gin, “Could probably use the whole lot of them combined to end a war or something.”

“Balthazar, we’re in a war currently,” Jack spoke softly.

Balthazar looked up at Jack, tilting his head, “I know that, I’m not stupid. Why do you think we’re in this Castiel-forsaken camp?”

Jack laughed forcefully, looking over at Ralph. Ralph thought about it a moment, Balthazar was right. If he was an Elioud, and Jack was a powerful Nephilim. Maybe combined…

Ralph bit his nails in thought, a habit he’d broken a long time before that night. But sometimes he’d find himself doing it subconsciously. Zachariah was probably onto something here, building an arsenal. Enough power to end a war.

Balthazar’s face lit up, “The kid’s got an idea, and I think I’m going to like it.”

Jack looked at Ralph, “Ralph?”

Ralph looked up, shooting Balthazar a knowing look. Balthazar smiled widely, taking a quick sip of his gin. He looked at Jack, then Ralph.

“Lovely,” Balthazar grinned, holding eye contact with Ralph, “Where do we start?”

Chapter Text

Gabriel had set himself up beside the fireplace, working on translating the text. Orion stood by the door, surveying the cabin. Kevin was writing down the text as Gabriel translated it for him and Metatron was just wandering. Orion’s wings were slightly spread, rustling when his eyes filtered back to the prophet. Kevin had received a hair tie from Gabriel, and while he placed his pencil between his teeth, the prophet pulled his shaggy black hair back into a half-up ponytail. A few loose strands of his hair framed his face nicely and Orion bit his lip, his feathers rustling in response to the prophet.

“You know, you’re bad at hiding it,” Metatron remarked as he stood beside the angel. Orion looked at him, scoffing slightly, his gaze returning to Kevin.

“Bad at hiding what?” Orion asked knowingly. He was able to assume what the Scribe was about to mention. He didn’t want it brought up, though. It would be far too complicated to try and discuss. Orion closed his wings against his back.

“ The whole: you having a thing for the prophet ,” Metatron switched to speaking in Enochian. Orion assumed it was to hide the conversation from the human. But Orion quickly realized it was actually to make sure Gabriel was listening as the archangel perked up at hearing Metatron’s words.

“ I have no idea what you’re referring to ,” Orion denied the accusation. Angels couldn’t feel, they weren’t prone to emotions or emotional connection. Orion was like all the others: no emotions, no connections, no relationships.

“ No offense, but your wings tell a different story, besides, you gave him your jacket ,” Metatron replied, waving towards the jacket that was draped over the chair Kevin was sitting on the floor in front of.

“ He was freezing to death, I was ensuring his survival ,” Orion replied shortly. He watched as Gabriel stopped translating, giving him a strange look before promptly looking back down at the book.

“ Yeah, okay, that’s just a lie ,” Metatron scoffed, “ Have you told him yet ?”

Orion looked at the scribe, scanning his demeanor. He had been hoping that the angel had developed a sense of humor along the way, but he seemed serious. Orion hung his head, letting out a short breath. He didn’t want to justify Metatron with an answer.

Angelscantfeelangelscantfeelangelscantfeelcangelscantfeel

“ Not that it’s a factual assumption ,” Orion started, glaring at the scribe, “ But assuming it was, I couldn’t .”

Orion looked back at Kevin as he scratched notes on the paper. Hunched over the notepad, scrawling in thought. Kevin shook his head, erasing an error, the fire in the fireplace illuminating his features. If Orion breathed, his breath probably would’ve hitched at the sight.

“ He’s a human and I’m an angel, albeit a poor excuse for one ,” Orion replied, watching as Gabriel snorted at his words, “ Besides, there’s no chance he’d feel the same way about me .”

Metatron shrugged, “ I only bring it up because the more you pine for him, the more I want to gouge my eyes out. All sixteen of them. ”

Orion’s vessel’s face heated up again. His vessel really needed a replacement at this rate. Metatron left his side, roaming the cabin slightly. Orion let out a heavy sigh, he hadn’t been wanting to have that conversation in any capacity, especially not with Metatron. Orion walked away from the doorway, pulling up a chair as he sat beside Kevin. Kevin looked up at Orion before looking back down at the translations he was writing.

“There’s nothing useful in here,” Gabriel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I mean, Dad just went on for… pages about Pandora. I can’t even stomach it. It's disgusting.”

Metatron walked up behind Gabriel, leaning over the couch as he stole a look at the book. It didn’t really matter, Gabriel was still the only one who could even begin to read the text. Gabriel set the book beside him, rubbing his eyes in frustration. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees as he covered his face with his palms.

“What about Pandora?” Orion asked, leaning forward to read what Kevin had written down. Stealing a look at the paper, most of what Kevin had written was riddled with doodles and barely legible writing. Well, that was one way to keep the contents of the journal a secret.

“Lovey dovey crap,” Gabriel muttered, his hands muffling his words if only slightly, “Some crap about ‘ Oh PaNdOrA iS tHe KeY tO mY pEaCe ’. I dunno, I never cared for the bitch. The evil step-mother to my Cinderella if you ask me”

Orion scrunched his nose at Gabriel’s words. He looked down at Kevin who was sketching something on the paper. Nothing of importance, a small sigil he’d seen a thousand times, marked to keep demons out of the med tents. It was pretty basic stuff and it wasn’t like it would do any damage here, him jotting it down.

“What’s the direct translation?” Metatron asked, walking around the couch. He grabbed the book, flopping down beside Gabriel as he flipped through the pages. Gabriel sat up straight, his eyes glowing a dull green, before he looked over at Metatron.

“Be honest with me, Love, how long is this really going to take?” He asked, “Gabriel’s got me shoved in the back of my own mind, there’s barely any leg room.”

Metatron looked up while he let out a huffed breath, “It wouldn’t take as long if you let us work with Gabriel without interruption.”

“But you miss me, no?” Loki sneered. Metatron’s wings rustled in response but he rolled his eyes, looking away. Orion noted this, he didn’t know what use it would have, if any, but he felt it was important to remember.

“Loki, just let us have Gabriel back for the time being,” Metatron replied, “If you leave it be, I’ll make it worth your while after this, yes?”

Kevin looked up at Orion, a few of the stray strands of hair falling from his face, “See, I still feel like I’m interrupting something. Like I should leave and give them some privacy.”

Orion nodded, giving the prophet a slight chuckle in response. Loki shot a pointed look at Metatron before grumbling something in Norse under his breath. He hung his head for a few moments, then lifted it again, his eyes shining blue this time.

“Fucker-” Gabriel muttered, running a hand through his hair to muss it up. Metatron shifted his wings to lay flat against his back. Gabriel grabbed the book from Metatron, flipping to one of the pages as he scooted on the couch to move away from the scribe.

“The most direct translation I can give to the English tongue,” Gabriel started, “Says something along the lines of: Pandora is more than just a wife, she is peace incarnate. She is only a small part of the key to tranquility, as there are three that reign true to me. A person born into the wicca with power that grows like weeds, a being made of light and purity whose purpose is none other than to satisfy, and the final piece being the being of light and dark, two worlds colliding to make one .”

“Damn,” Kevin muttered as he finished writing up the translation, “Castiel really writes a lot.”

“Oh, it’s longer in Broken Enochian,” Gabriel replied, looking at the prophet, “But I cut out the bits about Pandora’s bits, if you catch my not so subtle drift.”

“Gross, God is a horny bastard,” Kevin whispered to himself, shaking his head. Kevin jotted down a quick note that Orion could barely read saying ‘God = Sicko’ and Orion let out a short breath. The angel looked back up at Metatron who had stood up and began walking around the room. He wasn’t quite pacing, as pacing would imply that he was walking the same stretch back and forth. Rather, he was sort of walking in a pattern, similar to a circle or oval, but too deformed to count as either option.

Gabriel snapped the journal shut, tossing it to the floor with a light thud before he stretched his arms and wings. The archangel stood up, stretching his legs, then back. Orion could hardly imagine the stiffness he felt. He had enough stiffness in this vessel, the person who owned the body was still inside, but dormant. Gabriel? Gabriel was sharing a body with a Demi-God. One he’s had to forcibly tuck into a secret part of his mind. Orion often experienced a stiff neck or tensed shoulders. Gabriel must’ve been in a world of discomfort.

“This isn’t going as planned,” Metatron said, stopping his walking. He looked at Gabriel, then Orion, then Kevin. Then, without saying anything, he promptly resumed walking.

“This journal you brought me, it can’t end the war,” Gabriel replied, looking sharply at the book on the floor. He kicked it before he continued, “All it is is an amalgamation of useless love poems. All you brought me was Dad’s personal smut book, nothing else.”

Kevin flipped through the pages of the notepad he was writing on. Pages filled with his jotted handwriting and scribbled doodles. Orion’s eyes scanned the few words he could actually read. Which, granted, was not many. But one word did stand out to him. Orion saw it on every page at least three times and something about it was more than just a random word choice by Castiel. No, this was important, this was deliberately chosen. Castiel had crafted all of his passages, his entries intentionally and it just clicked for Orion. As the angel stared at the word on every single page, he felt more confident in his assumption being correct. The journal wasn’t about Pandora, it was never about Pandora. The journal was all about:

Peace.

Chapter Text

“She’s gone?” Deanna’s voice was curt and short, “Like, poof? Vanished from thin air?”

Myst looked at Ellen who was avoiding eye contact before looking back at Deanna. She nodded shortly. Cordelia hadn’t been in lock up when she and Ellen had gone to try and kill her. Of course, they had told the Battalion that their intentions had been to feed the demon.

When Myst had told the group, Claire shot her a distressed look before they were promptly led downstairs by Ketch to the dining room where they were currently sitting. Rowena was hunched over the table, scribbling onto a notebook. Sam and Deanna were sitting across from Ellen and Myst respectively, Claire and Garth on either side of the Winchesters. Charlie was sitting beside Rowena, stealing quick glances at what Rowena was writing without letting on what she was doing.

As Ketch paced the room, Ellen kept her head down, avoiding eye contact. Ketch seemed to be thinking over his words, trying to choose them wisely. Myst bit her lip with stress. If Cordelia was gone, that meant there was no way Myst could finish her end of the deal with Crowley. Garth kept shooting Myst pointed looks and she wished she could wipe the look off his face. The sneer, the sheer amount of pure judgment.

“She couldn’t exactly get out on her own, could she?” Deanna looked over at Sam who returned with a look of offense.

“I didn’t help her,” Sam replied in an offended tone, “As much as I wholeheartedly disagree with what happened with her, I’m smart enough to follow orders.”

“We found a Devil’s Trap scratched at, breaking the seal,” Myst replied, bringing the attention of the conversation back to the matter at hand, “We all know she couldn’t have done it herself.”

“I saw the witch go upstairs,” Claire shot back quickly, “I bet it was her, she'd been in cahoots with the demon anyways.”

Rowena looked up from her writing, a look of malice in her eye, “Me? Poor little old me? Who has a WITCH’S TRAP ON HER ANKLE?!”

Rowena stood as she shouted at the younger Hellian. Myst’s eyes shot to the red head as she snapped, her hands shaking slightly from discontentment. Ketch stopped his pacing, shooting a pointed look at Rowena.

“Just because I have friends, that doesn’t make me a monster!” Rowena said fiercely, “I didn’t scratch that Devil’s Trap!”

“Rowena,” Ketch began, “Did you tamper with that room? Tell me the truth.”

Garth looked over at Rowena who nodded softly toward the hunter, “No, I did not.”

“She could be lying,” Claire exclaimed loudly as she stood up. Myst looked quickly at Rowena who seemed to be unfazed by Claire’s sudden outburst.

“Impossible, Witch’s Trap means she has to do as I say, when I say it,” Ketch replied flatly. Myst gave Claire a frustrated look as she returned to her seat, Rowena doing the same. Rowena hunched back over her writing, scrawling notes all over the paper, Charlie watching as she did. Myst returned her attention to Ketch who had begun walking again.

“One of us helped Cordelia to her escape,” Ketch began, “And the one who helped will be dismissed.”

Myst scanned the room for any semblance of nervousness. No one in the room seemed fazed by this threat. Ellen looked up at Ketch, making brief eye contact before looking back down. Ketch must’ve caught onto this because he walked over beside Ellen, placing one hand on the table and clasping the other on her right shoulder.

“Tell me, Major Harvelle, why do you look so nervous? So… jumpy?” Ketch asked, his words hanging in the air. Myst held her breath. She knew it hadn’t been Ellen, even if Ellen hadn’t been with her during that full time frame, Ellen hated demons too much to help one out.

“You really think Major Harvelle would help a demon,” Myst spoke up, causing Ketch to look at her, “She’s just tired, besides, she’s been with me since you locked Cordelia up, when would she have had time to go free Cordelia and sneak her off base?”

“Maybe you both did it,” Ketch replied, pulling away from Ellen, “Maybe you snuck her off base and killed her.”

Sam furrowed his brow, looking up, “Hey, you said you two were going to go feed her, right?”

Myst shared a look with Ellen before Ellen spoke, “That’s right, what about it, boy?”

“Cordelia is a demon,” Sam said slowly, “Why would she need to eat?”

And that was it. That was the Jenga block that knocked the tower down. Of course, when Myst had been formulating a plan, she had known something to be off. But she didn’t realize that was it. Demons didn’t eat, God, wasn’t that obvious? How were they so dense? No, Myst wasn’t dense. Myst was never dense, Ellen was dense. It was moronic, how had she not caught it? How hadn’t she caught the error in their plan that Myst had most definitely intentionally missed? This was Ellen’s fault, not Myst’s.

Myst looked over at Ellen whose jaw had fallen agape. Moronic. The Major looked moronic, they wouldn’t be in this situation if she hadn’t overlooked the blaring error that was Cordelia being a demon. God, where did Ellen get off? How could she sleep at night?

“What were you doing in the holding cell?” Sam asked, tilting his head. Myst swallowed hard. She wasn’t nervous, she could bluff her way out of this, she was good at bluffing her way out of things. Myst took a steadying breath, not that she needed it. Her heart rate was steady and her breathing rather even.

“We were checking in, the rules of POW,” Myst replied shortly, her voice lacking any resemblance of real emotion. She’d, over the years, perfected her ability to not show emotion in her voice unless severely necessary, which thus far, no situation had been dire enough to require her to do so.

“Hold on, no,” Deanna stood up slowly, pointing roughly at Myst and Ellen respectively, “If you two were together when Cordelia went missing, then who’s to say that you’re not the ones who let her out?”

“You better put that finger away before I break it, little girl,” Ellen threatened through her teeth. Deanna returned the threat with a smirk before gently lowering her point. Ellen stared daggers at the older Winchester, not taking her eyes off her.

“Accusations are getting us nowhere,” Charlie finally spoke up, “We’re going to tear this unit apart before we can get to the bottom of this.”

Claire diverted her attention to Charlie who was sitting in her chair meekly, almost very small compared to the hunters around her. Claire raised her brows, scanning the hunter.

“Where were you during this? Hm?” Claire asked, tilting her head, “Maybe you let her out.”

Charlie’s eyes widened in horror. Myst could tell the hunter was panicked at the accusation and Myst looked over at Claire. Ketch stopped his pacing once again, stopping by Charlie. Ketch grabbed a chair, sitting down beside her. Charlie scooted back slowly.

“I didn’t do anything,” Charlie replied, standing up quickly, “I was with Deanna and Sam, you can ask!”

“I dunno, Charlie,” Deanna said shortly, “You stepped away.”

“For fifteen minutes!” Charlie cried out. Myst could sense the panic in her voice. She was innocent, there was no way she wasn’t. The pure fear in her eyes was drowning, spilling over, threatening to turn from a look into tears to roll down her cheeks. Normally Myst wouldn’t care, normally she’d just ignore it. But she couldn’t this time, something about her reaction struck a chord. It reminded her of something she wanted to forget.

Myst stood up quickly, “She didn’t let the bitch go.”

“You can’t know that, Myst,” Deanna stood as well, staring intently at Myst, “None of us can know that. It wasn’t Rowena, it wasn’t me or Sam. It probably wasn’t you or Ellen–”

Memories, fragments, cries for pain, cries for help. And Myst’s brain was screaming them all at once. There was no more organization, there were no boxes of memories and feelings. It was orderly and then it was chaotic and it was very loud. Myst hadn’t thought like this in years and she wanted it to stop. She wanted it all to stop.

The yelling from her brain blended with the yelling that erupted around the table. Hunters were throwing accusations, even Myst was saying words she couldn’t really hear. Tension was high. Everyone was yelling at everyone and everything was too loud.

Myst’s eyes darted fervently around the table, Deanna yelling at Charlie, Sam yelling at Deanna, Ketch yelling at Sam, Ellen yelling at Ketch. It was detrimental, it was chaotic, it was hell. But sitting in his seat, head hung, eyes shut, hands over his ears, was Garth. And not too far from his seat, Rowena, still hunched over her writing. They were too calm for the situation. Well, at least Garth’s version of calm. Myst didn’t know Rowena all that well, but this amount of noise would easily unnerve anyone, well, apparently almost anyone.

And though the noise inside the room was loud and lofted over the group, a large sharp noise from outside cut through it all. It was a noise that Myst had grown almost accustomed to during the war. The sound of a bomb. Not an Angelic bomb, for some reason those sounded different. No, this was a Hellian bomb. One that was loud, large, and most likely left a horrible mess.

The whole room fell silent in response, no one sure where it came from or why. Then the first one was met by a second, then a third. This seemed to snap Rowena out of whatever writing she was enthralled in. She looked up sharply, her hair falling back in response as she jumped to her feet.

“No,” she muttered, “No, no, no, no.”

Rowena rushed towards the front doors, the hunters and Claire following after her. She swung the doors open widely, running down the porch stairs as she craned her neck. The group followed her, mimicking her response.

The glowing purple field that had been protecting the base was being actively bombed over and over by Hellian bombs. The bombs were causing the forcefield to waver and falter. Rowena shook her head in horror, in fear. Myst scanned the sky for any indication of where the bombs were coming from when a British voice cut through the air. Not Ketch’s, no, but this was one that Myst knew.

“Hello, mother,” Crowley’s voice drew the group’s attention towards him as he walked towards the forcefield, a leashed Cordelia being pulled behind him, “Nice little charm you’ve got here.”

“Fergus,” Rowena hissed, rushing towards the border of the property, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“We call it a preemptive strike in war lingo,” Crowley replied, yanking roughly on the chain leash that Cordelia was attached to, “We’re taking you out before you can hurt us. What’s the term you told me when I was fourteen and you left me on my own? Oh, that’s right, self preservation .”

Chapter Text

The collar around Cordelia’s neck had been engraved with sigils to keep her from smoking out. Not that there were many vessels nearby for her to smoke out and into, and Hell had her face plastered on every corner. She hadn’t wanted to show Crowley where the camp was, she tried her best not to, but the man twisted her arm and there was nothing she could do. The leash he had her on was far too short for her to try to slip away and far too long for her to try to pull a fast one on him.

The bombs weren’t being dropped from the sky, no Cordelia knew better than to think that. There were low level demons in the control room of Hell opening their individual wormholes, dropping the loaded bombs from Hell onto the top of the forcefield. Hell had much more complex technologies than they were ever willing to let on. Cordelia had seen much of it first hand at the beginning of the war. But that was so many centuries ago.

Crowley yanked on her chain roughly and she looked up at Rowena apologetically. Rowena didn’t seem to be mad with her, she had sent her to Hell, but she could sense the disappointment in Garth’s eyes. He probably assumed that she had run back to Hell and told them what was going on. That she had ordered him to bomb them. She felt guilty even though she did nothing wrong.

“Fergus,” Rowena started, “This isn’t you, this isn’t the bright young boy I know.”

Crowley looked around, over his shoulders, then back at Rowena. He tilted his head, scoffing slightly.

“Who are you talking to?” He asked shortly, “Because I fear you may have hit your head rather hard.”

Rowena let out a short breath, scanning her son shortly before looking over her own shoulder. The group of hunters behind her looked rather distressed. Except for Myst, of course. Myst looked her same placid self. Cordelia didn’t appreciate the neutral look on her face. Some panic would’ve been better than… this.

“Claire, dear, come to daddy,” Crowley motioned for Claire to join his side. Claire dropped her fake panicked look, smiling a reserved smile as she walked happily to Crowley’s side. Claire turned, smiling deviously at the group of lost hunters.

“Wh-what?” Deanna stammered, “What the hell, Claire? I thought you were on our side?”

“Never said I was,” Claire replied, crossing her arms, “All I said was I wasn’t a Hellian which, whoops, I lied.”

“Son of a bitch!” Deanna yelled, kicking the dirt forcefully. She ran a quick hand through her clearly knotted hair before rushing towards the property line. She was prepared to step over, out of the forcefield before Crowley raised a hand to stop her.

“Ah ah ah,” Crowley stopped the hunter, “Not so fast. You step outside of that little forcefield of yours, and you start a battle you won’t be able to finish.”

Deanna stopped, scanning the demon. She took a few steps back, joining the rest of the group. Cordelia’s eyes shifted between all the members of the group, she felt useless. There was nothing she could do except hope. And pray to Luci that he’d kill her quickly. No, that he’d kill the Winchesters quickly.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Crowley began, handing the leash off to Claire so he could pace properly to attempt to intimidate the hunters, “I’m Crowley. The King of the Crossroads and King of Hell.”

“ A King of Hell,” Cordelia hissed her correction. The correction got a firm yank on her chain from Claire who shot her a dirty look. It was worth it, though, in Cordelia’s eyes, she could see the falter in Crowley’s saunter. Anything she could do to knock him down a peg or two.

“ A King of Hell?” Deanna asked.

“There’s more than one,” Sam whispered in response.

“Why?” Ellen piped up, “They need more than one of those black eyed bitches to run the joint? This dickwad not doing it well enough?”

“No,” Sam replied, “It’s more of a division of power thing, I think, it’s–”

“HOW MANY KINGS OF HELL THERE ARE IS IRRELEVANT,” Crowley said loudly, before clearing his throat and continuing, “I have an offer for you.”

Ketch stepped forward, shoving the rest of the hunters out of the way, “I run this outfit, your offers can go through me.”

Ketch approached the edge of the property, staring directly into Crowley’s eyes. Crowley stared, seeming to size up the British man. Ketch furrowed his brow, returning the look. Cordelia pulled against the leash, Claire yanking it back.

“What do you want?” Ketch asked, his words, a knife, but not one of those sharp knives. His words were like a knife that was partially dulled, not quite yet dulled all the way, but dulled enough to need a good hack or two to actually make his point.

“You hand over the Winchesters,” Crowley pointed to them, “And I call off my bombers. You live. There’s no battle.”

Cordelia shook her head, running up to the border of the forcefield, “DON’T DO IT!”

Claire pulled the chain hard, cutting off Cordelia’s breath and breaking the skin. Cordelia yelped in pain, her hand going to the open wound that was bleeding a fair amount. She couldn’t let the Winchesters be held over. She couldn’t. That could be detrimental and it wasn’t worth it.

“What do you want us for?” Sam asked, taking a small step forward.

“A peace offering,” Crowley lied through his teeth. Of course, it wasn’t a big lie, it was mostly true. And that’s what bothered Cordelia. It wasn’t a lie which meant he could get away with it.

“We all want peace, right?” Crowley took a teasing step forward.

Sam and Deanna shared a look. Sam shook his head but Deanna turned back to look at Crowley.

“Alright,” Deanna nodded, “You can have us.”

Crowley grinned widely, but his grin was cut short.

“No!” A shrill voice from the group of hunters yelled.

Cordelia wasn’t sure how it happened or how he’d even gotten away with it, but Garth pulled out his gun, cocking it. He raised it to shoot at Claire, Cordelia could see that his aim was for her shoulder. He had no intent on harming her, but Charlie reacted instinctually. As Garth was pulling the trigger, Charlie tried to knock the gun out of his hand. Instead, she changed the trajectory of the bullet, sending the bullet to lodge into Claire’s chest. Claire dropped the leash, staggering backwards as the blood spurted from her chest. Everyone watched wide eyed, even Crowley.

Crowley quickly turned back to look at Garth who still had the gun raised a look of absolute horror on his face, Charlie’s face matching his. Cordelia swiftly reeled in her leash, wrapping it around her hands. Crowley bit his lip, clearly trying to maintain his temper as Cordelia ran towards Claire, kneeling beside her.

Claire was still breathing, maybe barely, but blood was spilling out of the wound. Cordelia slid an arm under her head, propping her up as her eyes fluttered from Crowley yelling at the hunters to Cordelia. Cordelia brushed back her hair gently, looking around. If she wasn’t in that damned collar, she might’ve been able to smoke out and save her. But Crowley was too absorbed in his yelling to draw back to reality. Cordelia couldn’t hear what he was saying, she was too busy trying to apply pressure to Claire’s wound, but she could assume he was yelling about Corio coming.

“Am I going to die?” Claire asked, her voice shaking with her body. Cordelia didn’t like the girl, but no one her age deserved death. No one, no matter what they had done, deserved death.

“Not if I can help it,” Cordelia muttered.

Chapter Text

Sneaking around the camp hadn’t been easy, especially at night. It would’ve been easier to track down the needed people in broad daylight when things were much less suspicious on Jack, Ralph, and Balthazar’s part. But Balthazar knew secret hidden routes off the beats of the guards and he led the boys down them. Ralph was wholly grateful for the fallen angel’s assistance, even if he did ramble here and there. Jack was the same amount of quiet he’d been all night and he found it particularly unnerving.

Balthazar was leading the boys through a back alleyway that no one ever used when Ralph noticed Jack staring down at his hands. Ralph fell back a few paces to walk beside his friend. He cleared his throat to get his attention and Jack looked up at him. Jack smiled one of those horribly forced smiles that just screamed for help. Balthazar was a good few paces ahead of him. So Ralph sucked in a breath–

“It’s hard,” Jack looked back down at his hands, “Like, really hard.”

Ralph tilted his head, listening to Jack’s every word. It’s not like it was hard for Jack to open up, but something about this seemed to be hard for the man. So Ralph was patient, which implies that he wasn’t normally, which would be a lie. Ralph despised lies with a burning passion.

“I’ve hurt people, a lot,” Jack continued, “People that I was told were bad, but now I’m starting to think they weren’t.”

Ralph tilted his head. This camp was using the innocence of these Nephilim and Cambion to their advantage. They were preying on kids like Jack, like Jane. And for what? A little stake in the war? No one knew this camp existed, why would it matter? Why couldn’t they just save Nephilim and Cambion, keep them safe from the conflict?

People were greedy.

“Zachariah told me,” Jack paused, “Zachariah told me that I was important. That I was powerful and people would take advantage of me. But now all I can think about now is how he’s taking advantage of me. Of… all of us.”

“Zach isn’t a good guy,” Balthazar looked over his shoulder, “I knew him when we were in heaven and he wasn’t a good one back then either. When you let things like abuse and being used weigh you down, you end up being unable to separate yourself from your experiences compared to where you need to go.”

Ralph didn’t quite agree with the ex-angel’s sentiments, but he could see where he was coming from. He could also tell Balthazar was coming down off of his being drunk as he hadn’t had a drink in quite a while. Jack shrugged, kicking a pebble out of his path.

“Look, you’re getting the insightful version of me,” Balthazar said, “If I let what happened to me in Heaven define me, I wouldn’t be helping you right now. I would be wallowing in self pity like many of my fellow angels.”

“Balthazar,” Jack started, looking up, “You spend most of your time in your tent consuming copious amounts of alcohol… How are you not wallowing in self pity? Your words, not mine.”

Ralph watched as Balthazar stopped walking. He turned around, looking at Jack, his face showing a sense of discontentment. Ralph instinctually took a step back, putting some space between him and the angel that was looking very frustrated. Balthazar stepped forward towards Jack who seemed to have no sense of fear towards the angered man.

“A: you have no idea what I’ve been through,” Balthazar muttered, “And B: even if you were right, which you’re not, I don’t need your input. Jack, I’ve seen wonders beyond your realm of imagination, and I’ve learned things that would make you question your existence. So forgive me if I hit the bottle a few times as a coping mechanism.”

Jack bit his lip and Balthazar seemed to be satisfied. Balthazar turned back around and Ralph quickly looked at Jack who had his fists clenched in rage. Ralph could sense the Nephilim’s unease as Balthazar continued to walk. Jack refused to move on, he was clearly discontent.

“Listen,” Jack started, “I may not know what you’ve been through or anything like that, but I’ve been through some pretty bad shit too. So you don’t get to tell me to move past what I’ve been through and then play victim in yourself.”

Balthazar muttered under his breath, “Well, I wish I were able to summon a drink.”

Balthazar continued to walk, ignoring Jack entirely. Jack shot a look of desperation at Ralph but Ralph shook his head, just nudging him to continue to walk. Ralph knew what it meant for an alcoholic to sober up. He’d seen his dad do it a thousand times. Each time was always worse than the last. Ralph shuddered at the memories. Balthazar was a happy drunk, a confused drunk, but a happy one. For him to sober up from the thing that had been keeping him sane, it was detrimental to the boys.

Jack trudged forward, stepping over fallen electrical wires. Ralph followed a few paces behind. The chances were that the wires had no power. Twenty years with no power company made the chances of active electrical wires slim to none. Ralph still walked with caution, though, in case there was some charge left, Ralph didn’t feel like dying. At least not electrocuted in a back alleyway.

Balthazar approached a building that looked run down from the back, but if Ralph’s memory served right, would be the guard’s barracks. Balthazar stopped walking, his hands trailing the bricks of the building softly. Jack and Ralph waited a few paces behind him, watching as Balthazar approached the back entrance.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” A woman fazed into view, “You’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out.”

Ralph squinted, scanning the woman. He knew her from somewhere and it took a moment for it to click. It was Delia, the ghost from the night of the Rugaru attack. She looked a little worse for wear, at least compared to the last time Ralph had seen her. Ghosts had the tendency to do that. Deteriorate over time, that is.

Balthazar scoffed at Delia, “Come on, Delia, the only way anyone of importance is going to find out is if you tell them.”

Delia’s jaw stiffened as she stepped forward. She seemed to be gauging the possible responses that Balthazar might give her. She fazed out and back in a few times, clearly struggling to keep a grasp on this reality.

“Balthazar, you know that only guards are allowed in the guard’s barracks,” Delia said quickly, “Now, I'll let the rules bend for you, but not the other two. Those are kids, there’s things in there that they’re not meant to see.”

“Delia, please,” Balthazar turned to look at her, “The only reason you’re still around is because Zachariah hasn’t burned your bones yet. Now whether or not you want to be here, your choice. If you snitch on us to Zachariah, I know where your bones are. I can either salt and burn the bitches or I can make sure they never get burned, you hear?”

Delia bit her lip, scanning Balthazar. She raised her brows shortly before fazing out. This time, though, she didn’t faze back in. Balthazar must’ve taken this as the go ahead for entering the barracks with the boys. Ralph, on the other hand, got a distinct sense of unease from the interaction. Something about Delia screamed ‘stickler for the rules’ and Ralph didn’t trust the spirit not to rat them out. But Balthazar knew her better and so did Jack, and Jack seemed mostly unfazed by the interaction. So Ralph tried to let it roll off of him as the trio entered the barracks.

The barracks were rather calm from Ralph’s point of view. Given the amount of demons that were under Zachariah’s, for lack of a better word, employment, Ralph was shocked to see the amount of people that were sleeping. Though, Ralph figured those who weren’t asleep would probably be on patrol as it would make the most sense.

Balthazar led the boys between the bunks, heading past the many sleeping guards. Balthazar touched each bunk he passed like a ritual and though the room was dark, Ralph could tell it used to be a convenience store. Balthazar stopped at a bunk in the middle of the room. Jack and Ralph stayed at the edge of the bunk but Balthazar approached the person, couching near their head. He shook their shoulders softly, trying to rouse them.

Jack obviously tensed up, fearing for the worst. Ralph placed a hand on the Nephilim’s shoulder, trying to steady his concern. Jack didn’t relax at all, but he took a step closer to Ralph. Waking a guard could get them all in trouble. And Ralph fully believed that, well, until he got a good look at the guard as they sat up.

It was Eileen.

She gave Balthazar a quick and confused look. Balthazar turned on the gaslamp beside her bed, beginning to sign to her. Eileen nodded in understanding, pulling her covers off and Balthazar stepped back as she slipped out of bed. He turned down the gaslamp, grabbing Jack’s wrist. Eileen grabbed Ralph’s, both of them leading the boys out the back into the back alleyway. Jack was quiet until they stepped out and he pulled away quickly.

“What the hell?” He whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Eileen will help us,” Balthazar replied, “We’ve been planning an escape for years. With the Elioud here, and on our side, then you. We can finally get free from the clutches of Zachariah’s boney grasp.”

“You're overselling it again,” Eileen looked over at Balthazar before returning her gaze to Ralph and Jack, “If we take the sewer system tonight, we can travel by foot to a nearby Hunter Battalion. I was with the hunters before Zachariah recruited me.”

Ralph looked over at Jack who seemed a bit wary of her words. Ralph looked between Eileen and Balthazar. He trusted Balthazar, he trusted Eileen, but Jack was his friend. If Jack didn’t trust these two and didn’t wish to join them, Ralph would take his side. Jack took a steadying breath, taking a small step forward.

“Two things,” Jack started, “You take my collar off.”

“Done,” Balthazar said, pulling a small silvery key out of his pocket. The key glinted in the stark moonlight. Ralph squinted, it was very likely that Balthazar had been in possession of the key the entire time. Balthazar tossed the key to Jack who closed his fingers around it gently.

“Second thing,” Jack started, looking over at Ralph, then Eileen, “We take Jane with us.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Balthazar stepped between the line of vision between Jack and Eileen, holding up his hands in defense, “No, the Nephilim will slow us down. If not, get us killed. Besides, I have no idea which guard is on duty right now, which one needs to be bribed. If it’s Alastair or Meg, forget it!”

Eileen placed a hand on Balthazar’s shoulder, gently nudging him out of the way. She exchanged a quick look with Balthazar who raised his hands in the air, crossing them as he stormed a few steps away. Eileen approached Jack slowly, looking over at Balthazar over her shoulder before turning back to the boys.

“Jack, moving Jane could cost her her life,” Eileen explained, “It’s not safe for her.”

Jack furrowed his brows, looking over at Balthazar who was hitting his head roughly against the brick wall. Ralph raised his brows. Jack was a person who wasn’t easily deterred. Unless, of course, a power-blocking collar was slapped around his neck. Jack took a step forward.

“We’re getting Jane,” Jack said flatly, “Otherwise, I’m not going. And if I’m not going, then Ralph isn’t either.”

Balthazar stopped hitting his head, looking over at the boys. There was a small patch of blood where he’d scraped away the surface layer of skin on his forehead  against the aged bricks. The ex-angel approached the boys roughly, pointing sharply at Jack. His eyes flitted up, taking a step back.

“Since when do you speak for my buddy? Hm?” Balthazar poked Jack’s shoulder roughly, “Ralph can speak for himself. Tell him, Ralph.”

Balthazar pointed outwardly at Ralph who stared back blankly. Sure, Ralph would have replied; if he felt like it in the slightest. But sometimes the greatest joy was people distressing over nothing. Then Ralph felt a little sick at the thought, maybe he was more demon than he had thought. He didn’t like that thought.

“Do you want us to take Jane too?” Eileen asked and Balthazar pulled her to look at him.

“Don’t coddle him,” Balthazar raised his voice in a groan, pointing at Ralph. Ralph looked over at Jack who was unlocking his collar. His collar fell off his neck, Jack rubbing his neck generously.

Eileen looked back over at Ralph who was pointing towards the direction of the bunkhouse. Something about Jane screamed that she was necessary. Besides, if the sewer system ran the way that Ralph assumed it did, which it did, that would mean there was a manhole by the back entrance of the bunkhouse. They could get in then out fairly quickly.

“Ralph wants to get Jane,” Eileen said, “Besides, Jo is on duty with Jane and she’d be more than eager to let us go.”

Eileen started walking towards the bunkhouse, Jack following after her quickly. Ralph began to follow, Balthazar placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Balthazar grasped Ralph’s right shoulder tightly, walking down the narrow alleyway with him, ensuring they stepped over any particularly dangerous debris.

“Listen,” Balthazar started, “I like you. Given that’s a fact, I need you to not fuck this up.”

Ralph looked at Balthazar who gave Ralph a short look, his eyes narrowing at him. Ralph sensed his displeasement. Balthazar hadn’t wanted to stop for Jane, but why? Jane could prove to be a valuable asset. Even if she was… well, barely holding stable at that moment. But Ralph trusted Balthazar’s judgment. And Jack’s. Ralph realized he had begun to trust too many people, this wasn’t okay, trust made him weak.

“Ralphandorf,” Balthazar started and Ralph squinted his eyes at the fallen angel, “When I fell from Heaven, I trusted no one. Which, you would assume to be safe. When Zachariah found me, he taught me to trust people again. Then he made this camp.”

Balthazar waved his hand around in a wide gesture before continuing, “Ralphie, what I’m saying is, don’t trust the first person to be nice to you. People are posers, they’re going to use you. Everyone cares about themselves, not you. It’s survival of the fittest, you need to start acting like it.”

Ralph looked ahead at Eileen and Jack, his words sinking in.

Chapter Text

The long table within the cabin was turned into a large hexagonal one. Orion had all of Kevin’s notes spread across the area of the oaken table. He had the tattered book in his right hand, his vessel’s brown eyes scanning all the pages. He was slowly piecing together all the information, pacing back and forth. He wished Castiel was a little less cryptic with his writings.

Metatron, Kevin, and Gabriel stood lined up behind the angel, staring as he paced. Orion could feel their eyes piercing through his core. He didn’t particularly care, the many pairs of angel eyes didn’t distract him all that much. But knowing Kevin was staring made his wings flutter a bit. He heard Metatron whisper an offhand comment in Enochian to Gabriel about his wings, Gabriel letting out a small chuckle in response.

Orion tried to ignore the Scribe’s antics, staring at the pages. Something about this was a riddle. These three pieces could end the war. He just had to figure out what they all meant. One was easy ‘ a being made of light and purity whose purpose is none other than to satisfy ’. Pandora. Pandora wasn’t exactly a God or an angel or any being aside from being known for ruling beside Castiel. Good enough, made to satisfy. So they needed Pandora. Wherever she was, Orion wasn’t even sure if she had survived the war, no one had seen her since the start. Even if she hadn’t, Castiel had made her, no? If Pandora was going to be anywhere, it was going to be the throne room.

As for the other parts? ‘ The being of light and dark, two worlds colliding to make one .’ Orion would’ve been lying if he had told himself he had any idea what the hell this one meant. As far as Orion’s mythology knowledge dated, Angels were beings of light and Demons were beings of darkness. To meld the two into one seemed, unlikely, illogical, even. He scratched his stubble covered chin, maybe Castiel had been referring to a Demon that was possessing an Angel? But that didn’t sound right to Orion. It happened, but it wasn’t very common. Three or more beings in one vessel had the tendency to get cramped, it never lasted longer than a moment or two.

And the final one? ‘ A person born into the wicca with power that grows like weeds ’. Sure, the last part was likely poetic in its own sense, if this was the closest translation that Gabriel could provide. Orion bit his vessel’s nails. It wasn’t a habit of his own devise, it was something his vessel had done before he’d gotten there, but Orion had picked up that habit. Not that it helped him in any particular way, it didn’t. If it was a wicca, that meant a witch. Which meant a natural born witch. Orion held his breath. Not that he needed to breathe.

Orion looked over his shoulder at Gabriel, “Natural born witch. Does that ring any bells?”

“I know of one,” Metatron said, “But she’s supposed to be dead. I mean, I watched her get killed.”

Gabriel looked between all the men, muttering something under his breath, “Dad, fuck all, I’m so tired of your bullshittery at this point.”

Orion turned around completely, looking at Gabriel. Gabriel let out a long and heavy sigh, hanging his head. He was still a few moments, his wings fading from Orion’s perception. Gabriel looked back up, his eyes glowing that telling dull green that Metatron was used to, and the prophet and angel were beginning to recognize.

Loki straightened his posture, the green glow fading as he looked over at Metatron. Metatron shook his head, stepping away, clearly fed up with the Demi-God choosing when and where to make his appearances. Loki paused before looking towards Orion.

“You said you wanted to know about a natural born witch?” Loki asked, taking a step forward, “I know one.”

Orion raised his chin away from Loki a bit. He was unsure whether or not he could trust him. Should trust him. Even though the only person who truly knew Loki in the room was Metatron, and something told Orion that Metatron was at least somewhat biased. Orion knew Loki well enough to not trust him. At least not fully. Kevin, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same amount of reserve.

“You know a natural born witch?” Kevin asked, raising his brows, his dark eyes widening, “You wouldn’t happen to know what their name is? Hell, where they are?”

Loki looked at the prophet, he seemed to be getting an idea. That couldn’t be good. Orion stepped forward, his wings flaring out slightly. Loki seemed amused by Orion’s reaction, winking gently at the angel. Metatron, from his spot against the wall, shot Loki a knowing look in response.

“Her name is Rowena,” Loki began. He looked down at his clothes, pulling at the aged green jacket he wore. He snapped his fingers, giving himself a sleeker ensemble as a chair pulled up behind him. He took a seat, crossing his right leg over his left.

“No, that’s the one I saw get killed,” Metatron protested, approaching Loki, his arms crossed, “I watched her explode, it was pretty damn messy.”

Loki looked up at Metatron, his thin lips curling into a smile, “She had a little charm. Brings her back to life. You should know this, darling.”

Metatron pressed his lips together, stepping away when Loki reached out his hand to touch the scribe’s scruffy beard, “Okay, well if you’re so smart, then where is she?”

Loki lowered his arm, folding his hands in his lap. Orion took a step back, leaning against the table. Kevin walked from the side of the other two, joining Orion’s side. The prophet leaned slightly into the angel and Orion extended his right wing, wrapping it around Kevin to pull him closer.

“Last I heard, she was with that cunt, Arthur Ketch ,” Loki mocked the name, “I could probably take you to her, if you’d just scraped those little sigils off the outside of the cabin, yes?”

Orion furrowed his brow. Something about taking down the sigils didn’t rest well with the angel. Loki was dangerous, there was a reason Gabriel had locked him in. Then again, Gabriel was probably also dangerous, Loki had locked him in as well. One of these was more dangerous than the other, though, and Orion wasn’t sure who to trust.

“How do we know you won’t just slaughter us all?” Kevin asked, taking a step forward. Orion’s wing instinctually pulled him back toward the angel’s body. Kevin looked through the wing with confusion. Orion’s vessel’s face heated up slightly but he was able to ignore it that time.

“I have no cause to,” Loki replied, his hand wrapping around Metatron’s wrist, pulling the scribe closer to him, “Besides, even if I did, I don’t have the juice. Gabriel’s got me power-locked.”

Metatron let out a short breath and Orion diverted his eyes from the two’s hands before he could watch their fingers intertwine, “What stops you from leaving us stranded somewhere random?”

“I’m a trickster, not a monster,” Loki placed his free hand over his heart, shaking his head, “Besides, I gain nothing from stranding you. I probably get more out of finding Rowena, maybe it’ll motivate Gabriel to leave.”

Orion looked over at Kevin who was clearly thinking about this. Orion was too. Even assuming that Loki knew Rowena and roughly where she was, there was no guarantee that he knew where the witch was. It was the Russian Roulette of tracking someone down. Orion cleared his throat.

“How do you know where she is?” Orion questioned the Demi-God. Loki rolled his eyes, smirking as he leaned forward. His hand slipped away from Metatron and the scribe quickly pocketed his hand in his jeans.

“Well, for one, I know where Arthur is,” Loki said, before pulling out a handful of herbs, “For two, I can cast a quick tracking spell on Arthur to pinpoint his exact location.”

Orion exchanged looks with Metatron then Kevin. Both looked at him with decisive looks. As much as he didn’t trust it, they had no alternatives. Kevin stood up tall, heading for the cabin door.

“I’ll start scratching those sigils away,” Kevin said simply.

Orion looked over at Loki, “Get ready for a trip through Heaven.”

Chapter Text

“GODDAMMIT, GARTH,” Myst yelled at the blubbering Corporal. Garth had fallen to the ground after firing his gun, shaking and freaking out. He could hardly keep it together and it was beginning to unnerve Myst. Charlie had her own hands clasped over her mouth in horror, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. It was all a mess.

Myst crouched in front of Garth, grabbing the gun from his hand. The hunter was hyperventilating and just overall panicking. Myst didn’t understand. He’d killed people before, tons of people. Humans, demons, angels. It shouldn’t have been out of the ordinary for him. Myst looked over her shoulder at Cordelia who was keeping Claire hanging by a thread.

Claire wasn’t her problem. Myst had to remind herself of that as she tried to get Garth to calm down. She wasn’t the best with her own emotions, let alone someone else’s. Myst diverted her attention to Charlie who was crying from her actions. Myst just wished she was the one to fire the gun. Maybe then they wouldn’t be where they were at the moment.

“Garth I-I,” Charlie choked on her words, “I thought y-y-you were– you were going to– I’m so-o-or-rry.”

Myst set the gun down, grabbing Garth’s shoulders roughly. Garth’s breathing was still shallow and quick as he looked in Myst’s eyes. Myst wished she was better at this whole thing. they had bigger concerns than Garth’s mental health at that moment.

“Corporal, you need to pull yourself together,” Myst said flatly, “She’s not dead yet, you haven’t killed anyone. You’re still innocent, so to speak.”

Garth started to calm at least a bit. Myst let out a short sigh of relief when she noticed him calming down a bit. His breathing was still choppy, but it was level enough to not be Myst’s priority at the moment. She stood up, looking down at Garth’s gun. She stuck it in her back jean pocket, joining the group that was actively having a yelling match with Crowley.

“Your rogue hunter could’ve just gotten all of us killed,” Crowley snapped.

Myst joined Deanna’s side, the older Winchester wrapping her arm around the Captain’s waist. Myst stared down Crowley. His demeanor wasn’t the cool, collected demon Myst had met back in Hell. He wasn’t the charismatic son of a bitch that held you on a short leash if you fucked up. This version of Crowley was truly and maddeningly scared. Of what? Myst had no idea, but it couldn’t be good if it scared the King of Hell.

Rowena took a small step forward. Her stance wavered slightly against the noise of the falling bombs. Myst had almost tuned the bombs out, they were becoming white noise in the back of her mind. But if she cared to look up, she could see the bombs falling, sending electrical ripples through the forcefield that seemed to be failing. They could be dead very soon and it would be Garth’s– no– Charlie’s fault. Myst wasn’t afraid of death, she just wasn’t prepared yet.

“Fergus, call off your bombs, no one has to get hurt,” Rowena pleaded, motioning towards the group of hunters, “They’ve done nothing wrong. The lanky man didn’t mean to hurt the girl.”

“Mother, you don’t understand,” Crowley began, stealing a quick look over his shoulder before his facial features softened,  “I’m not controlling the bombings. Mother, I’m not in control of any of this. And the second that girl’s heart stops beating, it’s over for all of us.”

Myst looked at Deanna whose face was still stone cold. She had planned on giving herself up, along with Sam, to what? Possibly end a war? To get killed was more like it. Crowley was anything but an honest man and Myst knew better than to trust a demon. Myst stole a quick look at Garth who was calming down a bit more, Charlie helping him to his feet as she wrapped him into a hug, blubbering useless apologies.

“Okay, okay, uh,” Sam stammered, trying to catch a thought, “Ellen and I will run inside and get the first aid kit, maybe then we can patch her up, stop the bleeding.”

Ellen nodded in agreement, gripping her rifle as she jogged towards the base. Sam scanned the group before quickly following after her. Myst looked over at Ketch who was stone faced as ever, his eyes dull and devoid of any real emotion.

“I’ll send a wire to General Singer,” Ketch said blankly, “Tell her we may have a battle on our hands.”

Ketch turned on his heels, walking at a fairly fast pace towards the base as well. Garth and Charlie seemed to have snuck inside with Ellen and Sam, probably to stay out of the amount of trouble they were in. Myst looked quickly towards Cordelia who was still leashed, doing her best to keep the young Hellian alive.

“Fergus, you have to do something,” Rowena said, “I refuse to die on the battlefield.”

“If I could, I would,” Crowley started, he pointed at Claire, “But all our recruits have a direct line to Hell. Each one has a different light in the control room, if her light goes out, Corio will see. Once Corio sees he lost one of our strongest recruits, one that has a connection to the pearly gates themselves, he’s going to be pissed.”

“He’ll push us into the final phases of war,” Deanna whispered, “He’ll destroy the Earth and everyone on it.”

Ellen and Sam rushed past the group, walking across the forcefield that was their form of protection. They crouched near Cordelia and Claire, beginning to try to help save her life. Myst took a staggering step backwards. What had Garth done? What had Charlie done? Then it dawned on her, what had she done? She was the entire reason Claire was there in the first place. But… no, she wasn’t the one to help Cordelia escape. She wasn’t the person to blame. It wasn’t her fault. Of course, it couldn’t be her fault. No, that would be ridiculous.

“Rowena, lower the forcefield,” Deanna muttered softly. Rowena looked at the Winchester, giving her an incredulous look. Lowering the forcefield would mean certain death. Not a possibility or probability. Certain and impending death, that no one could escape.

“Have you gone mad, chuckles?” Rowena looked between Crowley and Deanna as she took a few steps back, “Lowering the forcefield would ensure our deaths. I’m not suicidal.”

“If you don’t lower the forcefield, they’ll break through it,” Deanna replied, “And the fallout of that will be worse than anything you could imagine.”

Myst looked at the witch as she backed away still. Clearly the thought of certain death wasn’t all that appetizing to her. Myst couldn’t exactly blame the woman. Under different circumstances, Myst might have a little more self preservation.

“If you don’t lower this forcefield, I can’t help you,” Crowley replied, “Demonic bombs can’t pass through, neither can demons. So do me a solid and be a caring mother for once.”

Rowena paused, looking at Crowley, “It’ll be a moment, prepare to bring the child inside and you’d better run like Hell.”

Crowley turned towards Cordelia, Claire, Ellen, and Sam, “Cordelia! Be a dear and prepare Claire to be rushed inside. Rowena is about to lower the forcefield to allow us in.”

“If we move her she could die,” Cordelia protested loudly. Crowley’s eyes flared red and Cordelia hung her head. She and the two hunters beside her helped her to lift Claire off the ground as Rowena began to mumble in Latin.

Slowly, but surely, the forcefield began to falter in multiple places. The bombs that hit gave more impact and tended to slide across the forcefield instead of exploding on impact. Rowena, in the middle of her Latin, yelled for Crowley and Cordelia to run in once they got an opening. They did just that, the demons along with Ellen, Sam, and Claire rushing past Myst and Deanna in a blur.

Rowena looked at Myst and Deanna as the forcefield was almost down, “You two need to run, now.”

“Rowena, no, you’re coming with us,” Deanna protested. Myst didn’t care, she grabbed hold of the older Winchester’s wrist, trying to pull Deanna towards base. If the witch wanted to die, then so be it. It wasn’t her problem and it sure as hell wasn’t Deanna’s. There was safety in the base, if she had to drag Deanna there kicking and screaming, then by all means, she was going to.

“Oh, and I wish I could,” Rowena smiled softly, “But I’ve got to handle things out here, lass.”

“Rowena, no,” Deanna fought against Myst’s pull but Myst was stronger. Myst wasn’t ready to let Deanna sacrifice her life for some witch they barely knew. She couldn’t lose another person she loved, she just wouldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t let it happen. She needed Deanna more than Deanna probably ever needed her. Myst didn’t even notice as the tears pricked at her eyes, welling up and threatening to fall.

“Deanna, we have to go,” Myst yelled as the ground shook when another bomb hit. Deanna looked at Rowena, then Myst before turning toward the hunter and beginning to head back toward base. But on the top stair of the porch, Myst looked over her shoulder. She caught the glimpse of something almost… angelic? That couldn’t be right. But the glowing figures approached Rowena who let out a barely audible: 

“Gabriel?”

Chapter Text

Cordelia watched as Sam knocked all of Rowena’s projects and books onto the floor with the swipe of his hand. With the help of Ellen, she carefully laid Claire down on the table, a poor-man’s bandage slapped crudely over the oozing bullet hole. Cordelia’s hands and dress were covered in blood, but she really didn’t notice or care. Claire was on this dining room table, bleeding out. The demon was honestly surprised she had hung on as long as she had, most humans died fairly quickly, but Claire was a fighter.

Sam busted open the first aid kit, sorting through for a suturing needle and thread. Ellen was rushing about frantically, trying to find a rag to use before giving up completely, tearing off a part of her shirt. Cordelia watched as Myst and Deanna ran into the room, catching their breaths. The forcefield must’ve fallen completely, Cordelia could feel the house shake violently any time a bomb hit. Deanna rushed in to help Sam, but Myst departed to head upstairs. Cordelia watched as she did. She almost cared, almost.

“Dammit, I can’t find anything.” Sam’s hands shook in frustration, his breathing becoming uneven. He flipped the first aid kit, supplies flying everywhere. Sam ran a quick hand through his hair, trying his best to calm down. Deanna placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

“There’s a sewing needle under my bunk along with some fishing wire,” Ellen said as she prepared to change Claire’s bandage, “Take a deep breath, head upstairs and get it. You’re okay.”

Sam nodded, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself down. Deanna squeezed his shoulder, taking her younger brother to the stairwell to help him retrieve the items. Ellen removed the bandage on Claire’s chest, the wound spurting blood as she did. Ellen wiped the blood off her face before pulling at Claire’s many layers to get the roughly ripped rag to cover the skin.

“I’m s-so– so cold,” Claire whispered as she shivered slightly. Cordelia diverted her attention back to the matter at hand, applying pressure to the now covered wound. Claire winced in pain, Cordelia could only imagine how much her chest burned.

The collar around Cordelia’s neck felt like it was weighing her to Hell still. To be entirely fair, it sort of was. If she could get Crowley to take the damned thing off, she might be able to smoke out and smoke into Claire. Then she’d be able to heal the Hellian. Where was Crowley? She needed to talk to Crowley.

Claire started to shake violently and Cordelia realized she still had a hand on her chest. Ellen walked back in, muttering a quick ‘fuck’ before she pinned Claire down on the other side. The blood loss was going to kill her faster than anything else, she was going to need a transfusion. As Sam and Deanna reentered, Cordelia motioned for one of them to hold her down. Deanna quickly took Cordelia’s place and Cordelia lifted Claire’s shirt. Every human Hellian had their blood type branded into them. It made transfusions simpler in the heat of the moment. Cordelia looked at Claire’s.

B Negative.

Cordelia looked up quickly, “Does anyone here have B Negative blood?!”

Deanna looked up, shaking her head. Cordelia cursed herself, pulling Claire’s shirt back down as the Hellian’s shaking slowed to a stop. Cordelia ran a hand through her hair, ignoring the blood trailing through her hair in response.

“There are, uh, other compatible blood types, right?” Sam asked as he tried to thread the fishing wire through the eye of the needle. He was right, there were. But that still begged the question of: Which ones? Even if everyone there knew their blood types, there was no way to know for sure. No one there was exactly a doctor, per se.

“Yeah, I don’t have those memorized,” Cordelia muttered. The door opened and closed loudly, footsteps making their way to the dining room. Cordelia looked over her shoulder as Rowena walked into her view. Cordelia let out a sigh of relief, having thought the witch was originally gone. Cordelia wrapped the witch in a haphazard hug, staining her hair and dress with her bloodied hands.

“Please, I know I’m popular,” Rowena muttered, pulling away. She gave Cordelia a quick look of disgust upon seeing the blood that coated Cordelia. She looked down at her own dress, gasping in shock as the blood stained on the front.

“I figured they had killed you,” Cordelia murmured, her eyes quickly scanning Rowena before she turned away, watching as Sam began to suture Claire’s wound. The house shook as another bomb hit, causing Sam’s suturing to get interrupted and Rowena having to grab hold of the archway.

“They were going to, but a friend helped,” Rowena smiled. A group of four men walked into Cordelia’s view. The tallest of the four was an angel, Cordelia could see his wings, one curled generously around the human to his left. The human to his left seemed to have a part of him missing, but Cordelia couldn’t put a finger on it. It was something deep inside him. It made Cordelia feel uneasy.

On either side of the angel and human, was a secondary angel. This one was shorter, rounder, and seemed to have a little more personality than the other one. And the other? Well, that one confused Cordelia. He looked like an angel, sort of. But he also looked like something else… a Demi-God? No, that felt unlikely. That’s… They were all killed… right? Cordelia couldn’t trust that one.

“I’m not quite your friend, Rowena,” the one that confused her said, before extending his hand, “Loki, charmed, I’m sure.”

Cordelia took a step back. So he was a Demi-God. Cordelia squinted at him. She looked over her shoulder at Sam who was focused on sewing up Claire. Cordelia didn’t know what this was, she didn’t like it. But she wasn’t really in a position to say much.

“This is Kevin, Orion, and Metatron,” Loki said, pointing to the human, then the tall angel, then the short angel. Cordelia pocketed the information in her mind. She’d probably need that information later if she was going to be working with these numpties. Cordelia had to remind herself that she couldn’t be picky, the bombings helped with that.

“We need your help,” Orion said, before correcting himself, “Well, not your help, but Rowena’s.”

Cordelia paused, “Help us.”

Metatron tilted his head, blinking as he looked at Cordelia, “We can’t stop the bombings, if that’s what–”

“Heal her,” Cordelia stepped aside, motioning towards a barely breathing Claire. Orion stepped forwards quickly, hovering his hands over the dying Hellian. Metatron stepped towards Cordelia as Rowena pulled Kevin to the side.

“Do I know you?” Metatron asked, scanning the demon. Loki walked up behind Metatron, placing a hand on the angel’s hip. Metatron looked up at Loki before returning his gaze to Cordelia.

“No,” Cordelia muttered, scanning the angel, “Should we know each other?”

Metatron bit his lip, his wings flaring slightly, “I don’t know. I feel like you’re important to… something.”

“Wow, you really know how to flatter a girl,” Cordelia muttered as she turned away from the angel and Demi-God. Her eyes locked on Orion who was still scanning Claire. Sam looked up at Cordelia with concern and she mirrored the look. Angels weren’t known for being the most reliable, they were in a similar boat as demons. And that was coming from the mind of a demon herself.

Orion pulled away, shaking his head, “She’s too far gone. I can’t heal her from out here and she won't let me in.”

Cordelia looked around, panicked. Crowley. The collar. Why were her chains rattling uselessly against the hardwood? She looked at Loki. Loki furrowed his brows as Cordelia stepped forward, a pleading look on her face.

“Take off my collar,” Cordelia begged through clenched teeth, “You’re a trickster, snap it off for me.”

“I’m not just any trickster. I am THE trickster,” Loki replied, “And even so, I can’t do that. I’m not juiced up enough, you can thank Gabriel for that.”

Cordelia didn’t understand what he meant by that, but she was desperate, “Please, I need to save her. She can’t die, I can’t let her die. She didn’t do anything, you have to help me.”

“You don’t understand,” Loki replied, “I literally cannot help you.”

Cordelia looked over at Claire, her stomach pitting as the Hellian’s breathing stopped.

Chapter Text

The sewers weren’t as full of water as Ralph had assumed them to be. The water was more of a sludge than anything else. Ralph hated having to trudge through it, it made him want to rip off his skin, but it was fine if he was focused on other things. Jack was a few paces in front of the whole group, his hands glowing a dull light to show where they were headed. Eileen was beside him, Jo a few paces behind her, carrying Jane.

Balthazar hung back a few feet with Ralph, taking a swig of the gin they had swiped from the bunkhouse. They hadn’t intended on stealing gin, but they also hadn’t planned on Jo joining them, so they weren’t exactly peak at planning. Ralph looked over at Balthazar who had his eyes more focused on his feet than anything else. The fallen angel was probably drunk again and Ralph wasn’t sure which version of Balthazar he preferred. The irritated sobering up one or the drunken confused one. Ralph didn’t know, nor did he care.

“Screecher,” Jo warned as they walked past the creature who began to elongate its jaw. Eileen shot it quickly with a salt round, the creature letting out a piercing cry, melting into the sludge. Ralph took a step towards Balthazar who pushed him away roughly. Ralph huffed shortly, continuing to press forward with the rest of the group.

According to Eileen, there was a Hunter Battalion not too far from the exit they were headed toward. Apparently regrouping there would be a help to them. Ralph wasn’t sure how much he trusted Hunters after his experiences. His life growing up wasn’t exactly peachy keen and he wasn’t about ready to forget that.

The more they walked, the more tense the air felt. Furthermore, the more they walked, the more a stench began to grow. Ralph furrowed his brow, he felt like he’d smelled something like that before. It didn’t smell like a screecher. Ralph looked at Balthazar who could smell it too.

“What is that?” Jo asked, scrunching her nose. She readjusted her grip on Jane, watching her footing. Ralph looked around curiously, trying to find the source of the smell. Jack looked over his shoulder at Ralph who tried to give him a reassuring look.

Balthazar picked up his pace, looking about the sewer system. Ralph couldn’t think of what kind of creature could make a smell like that. It smelled like rotting flesh but something more. Ralph jogged forward, ignoring the squishing feel of the sludge beneath his feet as well as the splashing noise. He joined Jack’s side, giving the Nephilim a nod of approval.

“Stop,” Balthazar instructed, jogging to the side Ralph was on. The group stopped walking as Balthazar motioned for Jack to come closer with his illuminated hands. Balthazar crouched beside a mound of… something. Ralph approached slowly, squinting his eyes as he looked at the mound. Jack looked at Ralph, brightening the light his hands were emitting. Ralph staggered back when he realized what he was looking at.

At first it looked like a pile of maggots, disgusting in itself, of course. But upon further inspection, Ralph realized it was a girl. Her flesh being eaten by the maggots. Ralph put a hand over his mouth to stop the smell and stop himself from throwing up. Eileen, however, didn’t have as strong of a stomach. Jack’s hands flickered as he looked over at Ralph who swallowed hard, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach and the bile in his throat.

“Oh Castiel,” Balthazar muttered under his breath, looking at the girl. He used his free hand to wipe some of the maggots away, trying to get a better look at her. Ralph didn’t have any clue who she was and by the looks of it she had been there for a while. Jack seemed to know something, though.

“I know her,” Jack crouched by her, lighting his hands again, getting a better look at her, “That’s Mercy.”

Jo leaned forward gently, careful not to hurt Jane, “Fuck, he’s right.”

Eileen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking over at Jo, then the body. Ralph didn’t understand, Mercy was a name he’d heard in the camp thrown around. It was usually a threat, to end up like Mercy. But this wasn’t what he’d heard had happened to her. Not even close.

“Wait, I know I’m like plastered ,” Balthazar took a drink of his gin, “But didn’t Zachariah say she was just left out in the wilderness?”

Jo nodded, “I- I packed her survival kit for her… She–”

The mound shifted and everyone took a step back as Mercy lifted what was probably left of her head. Maggots fell and slid off her body, clearing off her face. She was alive. Her facial tissue had been gnawed away, muscle and bone all that Ralph could see in some places. Ralph felt the bile rising again and it took a bit more that time to not let it all come back up.

“Fucker,” Balthazar muttered, pulling his angel blade out of his jacket pocket, “He didn’t have the decency to actually kill her, bloody bastard.”

“Poor girl,” Eileen muttered, watching the slow and almost robotic movements of the girl, “What did she even do to get kicked out?”

“She was insubordinate, of course,” a voice called from the main hall of the sewer.

The group turned to look as Zachariah entered view. Balthazar gripped his angel blade tightly, raising it to attack if necessary. Jack raised his hands in defense, Eileen turned with her gun raised. Jo took a few steps back, standing beside Ralph.

“Oh, hold on,” Zachariah raised his hands as he grinned crookedly, “I come in peace, mostly.”

“Bastard,” Balthazar pushed through the group, standing a few feet away from Zachariah, “You couldn’t even have the decency to kill her? BASTARD!”

Balthazar threw his bottle against the sewer wall. It shattered loudly, echoing in harmony with Balthazar’s yell. Jo winced at the noise. Ralph gave her a quick look and Jo motioned to the gun in her back pocket. Ralph nodded, grabbing it gently. He held it out of view of Zachariah, removing the safety as he took a sludge-filled step forward.

“I had to teach her a lesson, Balthazar. You of all people should know,” Zachariah defended himself.

“She was a kid! What could she have possibly done that deserved this?!” Balthazar pointed at Mercy’s body. Ralph took another small step forward, hanging closely to the wall. Ralph looked over at Jack, motioning for him to follow. Jack paused before doing as Ralph instructed.

“She was a traitor, Balthazar,” Zachariah explained, “I couldn’t have her going around telling everyone what this camp really is, could I?”

Ralph hugged the wall tightly, careful to stay out of Zachariah’s line of sight. He could live with being in the angel’s peripheral vision, not that angels had very good peripheral vision. Jack’s hands stopped glowing, the sewer dimming slightly.

“Don’t you understand? I’ve been doing God’s will,” Zachariah replied, “When the war started, laws weren’t in order anymore. It was messy– It was chaotic, brother.”

Balthazar shook his head, taking a step forward, “I am not your brother.”

Ralph stopped moving a moment while Zachariah took a step back. It was close. Too close for Ralph’s personal liking. But once Zachariah had settled in his stance, Ralph and Jack continued to walk. The plan was to go behind and shoot the sonuvabitch. Even if Jo’s bullets weren’t melted down angel blades, he’d at least distract Zachariah long enough for Balthazar to kill him.

“Angels and demons breeding with humans,” Zachariah’s voice was strained and intense, “Breeding with one another! It was unholy, Balthazar. And so I’m fixing it! I’m turning these abominations into something useful.”

“You’re using children,” Eileen protested, raising her gun.

“Oh, EIleen, you never could understand, could you?” Zachariah chuckled slightly, his chuckle turning into a sinister laugh. A cackle even. He waved his arms, sending everyone in the group flying. Eileen hit her head roughly against the wall, falling unconscious. Jo hit the wall too, cushioning the blow for Jane who seemed to be beginning to stir from all the commotion. Balthazar stumbled back, falling into the sludge. He scrambled backwards, the angel blade no longer in hand.

As for Jack and Ralph, Jack hit the wall roughly and while he wasn’t knocked out, when Ralph stole a look at him, the Nephilim was fading in and out of knowing what was happening. Ralph was fine, covered in the disgusting sludge that made him want to be skinned alive, but fine. He got to his feet, looking around for Jo’s gun, but he couldn’t see anything in the almost dark. And there was absolutely no way that Jack was going to be able to produce any light in his condition.

“Won’t Castiel be ever so pleased once I tell him the use I’ve been making of these monsters?” Zachariah cackled, “I mean, Balthazar, you were one of his dearest friends. And he still cast you down! Me? No, I’m here doing what was prophesied. A war. Castiel wanted one and I’m helping him have one. I’m helping Dad. And you? What have you done but run amok with the abominations. Making my life difficult.”

Zachariah raised a hand, beginning to choke Balthazar. Ralph looked up, rushing towards them, through the slime. He wasn’t about to let Zachariah kill Balthazar. He had no weapon, but the anger, the fear building inside him. He didn’t need one. He grabbed Zachariah’s shoulder roughly, pulling the angel to look at him. His eyes flared an orange that seemed to disturb the angel as he backed away.

Balthazar’s lips curved into a toothy smile as he got to his feet, beginning to search for his angel blade. Zachariah backed away, raising his hands in defense as Ralph advanced on him. His veins flowed the same orange that his eyes had flashed, glowing beneath his skin, and the tips of his fingers letting off sparks as he approached the angel with growing aggression.

“Listen, no, you’re not an abomination,” Zachariah stammered, “I actually liked you, you’re the best out of all of them here.”

“Ralph, here!” Balthazar called, tossing an angel blade at the Elioud. Ralph caught it, looking down at the blade then back at Zachariah. 

Ralph had studied the anatomy of angels in his classes. So, he did what he figured to be the best. Ralph pressed the blade to Zachariah’s throat, cutting it gently. The angel gurgled as his grace spilled down his front.

Ralph looked down at the blade, dropping it. He wasn’t a killer. He was never going to be a killer. But he could make the man’s life a living hell. Ralph took a step back as Zachariah sank to his knees, his grace draining slowly, mixing with the slimy substance that was swimming around Ralph’s feet. Balthazar put a hand on Ralph’s shoulder and he looked at the fallen angel. He beckoned at first for him to take the grace, replenish his grace, make him an angel again. But Balthazar shook his head.

“I don't need to be an angel,” Balthazar muttered, “Besides, even if I took it, it wouldn’t be enough. No, but there is something that I’d like to do.”

Ralph nodded, stepping away. He turned his back to the angel as he approached Jo and Jane. He helped both the women to their feet. Jo wrapped Jane’s arm around her shoulder, steadying the girl. Ralph looked over at Eileen who was coming around again. He approached her, helping her to her feet as Jack walked forward, giving Ralph a small smile and a little thumbs up to indicate that he was alright.

Ralph wrapped Eileen’s arm around his shoulder, helping to lead her to the main sewer passage. Jack relit his hands. Ralph knew Balthazar was going to join them momentarily, but he figured that he would need some space. And he was right, they began walking and he could hear Balthazar yelling at Zachariah.

“LOOK GODDAMMIT,” Balthazar screamed, “LOOK AT HER FACE!!”

Jack looked over his shoulder and Ralph shook his head. It wasn’t their bother, Balthazar needed that. He needed to let loose on Zachariah.

“SHE WAS SIXTEEN, YOU BASTARD,” Balthazar’s screams echoed, “SHE WAS JUST A KID!”

Ralph looked down at his free hand that was still glowing orange and sparking a bit. So it was true. He was an Elioud. Not a very good one, apparently. Balthazar continued to yell as the rest of the group made their trek through the sewer.

Chapter Text

When Orion had been in Heaven, before the war, they had taught him and his fellow soldiers about human emotions. Angels were built in a capacity so that they couldn’t feel things the way that humans did. Angels were essentially giant killing machines that were used for great wars and nothing more. They had no need for emotions, emotions were a waste of time.Whenever an angel was showing signs of human emotions, they were executed. Then promptly replaced with a new angel fresh off the assembly line. 

Orion had been one of those angels. He had replaced a scout named Aurora after she had begun to have intense emotions. But Orion had come off the assembly line broken. His wings couldn’t carry him more than a few meters and as time passed, they found that his wings would never work. Orion was essentially useless in the eyes of the war. And Orion had spent his whole existence believing that this was the singular way that he was broken. That this was why Castiel refused to do much of anything with him.

But Orion was wrong. When he had come off the assembly line, he was nothing more than malfunctioning pieces. Most angels take a decade, maybe two to properly train for battle. But Orion, Orion was different. Orion had taken a grand total of one thousand six hundred forty-three years, eight months, twelve days, nine hours, and thirty-two minutes to properly train. Most angels questioned why it took Orion so long to be trained, and they were right to question it.

The fact of the matter was that Orion had originally been a human in the making. Aurora’s development of feelings had resulted in a mix up. Orion, a human originally planned to be Joseph Caulk, had been mixed up with the angel that had been sent to Earth in his place. The paperwork for both of the beings had been long lost, but it meant that turning Orion into an angel had been a feat for Heaven to pull off.

But why mention it? Angels could feel feelings, yes. Orion hadn’t let his emotions get in the way to this point. Even as he sat on the roof of the ancient Victorian home, thinking only of Kevin, he watched as the hordes of Hellians made their way to the house. Orion never let his moral compass be swayed by those pesky feelings he had pushed down in the back of his mind. As it stood, if Orion listened to his feelings, he’d have rushed down, trying his best to slaughter all the Hellians. Instead, he watched as they stormed onward.

The thing about humans, when they stewed in their emotions, they tended to lash out in negative ways. Which was fine for the most part. Yelling, shouting, being mean. Sometimes it escalated, yes, hitting, kicking. Crying and murder, wails and screams for help. Humans didn’t handle emotions, they coped. And they coped because they had souls to allow them to do so. Most humans had that little voice in their head telling them not to do something. Don’t post that comment, don’t hit that person with your car. It’s really a flawless system for the most part.

That’s where things get messy, though. Angels weren’t made to handle emotions. They weren’t designed to distinct lust from hate, annoyance from vengeance. An angel with emotions was a hazard. What a human may realize as a dumb decision, an angel may construe as an order. Humans stop themselves from biting off their own fingers like baby carrots, they have fear, they have a voice screaming to not. Angels look at a creature and go through their catalog of ways to kill it. They're designed for efficiency, not empathy.

So there’s it. There’s the context for what Orion was about to do. What he was thinking about doing anyhow. Or rather, why he was thinking about it. As he had no buffer to stop him from thinking about it. No, he wasn’t going to harm anyone, Orion had a moral code that he’d learned from Kevin. But he was quite possibly making a mistake. No one would be able to say for certain, since Orion never opened up to anyone. But that's why he was on the roof, staring out over the growing number of Hellians headed towards the house. It was almost mesmerizing, watching their numbers grow so large.

The flutter of wings and Metatron was sat beside Orion. Orion didn’t bother to pay him any mind. He didn’t dislike the scribe. At least, not as much he had at the beginning of their long journey. He still had a deep disdain for the angel’s free spirited way of thinking. One could line all the angels up in a row based on their life decisions and Orion would’ve easily picked Metatron out of the crowd.

“I’m going to tell him,” Orion muttered, looking over at Metatron. Metatron’s wings flared as the scribe raised a brow. Orion couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he never could. Orion wasn’t a mind reader like everyone else. Sometimes he wished that weren’t true.

“Are you sure now’s the best time?” Metatron asked, gesturing towards the Hellian troops, “I mean, we could very well die very soon, none of us are prepared for this war.”

Orion shrugged, leaning forward. He didn’t know how to feel or even what to say. How was he supposed to walk up to his compatriot and just say that he was… well, one would get the gist quite quickly. Angels didn’t have that filter telling them how to handle these situations. Generally because they were never in these positions.

“You were telling me how you were tired of seeing us,” Orion replied, “Flirting, as it were.”

“No,” Metatron corrected, “I said I was tired of seeing you and your poor attempts at flirting. Keep the failed prophet out of this.”

Orion let out a short breath allowing his wings to extend their full span. Metatron had little ground to stand on the way that Orion saw it. Loki had his claws deep into the angel and Orion was damned if he was going to let the scribe make him feel bad about his own love life. Feel being a relative word, he still didn’t believe he had any emotions.

“What are they doing downstairs?” Orion changed the subject, but Kevin still lingered in the back of his mind. He’d rather not dwell on the subject that was Kevin, it gave more room for him to muck everything up. At least more than he had.

“From what I’ve heard Rowena has an enchantment that may work, but she needs a box for it,” Metatron replied, pausing, “How did you get up here anyways?”

Orion shrugged, looking back over at the horizon, “I climbed. Wings aren’t the only way to get places, Metatron.”

“Oh, Mr. Fancypants, can’t fly,” Metatron muttered, “It’s honestly quite the wreck down there, I love to see it.”

Orion watched the troops march onward, folding his wings gently against his back. It didn’t surprise him, the hunters and such being in complete anarchy downstairs. Orion let out a short sigh, looking down at the shingles beneath his vessel’s shoes. Orion turned himself around, his back facing the troop littered horizon.

“Come on,” Orion muttered, “We should probably try to diffuse the situation somewhat.”

Orion slid down the part of the roof he was sitting on, his feet landing shakily on the next. Metatron flew beside him and Orion grumbled something under his breath. Yes, wings would be nice, Metatron didn’t need to show them off all the time.

“We? There is no we,” Metatron complained, watching absentmindedly as Orion slowly treaded toward the gutter, “I like the chaos. Chaos is good. It’s plot development, character building.”

Orion looked below him, tracking his trajectory carefully before he jumped off the roof. He planted his feet firmly on the ground as he landed crouched. His fingers touched the dirt before he stood up slowly. He didn’t prefer jumping off of the roof. Of course, if Orion had his choice, he would’ve had functional wings. Orion was used to not getting what he wished for.

Metatron’s wings flapped gently as he glided to the ground. He landed softly beside Orion, smoothing out his sweater as he began walking beside him. Both angels allowed their wings to stretch out, some feathers falling from Orion’s, disintegrating as they hit the ground. Orion’s gait was taken in large strides, usually at least. But he took smaller strides, allowing for Metatron to walk beside him.

“How long until they get here?” Orion asked, looking quickly at the Hellians before looking over at Metatron as they rounded the bend.

“I don’t know, probably soon,” Metatron said simply, grabbing the rotting railing instantly regretting it, “Whatever moves the plot faster.”

Orion gave Metatron a cock-eyed look, shaking his head. Sometimes the scribe was a little too absorbed in his… whatever that was.

Orion climbed the stairs to the porch by Metatron’s side. They quickly entered the safety of the house, shutting the oak door behind them. The house was, in fact, in anarchy. Yelling could be heard throughout the house and most of it was coming from Crowley. Orion hadn’t previously had the displeasure of meeting the King of Hell.

Metatron headed into the parlor where Loki was waiting for him. Metatron took a seat beside the Demi-God, muttering something Orion couldn’t hear into his ear as the angel turned his back on them. The dining room was definitely the source of anarchy. Crowley was yelling very loudly at Rowena who was yelling back just as loud. Deanna and Sam, as he had been introduced to the Winchesters, were wrapping up the dead girl’s body, preparing her for a hunter's funeral, no doubt. Cordelia sat, the demon’s collar still clasped tightly around her neck, enjoying every moment of the fight.

“You can’t be serious!!” Crowley yelled, “Letting an ANGEL inside of you?!”

“Last time I checked, Fergus, I was your mother, not the other way around,” Rowena replied shortly, “Gabriel told me that I’m part of ending this war, who am I to argue with fate?”

Crowley raised his arms in anger, “Even so, there's got to be a better way than this.”

“You just hate angels, dear,” Rowena muttered, looking up at Orion, “Ah, feathers, you tell Fergus here how an angel possessing me isn’t dangerous.”

Orion looked between Crowley and Rowena. He cleared his throat, not sure what to say. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want a demon mad at him. He also didn’t want to tell the truth, he didn’t want Rowena mad at him. Orion’s eyes drifted as Sam and Deanna picked up the body, beginning to carry her through the kitchen.

“There are certain risks to allowing an archangel to possess your body, yes,” Orion muttered.

“See, this is why we don’t trust angels, mother,” Crowley folded his arms smugly, a triumphant look on his face.

“But,” Orion continued, “Given the short period of time that Gabriel would be possessing Rowena, it wouldn’t have any lasting damage on her soul or psyche.”

“Ha!” Rowena replied, walking towards the living room, “Hey, Loki, let me talk to the hunk.”

Orion let out a short sigh, shaking his head. They only had one of the three pieces they needed, and Orion wasn’t entirely sure they could get what they required. Rowena and the enchanted box was one step. Gabriel possessing Rowena so she could enter Heaven, another step. But they still had so many steps, and the Hellians were quickly closing in.

Chapter Text

Myst stared out the window watching as Sam and Deanna lit Claire’s body on fire. She didn’t know the girl, that’s what she had to keep telling herself. But every time she thought about Claire, she saw Autumn. She had to forget, she’d done so good to this point not remembering what had happened. But the screams, the cries, the crunching of her bones, the sickening sound of her flesh–

Myst shuddered at the memory, trying to distract herself as she watched the pyre lick into the air. How did they do it? Sam and Deanna. Light up young girl after young girl and not be bothered by it? They couldn’t even burn Autumn… There was nothing left to burn. They hadn’t even bothered to leave behind bones. The screams were so loud.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know someone was in here,” a male voice muttered. Myst turned around, a shorter man behind her. He had shaggy black hair pulled back into a half ponytail that helped Myst see his rounded face. He didn’t look embarrassed or apologetic. His dark eyes looked hollow. Myst smiled gently, she liked this guy.

“No, it’s fine,” Myst shrugged, “You’re one of the guys that Rowena let in, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, extending his hand, “My name’s Kevin.”

Myst took his hand, his grasp was firm, she liked that. This guy was already growing on her and she barely knew him.

“I’m Captain Myst Johnson of the Eighth Hunter Battalion,” Myst replied firmly.

Kevin looked over her shoulder (though he had to stand on his toes to even think of seeing over her shoulder). He walked forward, pointing out the window.

“What are they doing down there?” Kevin asked. He walked up to the window, almost pressing his nose against the pane, but he made the decision not to. Myst turned around, walking up beside the man. She stood at ease with her hands folded behind her back.

“Hunter’s funeral,” Myst replied simply. She figured he was a Civvie of some sort to have not seen a hunter’s funeral. The flames grew larger and Sam and Deanna just stood by watching. At some point Myst watched Charlie walk beside them, Sam wrapping her in a hug as she began to cry.

“Who was she?” Kevin looked at Myst but Myst didn’t repay the gesture, “I only ask because a lot of people seem to care, I assume she’s important.’

Myst could hear the screaming again. Oh, God, why was it so loud? She just wanted the noise to stop, she wanted everything to stop. They didn’t have bones to burn. The ghouls had left nothing. Why didn’t she save her? She was just a kid. She was turning twelve that week. Why didn’t Jo grab her wrist? Was it Jo’s fault? No. Jo was dead anyways, she’d paid her price. God, why was the screaming so loud?

“She was just a girl,” Myst shrugged, ignoring the blaring noise in her head, “She was a girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Kevin let out a short breath, “I take it you knew her, then.”

Myst looked at Kevin, breaking the trance between her and the flames. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She hadn’t known Claire, at all. Not even in the slightest. But Kevin seemed to be under the impression that she did. No, she didn’t.

“Not exactly,” Myst replied, turning away from the window, she paused, looking at him, “You’re different from, like, everyone else. Why?”

Kevin turned around, following after Myst. He shrugged. The shrug bothered Myst slightly, he was shrugging things off and Myst wanted an answer. She liked this guy, she didn’t want him to be a bitch like all the others. Even Deanna wasn’t anything in comparison to Kevin. Deanna conveyed emotion, be it her mannerisms, her face, her words. Kevin didn’t, though. Myst found that oddly reassuring.

“I don’t have a soul,” Kevin replied, stepping forward, “But I should probably see about getting that back soon, now that I think about it.”

Kevin walked out of the room, heading down the hall. Myst jogged after him, looking over at the man as he headed down the stairs. He grew more interesting by the second. Myst grabbed hold of the railing as she made her descent. It wasn’t like she needed it or anything, she was actually quite stable walking down the stairs by herself. She did it more to give Kevin space down the stairs. She hugged closely to the railing to allow him to hug closely to the wall.

“How’d you manage that?” Myst inquired. Kevin wouldn’t have been the first soulless person Myst had met. But he was, by far, the most interesting.

“Orion took it.” Kevin gestured to the taller man with pale skin and fluffy blond hair. Myst furrowed her brow, looking at Kevin in confusion. The man seemed innocent enough, but supposedly, this man was capable of removing a soul; Myst didn’t believe it in the slightest.

“Sorry if this sounds stupid,” Myst was neither sorry, nor did she think it would sound stupid, “But why did he take your soul, or rather, how?”

“Soul catcher,” Kevin dropped the name in front of Myst as though she was supposed to recognize it, “So I could walk through Heaven. We’re ending the war, you know.”

Myst coughed a choked laugh. Right, she believed him. Now she knew he was crazy as all get out. Humans couldn’t enter Heaven unless they had died first. Garth attested to that when he was working for the Angelics. He’d been a pawn on the battlefield, he'd never been allowed to see Heaven.

Kevin and Myst entered the living area where Ellen was sitting, pouring herself a scotch. Crowley was standing in the corner of the room and once Ellen was down pouring her own drink, Crowley reached out and snatched the bottle from her hand, taking a long and deep swig. Kevin took a seat on the long mildew ridden couch. Myst stayed standing in the corner at ease. Myst stole a glance out the window every now and again, just staring out at the growing mass of enemies. Myst wasn’t sure why they weren’t preparing to fight, why they were all just sitting around like wounded dogs. It bothered her. It made her feel… useless. It made her mind wander.

Rowena walked into the living area with a man following behind her. Her dress draped the floor as she walked, the man trying not to step on it as he followed. They stood in the center of the room and Rowena turned around to face him.Myst’s jaw tightened as she squinted her eyes.

“So this won't hurt?” Rowena asked, raising a brow as she folded her arms across her torso.

“Not for the most part,” the man replied, “But you wanted me inside you anyways, no?”

Rowena smirked, shoving the man playfully, “Gabriel, not here. There’s people around.”

Myst furrowed her brow, looking down at Kevin. Kevin just gave her a look that said it all and Myst shrugged. Sure, they were moments from death, but if people wanted to be horny and flirt, Myst supposed they could. She’d never personally do that, that was wildly unprofessional and distracting. But if others wanted to risk their lives with emotions, then so be it. Who was she to judge?

“Once I enter your body, you need to cede control to me,” the man, whom Myst assumed to be Gabriel, stated, “I need to fix any small irregularities, get that perky ass ready for the throne room, understand?”

Rowena smirked, then shoved him again, then nodded, “Then I give you permission, yes.”

Myst leaned down to Kevin, watching intently as Gabriel’s eyes glowed a harsh blue. His jaw dropped as a pearlescent plasmic substance began to float out. So he was an angel. At least, that was the impression Myst had started to get. The substance swirled and it was almost entrancing to the Captain. Rowena’s jaw dropped open slightly as the blue substance– as Gabriel– entered her mouth. Her stance became taller for a moment and her back arched as the angel entered her body, her soul. Myst quickly tore her eyes away from the sight, looking at Kevin.

“So what’s this all about?” She asked, “Angels possessing witches. Is this a new tactic to take over the world?”

“What?” Kevin looked up at Myst before quickly shaking his head in denial, “No, Jesus. This is Gabriel, he’s an Archangel. Rowena has a plan to end the war and we need her help. The best way to do this is to get an angel inside her to get her into Heaven.”

Myst looked back at Rowena as she stumbled back, grabbing her head. Gabriel did the same, his eyes glowing a fluorescent green as he straightened out his posture. Myst wasn’t sure she wanted to grasp the full knowledge of the situation, but she figured she might have to.

“That’s Loki,” Kevin provided an explanation as he pointed to who was once Gabriel, “Now Gabriel is in Rowena and–”

“And who’s that?” Myst asked. She pointed to a lanky blond man whose clothes were coated in some weird grungy substance. His face was covered in stubble and he looked over his shoulder as a group of people followed him in.

“I don’t–” Kevin paused as he was cut off by Gabriel in Rowena’s body.

“Balthazar?” Gabriel stepped forward, looking at the wayward man.

“Gabe?” The man replied.

Chapter Text

Cordelia wasn’t an important person in Hell. She’d been a button pusher. A soul came in, she pulled a lever, and it went to its intended location. It wasn’t a science and it wasn’t noble. She’d fought a war in her life, and it wasn’t something she had enjoyed. But being a button pusher wasn’t even something that people respected. They walked all over people like her in Hell and she didn’t enjoy it. 

Snapping at the chance to be something important in her afterlife, that was a choice that had led to her current state. Strangers had gotten into the house. As well as Cordelia could sense, there were two Nephilim with them. One… angel? Cordelia thought he was an angel but she couldn’t be sure. Then two humans and… Cordelia didn’t like the final person with them. Something about him screamed evil, not even that small sense that you could get from a Knight of Hell. No. This was something entirely different.

Everyone reacted, well, objectively poorly. Cordelia wasn’t sure what to expect honestly. Hellians were making their way to kill them and six random people had broken into their hideout. Well, ‘broken in’ implied that the doors were locked in some way or another, which would be incorrect. Angel blades had been raised, guns had been aimed and everyone was defensive in their own right. In fact, for the longest time it looked like it was about to be an all out brawl in the house. This was until Ellen stepped forward slowly looking at one of the humans.

“Jo?” She whispered. The blonde human squinted her eyes before her face relaxed. Cordelia’s eyes flashed between the two, they obviously knew one another.

“Mom?” The blonde girl asked. Ellen placed a shaky hand on her face before pulling her into a hug. Cordelia raised her brows. So that was a thing. They were mother and daughter. Cordelia scanned the rest of the people that had come in.

“Balthazar,” Gabriel approached the blond man, the one that seemed to be an angel. Maybe he was an angel, at some point in his life. His halo looked broken. He must’ve fallen. Cordelia almost felt bad for him.

“Gabriel, we were told you were dead,” Balthazar replied, “Why are you in this witch’s body?”

Gabriel looked down at Rowena’s body before looking back up at Balthazar, “Right, this. We’re ending a war, the war. Balthazar, where are your wings?”

Balthazar raised his brows, looking over his shoulder at where his wings should have been, “I pissed off Cassie.”

“Clearly,” Gabriel muttered.

Cordelia stood, approaching Balthazar. The chained leash still attached to her collar dragging with a rattling sound across the floor. Balthazar scanned Cordelia, extending a hand.

“Balthazar, charmed,” he introduced himself, “I’ve never met a demon on a leash.”

“You can blame Crowley for that,” Cordelia remarked, taking his hand and shaking it firmly, “Cordelia.”

Balthazar pulled his hand away, seemingly pleased with the grasp Cordelia had given him. Balthazar took a step back before eyeing the bottle in Crowley’s hand. He departed from Cordelia, approaching the King of Hell as he extended his hand for the bottle. Crowley handed the alcohol to him begrudgingly and Balthazar downed the rest of the bottle. A drunk, Cordelia wasn’t sure whether that was reassuring or not.

The second human approached Cordelia, shaking her hand shortly, “I’m Eileen, sorry about him. He’s… struggling.”

Cordelia looked over at Balthazar who stared blankly at the empty bottle. From what Cordelia could assume, it was likely that he still had the metabolism of an angel. Getting drunk was harder for him, probably taking him a good bottle or twelve to black out. Which meant it would also be harder for him to stay drunk too.

Cordelia looked back at Eileen, “Who even are you? Like, all of you?”

“Took the words out of my mouth.” Gabriel took a step forward.

Eileen nodded, “Right, I should introduce us.”

She grabbed a young boy near her, maybe twenty on a good day, pulling him forward. Cordelia scanned him. Nephilim. Gabriel could feel his power as well, Cordelia saw him tense up as the boy was pulled forward. He looked rather awkward given the situation, he gave a half hearted wave and a smile.

“This is Jack, he’s a Nephilim,” Eileen said,

“I gathered that.” Cordelia leaned forward, looking at him. He was rather powerful for what she assumed to be an average Nephilim, but Gabriel took a step back.

“You’re Lucifer’s,” Gabriel muttered, “You’re not supposed to exist.”

Jack scrunched his face, shrinking in his stance. Cordelia looked pointedly at Gabriel. He was right, the more Cordelia thought about it, she could feel the power pooling off of him in waves. Gabriel’s once hesitant stance suddenly straightened, his eyes widening. He looked over at Orion who was discussing something with Metatron.

“Guy, it’s him.” Gabriel drew the attention of the room towards the new group of people. Orion, Metatron, Kevin, and Loki all approached the entryway. Myst joined too, her hand tightly wrapped around the pocket knife in hand. Cordelia furrowed her brow, something about this situation didn’t sit well with her.

“How do you know?” Orion asked. Cordelia looked over at the angel as he wrapped his wing around Kevin. Kevin gave Orion a look of displeasure before turning back to look at Jack.

“Son of Lucifer,” Gabriel muttered, “Ring any bells? A being of darkness?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Metatron stepped forward but Loki’s hand on his hip didn’t let him step too far, “Kid, is your mommy a good person?”

Jack looked over at Eileen who stepped forward, “Why are you acting like this?”

“Why aren’t we?” Myst spoke up, “I mean, you come barging in here while Hellians are coming to attack us. How do we know you’re not going to slaughter us all?”

“Those were Hellians?” Balthazar muttered, “What the hell did you guys do?”

“It wasn’t us!” Myst yelled, “It was Fitzgerald and Bradbury–”

“Oh, stuff it, Myst,” Cordelia snapped, she was getting fed up with Myst’s attitude, “This wasn’t any one person’s fault, so you can stop trying to blame people.”

Jack stepped forward, crossing his arms, “We’re not here to hurt anyone, we came to look for help–”

“And he can help us,” Gabriel interrupted, “I’m looking through Rowena’s banks of knowledge right now, it says we need his blood.”

“You’re not taking his blood,” Jo interjected, stepping away from her mother, “He’s a kid.”

And that’s when the yelling started. With the increased amount of people, the yelling was louder and more continuous. Cordelia didn’t even know who she was yelling at or why she was yelling at them, all she knew was that she was yelling to be heard. The energy from the angels in the house pulsated to the house’s core. The house shook slightly from the intensity and Cordelia noticed something. 

She took a step back, stopping the yelling match she was in with Myst. Myst continued to yell at Cordelia but the demon was more focused on the strange orange glow that was pulsating through the wood. She’d never seen power like that before. It was strong, raw, and it scared her. She looked over at Jack who she had assumed was the reason the house was glowing, but he had backed himself into a corner, his hands covering his ears.

Then, a loud, booming voice could be heard over the yelling. The voice struck a chord of fear into Cordelia as she looked at the young man whose eyes were glowing the same orange as the wood in the house, his veins matching as well. There seemed to be a sense of distinct frustration and pure anger in his voice as he yelled.

“QUIET, ALL OF YOU!”

Chapter Text

A Nephilim was the offspring of an angel and a human. Nephilim were fairly powerful as it combined the power of an angel with the soul of a human. Which resulted in the mess that was Jane or Jack who had human souls and feelings but angelic powers. As previously mentioned, angels were not designed to experience human emotions. A Nephilim’s power has a direct link to their emotions which meant if a Nephilim experienced too intense of an emotion they were likely to leave quite the wreck in their wake. Nepilim had been banned for a while, as they were too destructive and couldn’t make good soldiers. Of course, once the war hit, laws went out the window.

A Cambion was the offspring of a demon and a human. Cambion were just as powerful, if not more powerful than the Nephilim. Mixing a demon’s power with a human soul had detrimental effects. Unlike angels, Demons experienced emotions, at least, some of them. Anger, vengeance, and betrayal. Those were the three core emotions of the demonic experience. These feelings were directly linked to their powers. For a regular demon, this would result in a small outburst of anger, a small vase thrown against a wall. For a Cambion, this would mean temper tantrums were raised to the umpth degree. Cambion were much less common than Nephilim. But they were just as dangerous, if not more.

That being said, one could assume that an Elioud would be powerful but less dangerous, yes? An Elioud, the offspring of an angel and a demon. No one thought it a real possibility, which, honestly, shame on them. Although an Elioud doesn’t have a soul that would be directly linked to its emotions, as it experiences no emotions, it has a moral compass of sorts. Angels are morally gray, Demons are inherently evil. An Elioud experiences both sides of the spectrum in its life. Elioud aren’t inherently good or bad, they’re the neutral gray zone where one impact could sway them left or right. They’re not just powerful, they’re essentially nuclear bombs, ready to detonate at any moment. They’re not stable enough to exist on the mortal plaine.

Ralph was no different. As hands and eyes glowed, he could feel the distinct power coursing through his body, through the room. He was tired of people fighting, of people being backstabbing, lying, bitches. He hated angels, he hated demons, and most of all he hated hunters. Now, saying Ralph wanted to detonate the house and kill everyone inside, himself included, would be a lie. Ralph didn’t want to hurt anyone, he didn’t want to see anyone hurt. He just wanted a bit of peace and quiet for once in his life.

The room fell silent, all eyes on him. For a moment, Ralph didn’t understand how or why everyone would listen to him. Then, he took a bit of a closer look at everyone. Their mouths had faded away, leaving a blank space where they should’ve been. Ralph looked down at his hands as they glistened. He felt sick, he didn’t mean to do any of this. He was a good person, or so he had convinced himself. His eyes danced around the room in thought, everyone in sight was missing their mouths except Balthazar and Jack.

Balthazar stepped forward gently, setting his empty liquor bottle on a nearby end table. Ralph looked up at him, taking a step back. He felt just so angry, he didn’t want to hurt Balthazar or Jack, or anyone for that matter. But he felt out of control. He felt like he had something building up inside him and he couldn’t control whatever it was. He was seconds from the dam being broken and he didn’t want these people to get caught in the fallout.

“He speaks,” Balthazar muttered, “Ralph, they’re not going to hurt anyone, why don’t you give them their mouths back?”

Ralph scrunched his brow, taking a hesitant step back as he looked back at Balthazar. Ralph looked quickly at Jack who had his head down, his ears covered. He didn’t want conflict, he just wanted quiet. He wanted the war to be over. Him and Jack both. And with the growing horde of Hellians outside, who knew what was going to happen?

“I–” Ralph stammered, talking was different, he hadn’t for so long, it felt nearly foreign to him, “They’re going to hurt each other, or–”

“Okay, I hear you,” Balthazar put his hands out in front of himself, taking very careful steps forward, “I hear you, I do, but we also need them, yes? We want help taking down the Anarchists, we’re going to need them.”

Ralph believed Balthazar, why wouldn’t he? But he couldn’t control it. The house shook slightly, the wood glowing brightly. Ralph wanted to stop, he really did. But unlike Zachariah in the sewers, there was nothing. There was no choice to let him walk away without harming anyone. He couldn’t handle it, he wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t know what to do.

“Ralph, listen,” Balthazar took a step forward. Ralph felt the anger, the frustration rushing through him. He was too close, everyone was too close. Ralph just wanted to disappear; it felt like too much for him to handle. Months ago he was just a normal human. He was an ex-hunter. He was a civvie. How had he gotten here? How had he changed into this… abomination?

“No, no,” Ralph muttered. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he really didn’t. He couldn’t handle this without causing someone pain, somehow. Balthazar stopped walking, holding up his hands and Ralph sighed a breath of relief knowing that he understood.

“Okay, okay,” Balthazar stopped, scanning Ralph, “Ralph, please. You want justice, I want justice. But you have to let this go.”

Ralph looked down at his hands, sparks beginning to fly from his fingertips. He wanted to calm down, he did, but he couldn’t. He didn't know how. A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder and the rage intensified. He looked over his shoulder at Jack who was standing beside him. Ralph's hands and eyes stopped glowing as he looked at Jack.

“They’re not bad people,” Jack muttered, “They just don’t know what’s going on.”

“We’re all angry, we’re all frustrated,” Balthazar added, “Humans have emotions, they run high, they think we’re dangerous, don’t prove them right.”

Ralph let out a long breath, the glowing slowly fading. As it did, everyone’s mouths slowly reappeared on their faces. Ralph looked around, angry and confused looks on everyone’s faces. Jack hugged Ralph gently and Ralph let out a sigh. He felt better, but that anger, that frustration still bubbled under the surface. It was omnipresent and Ralph didn’t like it.

“Okay, let’s fucking kill him,” A person with amber hair stepped forward. She held up a knife to Ralph’s neck and he backed away out of fear. 

“Myst, no.” A shorter man stopped her, slapping her hand. The knife knicked Ralph’s neck slightly as it fell from the woman’s hand. Ralph’s hand went to his neck, he pulled it away looking at the trace amount of blood.

“Now that we’re all properly in one piece again,” Balthazar cleared his throat, “Hi, I’m Balthazar, this is Ralph, he’s a prodigy. My prodigy, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Ralph furrowed his brow, looking at the ex-angel. Balthazar was in those middle stages of not quite drunk but not quite sober. Ralph didn’t know how to feel about that. He liked the fallen angel, but sometimes he was a very large personality that Ralph found hard to swallow.

“You’ve already met Jack,” Balthazar began, pointing to the group, “This is Eileen, Jo, and Jane. We come in, relative, peace.”

“Okay, sorry if this comes off as rude,” the woman with a collar around her neck started, “But what the hell is he?”

The woman pointed a finger at Ralph. Ralph didn’t appreciate it, but he understood it. He looked over at Balthazar for guidance. Balthazar raised his brows.

“He’s an Elioud,” Balthazar began, “Offspring of an angel and a demon. Anyone have a good drink around here?”

The tall man in an overcoat raised his eyebrows, grabbing the arm of the man who knocked Myst’s blade out of her hand,

“A being of light and dark,” he said, “A being of light and dark.”

Chapter Text

Spells were a very versatile thing. If one thing was amiss in them, there was a very likely chance that the entire spell could backfire. Now, Orion wasn’t a professional at spells, he was anything but. But Orion made it his personal duty to assist Rowena in anything she needed. That included standing guard so that Myst didn’t make an attempt to slit Ralph’s throat. Which, albeit, seemed easier, but the hunter was completely relentless.

Rowena was in control of her body for the time being as she dashed around the dining room and kitchen collecting herbs and spices. Gabriel would only take over when necessary, but the transition from witch to archangel and vice versa was much more clean than Loki and Gabriel had ever been. Loki had done the favor of conjuring up a mahogany jewelry box that would be used for the spell. Which Rowena had explained to be a simple thing. Her charm– along with the blood of Ralph and the essence of Pandora– would strip the hostility from the world, placing it inside the box. It was honestly rather ingenious.

Orion’s wings flared as Myst paced back and forth, squinting angrily at Ralph who was sitting quietly in the corner of the room. Orion found her aura to be strange, it wasn’t often he tuned himself to auras, but that was the strange thing. Myst’s aura was rather weak, actually. Orion would almost say it was faltering. He tried to ignore it, though. It wasn’t his problem.

Parts of their plan were still needing to be worked out, like how they were supposed to get into the throne room without so much as a time freezing spell, or a nearby entrance. Not to mention the fact that they had no guarantee that Castiel would even return his wife down to the essence she was. It was his wife.

“Feathers, come here, leave the pretty girl alone,” Rowena called.

Orion looked over his shoulder, folding one of his wings so he had a better view of Rowena. He didn’t want to leave guard at risk of putting Ralph in a dangerous situation. The Elioud didn’t appear to be able to control his powers in the slightest. Why had Castiel even allowed him to exist?

“I have a small protection charm on the room,” Rowena explained, “She knows that, she couldn’t get in if she tried.”

It didn’t do much to soothe his concerns, Orion found the hunter seemed to be rather crude and violent. And Orion had only known her for a day or so. He turned his back to the human, approaching Rowena as she grabbed his wrist forcefully. She pulled him forward with a forceful tug, slicing open the palm of his hand. Orion furrowed his brow as the blood trickled down his palm into the tin bowl.

“What was that for?” Orion asked, looking at Rowena.

“I needed an angel’s blood,” Rowena replied simply, as if it were common knowledge, “I would’ve gotten Metatron’s but he snuck off with Loki somewhere. Not my problem.”

Orion pulled his hand away, staring blankly at the wound before it started healing itself. He grabbed a nearby rag, wiping off the excess blood on his hand. He tossed the rag aside watching as Rowena crossed an item off the list. She was being thorough, Orion could give her that.

“You could give me a heads up next time,” Orion grumbled, his eye catching Kevin walking past. His gaze quickly broke, following the prophet as he entered the library next door, probably looking to research something. Orion’s hand went to his overcoat pocket where Kevin’s soul still was. He could sense the prophet’s aura in the soul catcher, but it was growing weaker by the day.

“Oh, someone’s got a wee crush,” Rowena teased, walking into the kitchen. She pulled a frustrated Cordelia into the dining room who was resisting and protesting. Cordelia’s chained leash rattled as Rowena pulled her hand over the bowl, slicing it open as Cordelia’s blood trickled into the bowl just as Orion’s had.

Once Rowena was done with the demon’s blood, she ripped her hand away, grabbing a rag, wrapping it around her open wound. It should’ve healed, but Orion assumed it was the demon’s collar that stopped her powers and demonic abilities from working. Orion looked down at his hands, then at Rowena as she checked off another item.

“It’s not a crush ,” Orion muttered, shaking his head, “Lest you forget that angels don’t have emotions?”

Orion approached Cordelia, reaching his hands out to heal her but she shied away, “Here, let me fix your wound. I’m known for being a medic, you know.”

Cordelia gave Orion a look of disdain before holding out her hands to be healed. Orion removed the rag, hovering his hand over Cordelia’s wound. His hand glowed that regular dull blue, her skin pinching back together and healing. Cordelia looked up at him, mumbled a quick ‘thanks’, before she left the room, walking past Myst who was leaning against the opposite wall playing with her switchblade.

“I see how you look at the boy,” Rowena smirked and the smirk pricked irritation beneath Orion’s skin, “You told him how you feel yet?”

“It’s not that simple,” Orion admitted. Rowena motioned for him to hand her the sage and he did so. He was right, it was a complicated situation. He was desperately falling hard for the one person he couldn’t have. And the longer he let these feelings fester and grow, the more likely he was to be executed and replaced. The Empty sounded frightening, he had friends in Heaven who worked detailing for it. Feeling things was messy, it wasn’t allowed. It was going to cause a problem somewhere along the way, and it was a miracle to Orion that it hadn’t up to this point.

Rowena’s eyes flashed blue as Gabriel took over momentarily, “You know Dad doesn’t do executions and replacements anymore, right? Not since Aurora when there was a messy mix up between a human and an angel. Still don’t know who that angel was, but it got Dad pretty pissed off.”

Orion tilted his head slightly. He’d heard about the Aurora incident, but didn’t know much about it. He knew Heaven was in anarchy for a while, but he was in training for the better part of a thousand years, so he wasn’t exactly an expert of any sort.

“What does it matter to you? You’re an archangel, you get a free pass,” Orion muttered. The words came out sharper than he had originally intended them to. But Orion had a point. Most archangels were allowed to do mostly anything they wished to do. And while it was wildly convenient for the archangel committing these acts, it was a heavily biased system towards the lower level angels who wanted nothing more than to be just as good as Daddy’s favorites. That’s where Orion sat on it anyways.

“I’ve gotta side with Metatron on this one,” Gabriel started, “Your horrible attempts at flirting are actually painful to watch.”

“I think I liked Rowena more,” Orion muttered under his breath. Gabriel’s eyes flashed blue, Rowena returning to control. She didn’t bother to acknowledge the previous conversation, simply adding more herbs to her bowl. She whispered some words in Latin, the mixture beginning to glow.

Rowena carefully picked up the mahogany box, setting it in the foul smelling mixture of blood, oil, and herbs. She coated the box in the liquid, continuing to recite her Latin. Orion watched as she enchanted the box, a sigil burning into the top. It was a curious enchantment, but it was just that– enchanting. Even to watch, Orion couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Metatron walked in as Rowena was finishing up. Orion looked over at him, noticing his wings messed as poorly as his vessel’s shirt. Orion shook his head, returning his gaze to Rowena and the box.

“So, do we have a plan then?” Metatron asked, folding his wings against his back.

“Well,” Rowena started, “Gabriel says there’s an entrance to Heaven not too far from here, but there’s a wee problem.”

Metatron gave her a look of disturbance. Orion matched his emotion, something about that sounded like it could be detrimental.

“The way to get there is right through the troops,” Rowena said softly. Orion shared a quick look with Metatron. Those troops would rip through them like they were nothing. There was no amount of charms that could protect them all for however long it would take for them to get to the gate. They couldn’t risk going through the troops without complete cover.

“We can do it,” Metatron reasoned, “If we rush through–”

“There’s hundreds of thousands for them,” Rowena interrupted, “You couldn’t make it past the first wave.”

“No, they’re on a hive mind,” Cordelia said as she walked back in, handing a small book to Rowena who set it aside, “I know, I was in the troops before. Corio puts an enchantment on them to not attack until HQ tells them to. Which is usually whenever the drones spot any movement outside of the ordinary or when they get to their location.”

Orion looked around the room. It made sense, Castiel used to do the same with angels. Maybe they could make it work. Disguise themselves as Hellians for a short period of time just to sneak through. It would be a three steps forward, two steps back situation, but it may very well work for what they were trying to do. It’s not like they had a time constraint.

“Myst, are you done being petty?” Rowena asked the hunter who was glaring at Ralph. Myst broke her gaze, sneering at the witch. Orion scanned the hunter after Rowena had addressed her. He didn’t understand why her aura was so… sparse. He couldn’t think of any reason why and it was going to bother him the rest of the night.

“Would you be a dear and go get Ketch for me?” Rowena cooed in a mocking way, “Tell him we need to prepare for moving.”

Myst rolled her eyes, heading up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Myst gently closed the door to Ketch’s door behind her. She pressed her back against it, sinking to the floor. She was still trying to process what she had seen. She wasn’t even sure it was real. No, she didn’t have the tendency to hallucinate or anything. But something about that felt fake. Myst felt dirty. She looked down at her hands, she was smart enough to not touch anything covered in blood. What had he done?

Myst couldn’t process anything, something about what she’d walked in on. How could one person bleed so much? He looked… he looked like he had regretted it, at least. It was too late, though, wasn’t it? Maybe they should’ve checked on him sooner. It didn’t take that long to send a wire to General Singer. Oh God, did he even send it? Myst couldn’t see why he would have.

Did he use a knife? Myst wasn’t able to see, everything was coated in blood. Maybe he used his letter opener. Why did he? Well, Myst could assume why, she could formulate a decision as to why. But… Why? Myst couldn’t justify why he would… It made her sick, she felt dirty. Had she already thought about that? Yeah, that made sense. She hadn’t felt this dirty in…

Suddenly her combat boots became very interesting. They had originally been Deanna’s until Deanna got a new pair and gave them to her. They weren’t that remarkable, just regular old combat boots. But if Myst cared to look at the bottom sole on her left foot, hers and Deanna’s initials were crudely carved in. Still, nothing too special, she and Deanna carved their initials into a lot of places. Bed posts, tables, random trees on missions. Anywhere they could and felt like doing it.

Jo walked into Myst’s vision and Myst lifted her head, looking at the hunter. Myst was still trying to wrap her head around Jo being alive. She had come to terms with the thought that Jo had died in that massive explosion. Jo had explained that she was out on a supply run when the bombings happened. She had returned to a wrecked bunker and no one else was alive. She was found by the Anarchists who took her in and gave her a purpose in the war again.

“The red head told me she sent you to get the Colonel,” Jo said as she approached Myst, “Where is he?”

Myst furrowed her brow, looking at the door behind her, “He’s dead.”

Jo’s eyes grew wide gently as she seemed to process Myst’s words, “What do you mean? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“He slit his wrists,” Myst replied, “You think I’d fucking joke about this?”

Jo shook her head. Myst stood up, stepping out of the way as Jo twisted the door knob. She stepped in, flicking on the light and the stench, the foul smell wafted out. Jo didn’t linger in the room too long before she walked out, pulling the door shut roughly. Jo’s darkened eyes looked over Myst.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Jo whispered, “We don’t have anyone in charge to tell us what to do. We don’t have any orders to take, Myst. We’re fucked.”

Myst bit her lip, looking at the door, then Jo. There was no Ketch to tell them what to do, so they were going to need someone to step up. Myst trusted no one outside of the hunters, and none of them would step up themselves. All of them were accustomed to following orders, even Myst, though she’d never admit it. So what were they to do? They needed somebody. And Myst decided to elect herself as that somebody.

Myst made her way to the stairs, jogging down. She understood the severity of what they were doing. No, it wasn’t a severity, it was an importance. If they mucked this up one way or another they would be damned. They could die, or worse. Myst wasn’t ready to fail, to throw away all the effort she’d already put into this war. They were going to end it, dammit, if that was the last thing she did.

So when she reached the bottom of the stairs she didn’t stop to answer questions. She made her way swiftly into the living area, climbing atop an end table. Now, climbing on top of the table was probably a bad decision given the unstable nature of the table, but she was determined to make her point. The hunters shuffled into the room and Myst wondered for a moment if they thought she had lost it, but she hadn’t. At least not in her eyes, maybe in someone else’s.

“People and Demons and Angels and, uh, mixed breeds,” Myst stared at Ralph, Jack, and Jane before continuing, “Colonel Ketch is dead.”

There were hushed whispers and gasps of concern and confusion. Myst caught Rowena giving a slight celebration, bending down to undo her witch’s trap. She pressed her lips in slight disappointment at the witch. She tried to pay it no mind, there were bigger matters at hand than a giddy redhead.

“You need someone to lead you,” Myst continued.

“No, we really don’t,” Crowley interrupted, “We’re actually rather competent given all we’ve been through so far.”

“And yet you won’t take the collar off Cordelia, hm,” Rowena muttered backhandedly.

“Really, mother? You– FINE,” Crowley growled. He snapped his fingers quickly, the collar around Cordelia’s neck unlocking and dropping to the floor with a loud thud, “Happy?”

Rowena gave a smug smile in response. Myst was growing more and more irritated by the moment. Maybe she didn’t actually want the leadership role. Aw, who was she kidding? Of course she wanted it. She wanted the ability to exert power over something that was normally out of her control. Nothing in this war was in anyone’s control, she just wanted to feel important.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Myst recollected everyone’s attention, “Rowena, no matter how much I distrust her, has a plan to put an end to the war.”

“Well, it was a group effort,” Rowena smiled, “But I’ll take the credit.”

Myst rolled her eyes, the condescension was something else. Rowena caught sight of Myst’s disdain, winking slightly at the Captain. Myst let out a huffed breath.

“We need to get Rowena and… Ralph to Heaven,” Myst tried to hide her disdain for the Elioud but her frustration with the abomination slipped into her speech slightly.

“How?” Sam asked, crossing his arms, “I mean, even if they could fly into Heaven, wouldn’t that ring alarm bells?”

“There are doors,” Orion interjected, pushing through the group to the front, “Gates, if you will, to Heaven. It’s how the angels who don’t have wings enter. There’s a set not too far from here, but there’s a problem.”

“Of course there is,” Deanna grumbled, “Since when are we trusting angels? They're all douchebags with sticks up their asses.”

Myst nodded. She didn’t like angels anymore than Deanna. In fact, if she had her choice, she’d not work with them at all. But the rational part of her mind (Yes, she still had a rational part of her mind), told her that sometimes things such as this were necessary to advancing one's goals. So maybe that part of her mind was less rational and more selfish, she didn’t mind or buy it though.

“For your information,” Metatron stepped forward, “We don’t all have sticks up our asses, and there's an easy solution.”

Myst’s eyes flitted down to Metatron who was standing beside Orion in front of the group. Out of her peripheral vision, Myst could see Cordelia breaking off from the rest of the group, heading into the dining room, towards the kitchen. Myst reminded herself that Cordelia wasn’t her main concern at that moment, redirecting her attention to Metatron.

“The gates are on the other side of the Hellian troops, but if we can sneak through them, we won’t have to fight them,” Metatron started, motioning for Loki to join him, “First thing’s first, though. You humans have to lose your souls.”

“What the hell, Myst?!” Deanna burst out, shoving forward, looking up at Myst, “Lose our souls? Are you mental?”

Myst furrowed her brow, she didn’t see it as a big deal. Soul schmoul. It wasn’t like they were losing their bodies or minds. They were still going to be perfectly intact. And, sure , Myst hadn’t previously known about this development, but it didn’t seem too bad to her. No emotions getting in their ways, she thought it efficient.

“The troops can smell human fear,” Crowley spoke up from the back, “No soul means no fear for them to smell.”

“Exactly,” Metatron said, “There’s a ritual we can do you remove your soul and place it in one of these,” Metatron grabbed a carved wooden ball from Loki, holding it up, “Then, once we’re done, you can retrieve it.”

Myst nodded, “I know you don’t find it ideal, but it’s efficient.”

The group grumbled and protested but eventually divided up and dispersed. Myst climbed off the end table, watching as Metatron and Loki left. Myst presumed they were going to set up for the ritual, and she should probably have started setting up too, but she didn’t. She began to leave to head upstairs, she needed to give Ketch a hunter’s funeral, that’s what he would’ve requested.

A large, oddly warm hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back down off the stairs. Crowley pulled her inches from him and she scanned the demon out of slight disgust. She pushed him away, wiping off her shirt.

“What the hell, Crowley?” She muttered. The King of Hell seemed to be concerned, jumpy even. Myst didn’t know if she should’ve been confused or concerned. She didn’t know the demon that well, but she also knew that little to nothing scared the man. But this wasn’t a scared jumpy, this was a nervous jumpy.

“You remember that little deal we made back in hell?” Crowley whispered.

“Yeah, my freedom, kill Cordelia,” Myst rolled her eyes, “How could I forget? Signed that shit in blood.”

“Circumstances don’t change anything,” Crowley muttered, “You are to kill Cordelia, understand?”

Myst squinted, furrowing her brow as she crossed her arms, “Why? She’s not trying to kill you.”

“Not yet,” Crowley murmured, he pulled an angel blade out of his pocket, placing it in Myst’s hand as he forced her fingers to wrap around it, “I can’t take that risk, you follow?”

Myst looked down at the blade then back at Crowley, “I understand.”

Chapter Text

Cordelia had snuck away from the group since not much of what said was being applied to her. She’d originally planned on going to the back porch to watch the screechers disintegrate and die, just to get some fresh air. Instead, she found Garth leaning over the porch railing. Cordelia hadn’t seen him since they headed back inside the house and she had assumed him to be hiding in a room somewhere. Cordelia walked up beside him, leaning over the railing too, watching as a lurker ran into a small salt pit, resulting in a small explosion.

“They burned her,” Garth muttered, pointing to the ashes that were once Claire. Cordelia tried to scan his face for emotion, but he didn’t seem to be conveying any. His eyes were red and he was very obviously not in the best mental space. He hung his head, sucking in a shaky breath.

“She’s in a better place,” Cordelia lied, “She didn’t deserve to be born into a war. She’s happy now.”

Cordelia didn’t pride herself on lying, she really didn’t. But solely based on the fact that she had sold her soul to Crowley, meant that she had booked herself a one-way ticket to Hell. But Garth didn’t need to know that. Knowing that would’ve made the hunter feel worse than he already did and Cordelia didn’t want to be the reason why.

“She didn’t deserve to die,” Garth muttered softly, shaking his head, “I killed her. I’m a murderer.”

“No, no,” Cordelia stopped him, “Garth, you’re not a murderer. You didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident.”

Garth looked at Cordelia, “I shouldn’t have even pulled my gun in the first place. It was irresponsible and reckless and– Myst is right, I fuck everything up.”

Garth looked away and Cordelia raised her brow at his use of language. She didn’t see him as the swearing type, at least not the heavy swearing type. Cordelia wished she could say more to help, anything. Garth was clearly bent on blaming himself for Claire’s death. He pulled the trigger, but it wasn’t his fault. Cordelia didn’t know what to say.

She looked forward, watching some screechers finding their way onto the lawn. Garth had been through a lot, she could sense it. Not just recently, but during his lifetime. She could sense the ache in his soul, the way it was stitched together in all the wrong ways with all the right pieces missing. She’d seen broken people and shattered souls, but this was different. This was the fixing of someone who wanted to be okay and it reminded Cordelia of when she was human.

“I was a soldier,” Cordelia started and Garth looked up at her, “I came from Missouri, we split during the war. Half for slavery, half against.”

Garth scanned Cordelia, she didn’t know how to feel about his gaze on her so she tried to ignore it as best she could.

“I enlisted once the war started, I wanted to fight to end slavery, to end the war,” Cordelia continued, “My friend Buck, he didn’t share the same points of view as me. We met on the battlefield and I didn’t want to shoot him. I grew up with him, we were best friends.”

Garth swallowed hard. Cordelia knew he could tell where the story was going, she hung her head, avoiding eye contact. She didn’t want to trudge out the past, she really hated talking about it. But this was the best way she knew how to convey that she understood what Garth was experiencing on some level. No, it wasn’t the same, Cordelia never accidentally killed a young girl. But she could relate in some regard.

“I didn’t want to have to kill him,” Cordelia continued, a lump forming in her throat, “He shot first, got my leg really good. I didn’t have another choice. I aimed for his shoulder to disarm him.”

“You missed,” Garth whispered under his breath.

Cordelia nodded gently, “The aim on those old muskets wasn’t perfect and I didn’t quite have perfect eyesight.”

Cordelia looked up at Garth as he shook his head. Cordelia nodded, looking at the horizon. It was getting late and the sky was beginning to turn hues of orange and pink. Soon it would be nightfall and nightfall meant more creatures to threaten their lives. Cordelia sighed, missing the simplicity of pressing buttons, sending souls to their respective corners of Hell.

“How do you cope?” Garth asked. Cordelia looked at him. She didn’t have an honest answer for him. She didn’t really cope. Demons didn’t have souls, they didn’t really feel regret or remorse. But Cordelia did. She looked out at the horizon again. She didn’t want to be honest, being honest would be worse for Garth than Cordelia just lying.

“You know, I tell myself it wasn’t my fault,” lie, “I just… forget about it,” lie, “It gets easier, though.”

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Garth nodded, standing up straight as he straightened his back out. Cordelia did the same, stretching her arms out as she leaned her back against the wall. Garth smiled half heartedly, crossing his arms.

“Thank you,” Garth nodded, “Really, thank you.”

“You’re not a bad person because you killed that girl,” Cordelia continued, “You’re a good person because you regret it, because you feel guilty. Even if that guilt isn’t founded in anything.”

Garth’s smile spread. He hung his head, chuckling softly. Cordelia smiled in response. Not one of those sarcastic smiles she was used to. No, this was a genuine smile. One that made her feel good from head to toe. She wasn’t used to people treating her half decent and it seemed that Garth was the same way. He could use a friend and she could too. Cordelia’s eyes met Garth’s and she could appreciate how soft his were. An amber that reminded her of the farm fields she grew up around when she was alive.

Garth broke the eye contact, a frustrated look as he pointed off behind Cordelia, “There’s another body.”

Cordelia looked over her shoulder to where Myst and Deanna were carrying a body out of the house. Garth had been out on the porch the whole time, of course. He didn't know about Ketch. Cordelia turned to look at Garth, not sure if she should tell him or not. Part of her knew it was probably the right thing to do. But the other parts of her thought that he’d already been consuming so much information up to that point.

“Uh, your Colonel died,” Cordelia murmured. Garth looked over at her out of confusion. She didn’t know how close Garth was with Ketch and she didn’t want him thinking she was being insensitive. She couldn’t read the emotions on his face very well, she was scared he might blame himself for Ketch’s death.

“How?” Garth asked, peering past the house to try and get a better look.

“I dunno,” Cordelia admitted, “If I had to guess, he killed himself,” she paused seeing the horror on Garth’s face, “But it could be something else entirely. I could be super wrong!”

Garth looked at Cordelia, “You don't have to sugar coat it, you know? He’s not the first one I’ve seen.”

Cordelia tilted her head. His soul was more broken than she had originally thought. Cordelia looked over her shoulder as Myst and Deanna lit the body on fire. A hunter’s funeral. What’s burned stays dead. Unless they become a demon, obviously. Two hunter’s funerals in a day felt like a lot to Cordelia, but she was sure that to Garth it was nothing. Cordelia knew a large number of hunters had died in the war, and if all of them were burned this way, Garth must’ve known the smell of burning flesh very well.

“You get used to it,” Garth muttered, “All the deaths, at some point it doesn’t faze you when your partners get killed. I’ve lost more hunting buddies than I can count.”

Cordelia folded her arms, shrugging, “I lost my best friend who turned out to be a traitor.”

Garth nodded, “Myst lost her sister. Hasn’t been the same since.”

Cordelia looked over at Myst as she stared unwavering at the burning body. Myst always seemed unbothered by, well, everything. Cordelia had assumed she just had no more shits to give after so long in the war. Maybe Cordelia’s prejudgement was harsh.

“How’d it happen?” Cordelia asked.

“Pack of ghouls,” Garth replied, “Her, Myst, Jo, and I were all traveling along a trench, one of those really deep ones. Autumn slipped, lost her footing. Jo tried to grab her hand, but she couldn’t catch her in time. We had assumed she died on impact, the trench was deep.”

Cordelia’s face hardened as she continued to listen. Something about this story already didn't sit well with the demon. Cordelia stole a quick look at Myst, then returned her attention to Garth.

“We were almost where we needed to be when we heard her cries for help,” Garth muttered, “A group of Ghouls had gotten to her, they started eating her… alive. We had to hold Myst back from jumping into the trench with her. We could hear her screams the whole way across. Begging, pleading for help. It was… a lot.”

Cordelia shook her head. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard that was for the hunter. Cordelia just felt so bad for Myst. No one deserved that, and no one deserved to go through that. The hunter seemed to be enthralled with the flames, Deanna wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close.

“She was twelve,” Garth added in the final detail. The final detail that broke Cordelia completely. Not just a younger sister that Myst had felt the need to protect for so long. But a kid sister. Cordelia couldn’t envision the utter pain and torture it must’ve been to be Myst. It was terrible.

“She just lives with that?” Cordelia asked gently, stealing another look at the Captain.

“Well, she makes our lives a living hell,” Garth replied, “But we don’t really complain, it'd be better for her to yell at us than not talk at all.”

Cordelia shrugged, she guessed she understood. She was just scared that Myst was going to let herself get ruled by this trauma, let it run her life. Cordelia knew what it was like to live life as a victim compared to a survivor. But battle was on the horizon, even if the sun was setting. Tomorrow morning they’d be preparing to set out for battle. And that included Myst.

Chapter Text

Ralph found the roof relaxing. The sun had completely set and he was staring at the stars. Jack had pulled him up there but when he was called down by Rowena for extra help, it left Ralph up there alone. He didn’t mind, honestly. Ralph enjoyed the cool air, the breeze, the stars shining brightly. Ralph could feel at ease, that powerful tension, gone. Ralph liked it. Ralph liked not feeling responsible, even if in the morning he’d have to risk his life. He felt free.

There was distinct grunting and mumbling of curses. Ralph leaned forward, looking toward the gutter where Balthazar threw a half empty bottle of vodka towards Ralph who caught it very clumsily. The drunken fallen angel rolled over onto the roof, staring up at the stars. He paused, waiting a moment before groaning as he sat up. He looked over at Ralph, crawling to sit beside him. Balthazar flopped over, taking the booze out of Ralph’s hand as he sucked on the bottle, drinking the vodka.

“Beautiful night,” Balthazar grumbled, waving his hand in the air, “Why didn’t you talk? I mean, you can, but you didn’t. Why?”

Ralph looked at Balthazar, tilting his head, “Why do you care?”

Balthazar pushed himself up, offering the vodka to Ralph. Ralph shook his head and Balthazar shrugged, taking another swig. Ralph sighed. Communication wasn’t something he had been good at, nor did he really feel the need to try. He found words overrated and unnecessary, no one listened anyways, so what was the point of speaking?

But that wasn’t going to be the answer that Balthazar wanted. Balthazar wanted a weighted answer, he wanted something with emotional attachment. Balthazar was looking for something to prove that he wasn’t just an abomination. Ralph wished he knew that for certain. He wished he could tell Balthazar that he wasn’t some monster. He didn’t know.

“I care because Megara told me you,” Balthazar touched Ralph’s nose and Ralph slapped the hand away, “Were a nutcase who wouldn’t talk. I want to know why. Whhhhyyyyyy did you stop talking?”

Ralph squinted at Balthazar, shaking his head, “I see no reason for it. I talk, people don’t listen. I try to speak, people interrupt. I can’t–”

“Boooorrrriiiiiinnnnngggg,” Balthazar grumbled, conveniently interrupting Ralph. The Elioud wasn’t sure if he should be frustrated or amused. Balthazar’s timing was perfect enough where Ralph wasn’t completely annoyed by him.

“There’s something else,” Balthazar continued, “Something you don’t wanna talk about.”

Ralph shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest, “Let’s talk about you, if you want to talk.”

Balthazar cackled, drinking his vodka. He scanned Ralph and Ralph realized that Balthazar thought he was joking. Ralph’s expression hardened as he waited for Balthazar to realize he was serious. Maybe the ex-angel’s processing was a bit slow from the alcohol, or maybe he was just super dumb. Ralph was content with either option.

“OH,” Balthazar gasped, taking a deep drink, “You’re serious.”

Ralph nodded slowly. Balthazar shrugged in response, drinking the rest of his vodka. He tossed it off the roof, the bottle giving a thud as it hit the dirt. Ralph gave him a short look of disapproval, but Balthazar shrugged it off, not caring.

“What do you wanna know?” Balthazar asked, “How I got the scars on my back? From my wings being ripped away. Boring question, honestly.”

“Who was Mercy to you?” Ralph asked.

As soon as he asked Balthazar, he could feel the air fill with tension. The once cool and refreshing night air now felt dangerous to Ralph. Like he was treading on thin ice that was slowly cracking beneath him. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, maybe he was prying. Ralph didn’t mean to pry.

“Back in the early days of the Anarchists,” Balthazar started, “When we only had a few Nephilim and Cambion, we had a select group of angels who were sponsors. I was one of them.”

Ralph sat forward, listening intently to Balthazar.

“Mercy was my charge,” Balthazar explained, “I taught her how to use her powers and she helped me through losing my wings. It was a tough time for me and Mercy was a way for me to get through it without wanting to kill myself everyday.”

Ralph shifted in his spot. He let his legs relax, sliding down. He was listening intensely to what Balthazar was saying. He scanned the ex-angel’s demeanor, but he seemed rather relaxed, like he’d practiced this a thousand times, rehearsed it in his mind.

“I was the only one who encouraged her when she said she felt like something was off about the camp,” Balthazar shook his head, “When Zachariah said she had been dismissed for mischievous actions, I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t investigate and I’ll always regret that.”

Ralph hung his head. Mercy had clearly meant something to him. Balthazar pulled a flask out of his jacket, unscrewing the top. He took a quick drink, offering it to Ralph. Ralph looked up, shaking his head. He didn’t drink, he didn’t find the comfort that others did. But he guessed Balthazar just wanted to be too drunk to care.

“But you,” Balthazar started, setting the flask down between him and Ralph, “You’re different. You’re the one person who reminds me of her and doesn’t make me want to die. You know?”

Balthazar looked up at the stars, leaning forward. Ralph bit the inside of his cheek. Yeah, he knew. Sometimes reminding people of other people that meant something to them, sometimes that was good. Sometimes that was bad.

“You remind me of my dad,” Ralph said shortly before realizing he would need to expand on that, “My dad was a drunk.”

Balthazar raised a brow, shaking his head and chuckling, “You really know how to flatter a girl, Ralphie.”

Ralph shook his head, “No, you asked why I didn’t talk, so shush, I’m talking now.”

Balthazar raised his hands in mock offense. Ralph shook his head, smiling. He looked up at the stars. He didn’t know how to explain it. How to talk to Balthazar without just dumping a bunch of information on him. Ralph didn’t want to overwhelm him. Ralph looked down at the flask. Fuck it. He unscrewed the top, taking a quick drink.

“Okay,” Ralph wiped the excess liquid from his mouth, “Hunters are hardcore. On each other, on themselves. On everyone. I was a punching bag. They trained me to withstand torture, to not answer questions. They trained me to be a hunter, to obey orders without question. They raised a soldier, not a person. So you can understand why I find interaction difficult.”

Balthazar scrunched his nose, turning to face Ralph, “They were training you for this, then. They understood your importance.”

Ralph rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his stained top. He pulled the collar away exposing a series of lash marks that were scarred over. Balthazar scanned them, seeming to understand a bit better. Ralph hated showing his scars to people. He hated opening up at all, but if Balthazar had just spilled his gut on this roof, Ralph felt he should too. It was a fair trade. 

“They didn’t train me for anything,” Ralph replied, “They didn’t know how to handle me, so they beat me into obedience. They beat me until I was black and blue because they couldn’t deal with me. They weren’t getting me ready for anything, Balthazar. They were overwhelmed and took it out on me.”

Balthazar bit his lip, sighing. Ralph didn’t want him to feel bad, just to understand where he was coming from. Balthazar muttered something inaudible under his breath, taking a drink from his flask before handing it to Ralph who did the same.

Though night had fallen and everyone should’ve been relaxing, preparing for the next day, Ralph felt on edge. The way Rowena had explained the use of his blood made it sound like he may not make it out alive. Ralph tried to ignore that thought, though. He just wanted to enjoy a night staring at the stars.

Chapter Text

Most professions of love go into one of three categories. Though, this is a very limiting way to characterize love professions, it’s been found that if you try to add more categories, it gets too messy. So these main three are the general ones that everyone has experienced at least once, or at least has grasped the proper understanding of.

The first, and most common, is the friend zone. Now, though this is the most common and honestly isn’t the worst option, a lot of people get very frustrated at the prospect of this one. Some harass the person who sat them in the friend zone, some get angry. Others resort to violence. Commonly, though, outbursts tend to result in: ‘You’re an ugly bitch, I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last person on Earth.’ The people who react like that are generally incels. That’s not to say that everyone reacted like that, just a demographic.

The second, which isn’t necessarily as common as the friend zone, is fondly referred to as ‘The worst they can say is no’. As it stands, the worst they can say is not, in fact, no. Common responses included in this category are: ‘Ew, you look like Satan chewed you up and shat you out’, ‘Oh my God, could you imagine me and you, what a trainwreck’, and ‘I would rather shove an ice pick between my toe and toenail and kick it into the door before I dated you’. Now, these responses are generally the reason people become bitter and wish not to interact with other human beings romantically.

The third, and final, category is very rare. This one doesn’t have a name, it’s not referred to as anything as most people consider it to be unlikely, impossible. This is the result when one friend approaches the other and the other shares the same feelings that the first friend did. It’s rumored that this ends in a relationship for some duration of time, but since it’s so rare, there’s no proof that it’s true.

That being said, Orion had no idea what Kevin’s response would be. He had pulled the prophet to the edge of the property. The bombings had ceased, which meant they were sort of just standing under the moonlight, staring out at the approaching troops. The breeze felt nice against Orion’s Vessel’s skin. His vessel was doing that thing where it overheated again and Orion found the breeze to be relaxing.

The angel avoided eye contact with Kevin. Eye contact made him uncomfortable, it made him feel more pressure than he needed to. But the tension was there. The tension felt so thick. Orion looked over his shoulder, Ralph and Balthazar were on top of the roof sharing drinks from what Orion could see. He looked back down at the prophet who was more entranced with the stars. Orion crossed his arms, looking up at the stars too.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Kevin looked up at Orion. Orion held his breath. Which was a ridiculous statement seeing as Orion didn’t breathe. This would’ve been way simpler if Kevin had his soul. Orion would just read his aura. Orion’s hand went to his jacket pocket, feeling the small ball that pulsated with Kevin’s soul.

“This isn’t easy for me,” Orion said gruffly. Kevin shrugged, looking ahead of him again. Orion’s feathers rustled as his wings flared. He wanted to calm his nerves. Why did he have nerves? Angels weren’t even supposed to have feelings. Why was he so complicated?

“Well, it’s a lovely night,” Kevin muttered, stealing a quick look at Orion that made the angel’s heart flutter. His stomach twisted in knots just thinking about the prophet. He had to do this or he wouldn’t be able to handle himself in battle. 

“Kevin, I have known you for a while,” Orion started, staring down at his vessel’s rough hands, “And we’ve been through a lot together. You’ve been by my side and I’ve been by yours.”

Orion’s eyes met Kevin’s as the prophet spoke, “Why do I have a feeling that I won’t like where this conversation is going?”

Orion swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure if he should continue. He started panicking, his hands shook and his breathing that wasn’t even required became uneven. But he needed to, he needed to clear his mind before this, otherwise the Hellians would instantly lock in on him. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Kevin, you’re different from other humans, they think that we’re assholes,” Orion continued, turning to fully face Kevin, “Kevin, I care deeply about you. I- I love you.”

Orion held his breath waiting for Kevin’s response. His wings shook slightly from nerves,  his eyes scanning Kevin for any indication of a response. Kevin’s eyes traced Orion, the prophet taking a step back. Kevin crossed his arms, hanging his head as he looked away.

“Orion,” Kevin shook his head, “I don’t– I’m sorry, I don’t feel that way towards you.”

Orion stepped back feeling the embarrassment rise to his cheeks. He felt so wrong, so guilty. Why had he done it? Why had he told Kevin? He had probably fucked everything up. Orion ran a hand through his vessel’s hair. He wished he had put those words on a string and could pull them back into his mouth. Undo them. Pretend he hadn’t said them. Orion hated himself.

“I didn’t–” Orion stopped himself, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, Orion,” Kevin cut him off, “It’s fine, I’m unbothered.”

Orion shook his head. Kevin was the only person who he truly viewed as a friend. And he could’ve just fucked it all up. Why was he broken? Couldn’t he do anything right? Orion wanted to throw some shit, trying to maintain his frustration. He hated himself and his choices. Why did he do this to himself?

“Orion, don’t take this to heart, please,” Kevin called after him as Orion began to storm away, “Orion, we can still be friends, please–”

Orion just needed to breathe, to calm himself down. Why had he told him? Why did he say anything? What was the point?

Chapter Text

Myst watched with great discontentment as Cordelia and Garth sat chatting. She looked down at the angel blade Crowley had given her, turning it over in her hands. The blade glistened under the lights in the base. Myst’s eyes flitted across the sharp edge, watching as the blade reflected her face. The blade felt heavy, heavier than other blades she’d held. Killing Cordelia, it meant her freedom, it meant she would walk away from the war without any debt.

Myst slid her fingers across the sharp edge of the blade. The blade didn’t cut her finger, she ran it against it too lightly to cut her. But the cool metal seemed to draw her back into the moment. Myst didn’t know if she really planned on killing Cordelia. She pocketed the angel blade as Jo approached her. Myst gave Jo a quick look out of the corner of her eye before crossing her arms.

Myst had tried for years to not blame Jo for what had happened, for the longest time she almost could’ve. But Myst couldn’t help herself. She’d formed a deep resentment. She hadn’t intended to, she really hadn’t. But some things were out of her control, and this was one of those things. She didn’t like that it was out of her control, but at this rate, she didn't care.

“Hey,” Jo muttered under her breath. Myst sat her head against the wall, looking at the ceiling. Her hand slid to the angel blade, her finger tracing the hilt. She bit her lip, trying to keep her nerve.

“Hey,” Myst replied shortly. She didn’t want to entertain this conversation. She needed to stay level headed for their mission tomorrow, she didn’t have time to talk to Jo. But Jo seemed insistent.

“Deanna told me Karen’s looking at you for promotion,” Jo tried to make conversation, Myst clenched her jaw, “You’re a good leader, Myst.”

Myst looked at Jo from the corner of her eye before returning her gaze to the ceiling. Myst knew she was a good leader, she didn’t need Jo to tell her that. Jo couldn’t even bother to follow simple orders. Myst tightened her crossed arms, intentionally losing her footing a bit to slip down against the wall. Jo scanned the Captain, Myst still refusing to make eye contact.

“Uh, Myst,” Jo started, “I was transferred before I got to apologize for Autumn… I’m sorry.”

Myst looked at Jo, reading the remorse on her face. She genuinely felt bad, it was written all over her. Good. She deserved to feel bad for what had happened. Myst looked away again, pulling her right hand to rest on the angel blade. She just wanted to feel the cool metal against her skin. That was all, she wasn't going to try to kill Jo. That would be stupid.

“She shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Jo continued and her voice grated any semblance of sanity that Myst had left, “And I was the one who insisted she was ready for missions. And that’s my bad.”

“Your… bad?” Myst turned to look at Jo, “I lost my sister, and all you can say is, ‘my bad’?”

Jo furrowed her brow. Myst stared pointedly at the hunter. She didn’t know what to say. She knew what she wanted to say. But she held her tongue. Not because she wanted to, no, she wanted to rip into Jo then and there. But because there were people around.  She didn’t particularly care if people saw her attack Jo, but she understood this was supposed to be the calm before the storm, which meant she needed to be that: calm.

“Myst, I mean, I feel terrible about it,” Jo replied, “Even while I was with the Anarchists, I thought about her. How I’d failed her, and you. Myst, it’s something I can’t forget about.”

Myst’s nostrils flared as she crossed her arms, “How do you think I feel? I wake up every morning and relive it. I go to bed every night and relive it. So you tell me that you feel terrible, that you can’t live with yourself. Tell me how much you regret it, because I won’t forgive you. I will never forgive you. Because if it wasn’t for you, my sister would be here right now.”

Myst’s voice must’ve raised a bit too much because Cordelia and Garth had stopped talking and were now focused on Jo and Myst. Jo raised a hand to cover her face out of embarrassment. Good. She deserved to be embarrassed. More than that, everyone deserved to know what Jo did. But Myst wasn’t going to tell everyone. She’d never stoop that low.

“Myst, can we move this conversation,” Jo requested, “I wanted to apologize because I feel horrible. I don’t want you mad at me before we go on this mission.”

“Too late,” Myst snapped, turning her back on Jo as she stormed off. Myst wasn’t particularly paying attention, her head was screaming again, but she heard Cordelia and Garth approach Jo as she walked away. Myst headed through the kitchen, out to the little porch. She walked outside, staring up at the stars. She let out a short sigh, leaning her back against the cold siding. 

Myst knew they were less than twelve hours from this life risking situation. She watched as Metatron and Loki were setting up for the soul removal. Myst couldn’t properly make out their faces, but from what she could see, Loki pecked Metatron’s cheek lightly before resuming his setting up. Myst redirected her attention, looking up at the moon. It was full and shining fairly brightly. Myst could die tomorrow. And she didn’t know how to feel about that.

She let out a small breath, before closing her eyes. She wasn’t tired, she didn’t need to sleep. She just needed to collect herself, she needed to prepare. Myst thought shortly about Ketch, how she’d found him. He’d killed himself to get out of active combat; To get out of dying by the hands of a Hellian. Myst found suicide to be dishonorable, but it was a tactic they had been taught as hunters. It was part of their training, to know when to kill yourself and when not to. So, Ketch wasn’t wrong to end his life.

Myst reopened her eyes, staring down at her arms. She shook her head, rolling her sleeves down. It wasn’t honorable. It wasn’t right. She pushed herself off the wall. She needed to do her rounds. She was in charge of the outfit for the time being. Though Myst wasn’t sure what exactly she was going to do after the war was over, she pushed the thought away, beginning to walk inside.

Chapter Text

The sun had begun to rise and Cordelia was standing outside with Metatron, Loki, and Rowena. Metatron and Loki had been finishing up the final touches with the ritual. Cordelia leaned against the house, stealing looks at Rowena. The witch looked tired. Which she assumed would be the case when she was sharing her body with an archangel. Rowena had the box closed in her hands and she was drumming her fingers on the top.

“That’s it,” Metatron said, scanning over the note that Kevin had given him, “This is the altered version Kevin gave me, to a T.”

Loki raised his brows, pulling out a pocket watch, “We can start gathering the humans. It’ll take a while for us to do the ritual and have them recover from it. It’s best to start early.”

Metatron scanned the set up corn husk baskets with the small wooden balls, “Let’s go collect them.”

The two headed off into the house, beginning to rouse and collect the hunters inside. Cordelia looked over at Rowena who yawned deeply. Cordelia had never seen the witch so absolutely drained, and Cordelia had seen Rowena go weeks without sleep while working on a specific spell. It concerned the demon.

“You look terrible,” Cordelia muttered, “Like, really bad. I mean, you’re hot, but that's– Not what I’m talking about.”

“Are you flirting with me?” Rowena asked, genuinely confused. Cordelia ran her hand over her face. Maybe she was a bit too tired too, she couldn’t exactly formulate coherent thoughts.

“Not this time,” Cordelia smiled, dropping her hand from her face, “I mean, Gabriel seems to be taking a lot out of you. Are you sure you need him in you for this?”

Rowena’s eyes flashed blue, looking at Cordelia sharply, “Cordelia, don’t even start. If I’m not here, Rowena cannot enter Heaven. So go have beef with some other archangel.”

Rowena’s eyes flashed blue again and Rowena clutched her head as she regained control. Cordelia caught the box as it started to drop. Rowena shook her head reaching out for the box. Cordelia handed it to Rowena who held it with a tight grip. Cordelia didn’t like seeing Rowena this drained, it felt like the witch was a shell of herself. But she understood the severity of the situation. Rowena yawned again, her eyes flitting across the ritual.

“This could be the last time we see each other for a while,” Cordelia said softly, looking at Rowena, “What are you going to do when the war’s over?”

Rowena shrugged, “Going to make a new coven, most likely. The old one fell apart after the war started. I could use a witch or two.”

Rowena gave Cordelia that look, winking. Cordelia shook her head. She was a demon, that was her existence, her eternity. She’d come to terms with it, for the most part. That was the deal she had been roped into. At this rate, though, she wasn’t sure what she was aiming to do after the war. Staying out of Hell was going to be a priority for her, Crowley was probably still bent on killing her off.

“I’m no witch,” Cordelia muttered, looking at Rowena. Cordelia was able to cast a spell or two, a charm on a good day. She wasn’t really the definition of a witch. Rowena looked down at the stained box.

“You’re better than a lot of witches I’ve met,” Rowena said, meeting Cordelia’s eyes, “If this is the last time we see each other, I will miss you. You were… an experience.”

Cordelia laughed, if forcibly, “You were everything, Rowena.”

Cordelia scanned Rowena. No, she didn’t think anything would happen to them. It was just a safety precaution. Cordelia learned quickly to say goodbye even if she didn’t think it was. This was one of those situations. She had to say goodbye to ensure that Rowena had closure in case they never saw each other again. She’d done the same for Garth hours before.

Cordelia’s eyes flitted to the hardwood box, getting an idea.

“Here,” Cordelia took the box from Rowena, pulling out her switchblade. She kneeled on the ground, flipping the box over. Cordelia took her switchblade, beginning to carve into the wood. Rowena knelt beside Cordelia, furrowing her brow curiously as she watched Cordelia use her knife.

“You’re going to fuck with that charm,” Rowena whispered.

“No I’m not.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. She carved the Greek letter Kappa into the wood. It took some effort for it to look right but she had practice carving things. When she was done, she blew the wood shavings away, wiping the box as she handed the knife to Rowena. The witch looked at her with a half smile.

“Devious, Cordelia,” Rowena smirked, “Kappa?”

“Hey, no one will know it’s us that way,” Cordelia smiled, “Besides, there’s no Greek letter for C.”

Rowena shook her head, hunching over the box. Cordelia moved around to get a good angle to watch her carve it. Rowena’s took a little bit longer since Rowena wasn’t as experienced as Cordelia. But when she was done, there was a messily carved Rho in the bottom of the box. Rowena looked back at Cordelia.

It was a nice sentiment; Wherever the box ended up going, Cordelia and Rowena would still be a part of it. Cordelia started to stand up when Rowena’s eyes glowed blue, Gabriel taking over again. Cordelia tilted her head, waiting for the Archangel to speak. He probably wouldn’t have a problem with the carving, but Cordelia couldn’t be sure.

“Come on, you didn’t think I wouldn’t join in, did you?” Gabriel smiled, gripping the knife. He started to carve into the box.

“Nice, that was a moment between Rowena and I,” Cordelia feigned frustration. She actually didn’t mind Gabriel joining in, she found it nice. That the three of them could share this. It was small, oh so small, but it was important to Cordelia, it was important to them.

Gabriel leaned back, admiring his work as he ran a hand over the Gamma he’d carved into the box. The angel probably could’ve used magic to carve it in, but he did it the traditional way. That being said, Cordelia and Rowena probably could’ve used magic to carve it into the box. They had all opted the traditional route, they all understood that more sentiment was connected when it was done this way.

Gabriel’s eyes glowed blue, ceding control back to Rowena. It was just in time too as Metatron and Loki led out a string of hunters. Cordelia and Rowena scrambled to flip the box over, hiding the carving they had done. Rowena grabbed it, quickly rising to her feet as the hunters lined up in front of their corn husk baskets.

Chapter Text

Ralph stood between Jane and Jack, but behind Balthazar as all the hunters lined up to have their souls removed. Jane didn’t talk much to anyone but Eileen. But sometimes Ralph would see her whispering into Jack’s ear. It wasn’t often, but he caught it sometimes. She seemed to be reserved and Ralph could respect that. He knew better than anyone else not wishing to speak to anyone. Sometimes Ralph wished that he didn’t have to speak to people again, but it was clear it was important.

Ralph watched as Kevin walked past all the hunters. Kevin was quiet in his own regard, especially this morning. Orion had shoved himself off to the side– staring intently at Myst– and from what Ralph had gathered, the two of them were usually inseparable. It was what it was, though. And what it was wasn’t his problem.

“Alright,” Kevin cleared his throat, stopping beside Metatron, “This is going to hurt like complete Hell.”

“Oh, lovely,” Myst grumbled, “We get our souls ripped out of us and trudge off to be likely wounded.”

“Do you mind?” Cordelia snapped back, “This is going to keep you guys from triggering the hive mind, okay?”

Myst rolled her eyes. Ralph took a step to the left, looking past Balthazar’s shoulder. He scanned all the hunters slowly, most of them looked nervous, but Myst looked rather frustrated. Ralph guessed he could understand that. Having such a vital part of your psyche being stripped from your being, must be a Hell no one should have to endure.

“Since this is a long process,” Kevin continued, “Metatron and Loki will take the souls. Only the person who stripped your soul is able to return it, so Metatron and Loki will be hanging back at the house to ensure their safety.”

Balthazar looked over his shoulder at Ralph, muttering under his breath, “Of course, we have to go into battle but the ones who are actually worth anything stay.”

Ralph smiled Balthazar was still buzzed from the vodka, but he had a point. They could’ve used Loki’s trickster capabilities for getting to the gates. Of course, he wasn’t juiced up enough for that, at least that’s what he told them. Ralph didn’t see any reason to doubt the Demi-God

Metatron and Loki started at opposite ends, Loki taking care of Jo while Metatron took care of Garth. They both started muttering the Latin and Ralph watched as the hunters doubled over in coughing fits. Ralph stepped forward and Balthazar took a side step allowing the Elioud to stand beside him. Ralph was intrigued by the process, his eyes flickering between the hunters. It was a curious process, their souls shining brightly, slowly oozing from their mouths.

“I don’t have a soul, right?” Ralph asked Balthazar.

“No, you don’t,” the fallen angel confirmed, “Jack and Jane do, but Cordelia says the hive mind isn’t tuned into Nephilim souls.”

“You don’t have a soul.” Ralph looked at Balthazar. Balthazar nodded in confirmation, not returning the look. Ralph refocused, looking at Jo who was gagging on her soul. Ralph tilted his head, the soul shone this misty white that was almost metallic. Ralph couldn’t fathom it, it looked so surreal, but he was enamored with it.

Garth fell to his knees as he coughed up the last bit of his soul and Metatron looked over at Orion. Orion was pulled out of whatever trance he appeared to be in, looking at Garth before nodding in confirmation. Metatron nodded, picking up the smoking wooden ball from the basket in front of Garth. He took a step to his left, in front of Charlie. He began the same thing with her.

Once Jo had finished off her own soul, she stood to her feet shakily, Ellen to the right of her offered her help, but Jo declined it. Loki did the same as Metatron. Looked at Orion. Got confirmation. Picked up the ball. Moved onto the next.

Once Metatron and Loki were done with Charlie and Ellen, they moved onto Sam and Eileen. They did the same as they did with the others. Recite the Latin. Wait for them to be done. Look at Orion. Get confirmation. Pick up the ball.

Metatron took another step to his left, standing in front of Myst. Loki took a step to his right, standing in front of Deanna. Loki started reciting the Latin, Deanna’s soul beginning to crawl out at a slow pace. Metatron opened his mouth to start reciting the Latin as well, but he was interrupted.

“No, no. Stop,” Orion ordered, rushing towards Metatron from the corner he had shoved himself into. The angel pulled Metatron away from Myst. The hunter seemed unbothered by this. A little too unbothered in Ralph’s humble opinion.

“Orion, please, we don’t have time for this,” Metatron protested, pulling his arm away from the angel. He turned back to recite the Latin.

“Metatron, you’ll kill her,” Orion objected, “She doesn’t have a soul for you to take. If you perform this ritual you’ll take her essence, you’ll kill her.”

Chapter Text

Due to the fact that Orion was broken,  Orion didn’t see humans the way other angels did. Other angels saw humans in their true forms; A blind amalgamation of shapes and colors that, when looked at in the right position, made what the human truly resembled. Soul or no soul, that’s what angels saw. Which made tracking down a soulless person damn near impossible for the average angel. Shapes and colors didn’t define a soul.

But Orion was special, he saw auras. Which has become quite obvious. Auras are linked directly to the soul. No soul meant no aura and Orion could see the human’s mortal form. It was actually fairly useful when Orion used it properly.

So when Orion had met Myst, he had sensed something off, her aura being weak, he’d never experienced that before. At first he had assumed that the hunter had a poor sense of direction, of faith. But then he realized. Myst didn’t have a strong aura, because she didn’t have a soul. Now, Orion wasn’t quite sure where she’d lost it or how, but he was sure that he didn’t think that it was safe to perform a ritual to remove a soul that didn’t exist.

Of course, all of the people outside were caught off guard at Orion’s revelation. But the angel was quite proud of himself, giving himself (what the hunters had referred to as) a well deserved pat on the back. He quite possibly had saved her life and everyone was looking at him like he’d just declared another war on them. Orion didn’t quite understand, he’d done good.

Deanna finished coughing up the last bit of her soul, which had been the only noise in the whole of the group. Loki gave Orion a look for confirmation. Orion didn’t understand why, they were obviously in the middle of something, but Orion gave Deanna a quick glance over before nodding. Loki picked up the wooden sphere, pocketing it.

“What the hell do you mean I have no soul?” Myst spoke, fire behind her words.

Orion furrowed his brow, he didn’t think it was that complicated of a subject. Most humans had a soul. She was a human. She did not have one. It wasn’t algebra, it wasn’t calculus. It was a simple concept, but maybe he had presented it in a complex way that a hunter could not wrap their mind around.

“I mean, most humans have souls and you do not,” Orion replied.

“A: What the fuck?” Myst started, “And B: How the hell do you know?”

Orion realized this was about to get more complex. Obviously this hunter had a lower IQ than the rest. It wasn’t that Orion didn’t mind conversing with hunters, he found it to be an enlightening experience. But this one seemed to be unable to infer anything from what he was saying.

“Uh, you have no soul in your psyche, the piece that goes right here?” Orion gently poked Myst’s abdomen and Myst shoved him away defensively before he continued, “I uh, read auras. Your aura is attached to your soul, and you have no aura therefore–”

“I have no soul,” Myst murmured, looking away. Orion nodded, finally the hunter was beginning to understand what was going on. Orion took a step back as Myst ran a frenzied hand through her auburn hair. Orion waited for her to orient herself, but she aggressively grabbed his jacket lapel, pulling him forward towards her.

“What the hell happened to it?” Myst hissed in Orion’s face. Orion tried to push himself away from the hunter but his footing was lost, there was nothing he could do about it. Metatron pulled Orion out of her grasp and Deanna pulled Myst away from the angel. Metatron smoothed Orion’s jacket out but Orion didn’t see a reason to. He was about to wade through a group of Hellians, he saw no point to it.

“Where’s my soul?!” Myst yelled, Deanna having to restrain her.

Orion didn’t understand. He hadn’t done anything to Myst’s soul. He’d met her like that. That’s how she had been the whole time he’d known her. He supposed that’s what people did in dire situations. They blamed the closest person they could. Orion could attempt to understand, even if he didn’t. Humans were rather complicated.

“You didn’t sell it?” Metatron asked genuinely. His wings flared before folding neatly.

“WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?!” Myst yelled. She tried to lunge at Orion who took a fervent step back. Deanna wrapped her arms tightly around Myst’s waist, pulling her back.

“Well, as far as I can tell you had a soul at some point, it’s safe to assume you sold it,” Orion shrugged, looking at Metatron for support but Metatron had already backed a great distance away from Myst, putting length between them. Orion swore under his breath in Enochian, taking another step back.

Cordelia placed a light hand on his shoulder, steadying the angel. Orion gave her a look of thanks, regaining a more firm footing. Orion’s feathers rustled in an annoyed fashion but he ignored them, they’d steady themselves after a bit.

“Myst, didn’t you have a deal with Crowley?” Cordelia folded her arms, taking a firm stance against the hunter, “Maybe he has your soul. Instead of blaming the poor ave, why don’t you look at what’s right under your nose.”

Crowley appeared beside Cordelia, swilling his glass of whiskey, “I didn’t make a contract about her soul, mostly because I knew she didn’t have one.”

“You knew and, what? Didn’t think it was important?” Deanna probed, her face hardening.

“Is it really important right now?” Crowley asked, sipping his drink.

“Fergus is right,” Rowena stepped forward, “It’s hardly a problem now. It’s something you lot can sort out after this is over.”

Orion nodded in agreement. His eyes caught sight of a bored Kevin and his heart gave a flutter. He forced himself to look away. He cursed himself, he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. He wasn’t allowed to let himself feel and when he was in the middle of a revelation, it was fine. But his eyes wandered and his mind roamed and somehow, no matter where he was, it was to Kevin.

“Fine,” Myst grunted after Deanna pulled her away again, “But bird brain and I are having a conversation once we’re done here.”

Myst stormed off and Deanna hesitated before running after her. Orion let out a sigh. He didn’t understand humans, hunters. He looked around at the rest of the group.

“Let’s prepare,” Orion began, his eyes flitting to Kevin before he cleared his throat, “The time is upon us.”

Chapter Text

Myst stormed away from the main group. She was still processing everything that was going on. She had no soul. She didn’t know if she should've been bothered. Because she wasn’t. Confused? Sure. Frustrated? Hell yeah. But bothered? No, she wasn’t. If anything, she felt… relieved. No soul would explain why she felt so… unshackled.

Deanna’s hand wrapped tightly around Myst’s wrist, pulling her around to face her. Myst scanned the older Winchester. Falling quiet at her hard gaze. Myst raised her eyebrows, waiting for Deanna to speak, break the tension.

“You can’t storm off and throw a fit,” Deanna stated firmly, “We have something to do and we need everyone to pull it off, you included.”

Myst pulled her hand free from the Major’s grasp. She took a step back, crossing her arms. Deanna didn’t seem to understand. Myst had no soul. It just wasn't there. And she needed to calm down? She was supposed to pretend like this wasn’t something that was going to be a problem. Myst’s jaw tightened at the thought.

“I don’t have a soul, and you’re more concerned about this than me?” Myst snapped. She didn’t know if she actually felt that way or if she was just reacting that way to piss off  Deanna. A soulless Deanna that probably didn’t actually care.

Deanna bit her lip, “Yeah, I do. Because ending this goddamn war means we can focus on other things than trying not to get blown up whenever we step outside.”

Myst huffed, rolling her eyes and turning away. Deanna wasn’t usually a bigger picture person. Deanna was usually in the survival mindset. Or at least the mindset of self preservation. It wasn’t being self absorbed if your being alive would save other people. That was Myst’s view at least. But now Deanna actually gave a shit or two about the good of the population.

“You care more about this war than me?” Myst snorted, shaking her head, she bit her lip before continuing, “I see how it is.”

“No, you don’t get to twist this to make it seem like I’m a bad person,” Deanna stepped forward, her expression cold and her words empty, “I’m looking out for everyone here and you’re trying to make it sound like I’m a dickbag.”

Myst took a step back, “This isn't like you, to care about more than you and Sam, or me on a good day. Why? Why do you care so badly now?”

“Just because I don’t have a soul at this moment, that doesn’t give me the right of way to be an absolute bitch,” Deanna didn’t even hesitate, “So why are you?”

Myst stopped. Everything. She stopped thinking, stopped breathing, stopped moving. She stared blankly at Deanna. Had she really just said that? Had she really just gone there? Myst looked down at her hands. She wasn’t sure how she felt or what to say. Myst shook her head, looking back up at Deanna who didn’t seem to regret a thing that she had said. Myst understood, sort of. Myst never regretted when she spoke. It must’ve been a soulless thing.

“If we make it out of this alive,” Myst started, meeting Deanna’s eyes, “I think we need a break.”

Deanna held her breath a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I think we do.”

Myst nodded. Deanna shrugged it off, walking away. Myst waited until the Major was out of sight before she kicked the foundation of the base roughly. She’d probably broken her toe, the foundation was poured concrete. Myst stumbled back, ignoring the distinct pain in her right foot. Now wasn’t the time for her to be injured in any capacity.

Myst didn’t understand, she hadn’t done anything. She was a good soldier. Yet, bad things always happened to her. Myst was a good person in her eyes, she killed a bunch of bad guys, she saved lives. Why did she always get the short end of the stick?  She did everything asked of her. And still, the universe had dealt her a shitty hand.

Her hand went to the angel blade in her pocket. She paused, thinking about it for a moment. Crowley had asked her to kill Cordelia and she was still on the edge about how she was going to do it. If she was going to do it. She had told Crowley she understood, but that didn’t mean she was going to do it. Killing Cordelia this late in might actually be detrimental to her progression as a soldier. It was likely that it could get her killed and Myst wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

Myst’s hand slipped away from the blade, crossing her arms as she shuffled to the front of the base. The troops were becoming increasingly– and, honestly, concerningly– close. Myst’s shoulders tightened as she looked at the Hellians. Cordelia was right about the hive mind. They seemed to be walking robotically towards the Battalion.

The group rounded the corner on the opposite side of Myst, lining up as they prepared to walk through the troops. Myst joined them, squeezing herself between Cordelia and Garth. Cordelia gave her a sneer of a look but Garth gave her a half hearted smile. Myst’s hand slipped into her pocket, tightening around the angel blade before loosening again. Myst pulled her hand out of her pocket, scanning the troops.  Myst took a firm stance, preparing herself.

“I’ll see you in Heaven,” Rowena said and it took a moment for Myst to realize that it was Gabriel speaking, not the witch, “Godspeed.”

Chapter Text

Cordelia was careful about her footing, making sure that she didn’t disrupt the hive mind at all. Even one bump could alert the entire troops. Cordelia wasn’t willing or ready to take that risk. She stole a quick look at Garth who was also very careful about his footing. Cordelia nodded in silent approval. He was being safe. Upon looking around, everyone was being safe. Even Myst, who Cordelia thought to be absolutely reckless.

Corio had a very specific way of placing troops. Columns were wide enough apart to allow someone to walk through. Cordelia found it rather convenient, but who was she to question peak design. Anything that got them easily from point A to point B was a plus in her book. Besides, she kept her eyes on her feet and there was little room for error.

Cordelia was safe, though. She kept an angel blade in her belt in case she needed to attack. She wouldn’t need to as long as everyone stayed safe and in line. But maybe, if she got to Heaven, then she may need to use it. The chances were that she wouldn’t need to, though. Cordelia wasn’t boned up on her demon and Heaven lore, but she wasn’t quite sure if she would even be able to enter Heaven. It didn’t seem to be a likely possibility, but she could hope.

Cordelia placed her foot carefully beside a demon. She paused momentarily, fearing disrupting the hive mind. But she stepped forward and the demons didn’t disrupt their walking pattern. Cordelia let out a sigh of relief. She stepped forward again. The tension in her body, the complete fear. She didn’t want to take the chance of setting off the troops. It was a dangerous game and she’d have no one but herself to blame.

She wasn’t made for war, that’s what she told herself at least. Deanna and Orion and Jo and Myst, they were made for war. Crafted by fate to fight. If Cordelia got into active combat, she wouldn’t know how to handle herself. One-on-one combat wasn’t terrible, Cordelia could handle it. But she had her angel blade at the ready. She could fake knowing how to handle war. That might almost have been enough.

It was quiet when it happened, Cordelia didn’t even recognize it at first. The troops whose eyes had been glossed over, their default black, blinked to reality. Cordelia stumbled back, realizing what had happened. Somebody had bumped into one of the Hellians. Cordelia looked over the crew to find Sam backing away from a hostile demon.

“Fuck,” she muttered. The troops hadn’t recognized what was going on yet, they were still disoriented. Cordelia jogged, swerving between demons who turned hostile at her movement. She pulled the angel blade out of her pocket, rushing toward Sam who was pinned to the ground, the demon on top of him.

Over her shoulder, Myst and Garth were following after her, knifing some of the demons that were chasing after Cordelia. Cordelia ran to Sam, pulling the demon off of him. She slid the knife through the base of the demon’s neck. The demon glowed a faltering and dull yellow before collapsing. Cordelia forcefully removed the blade, sliding it into her belt again. She extended her hand, helping Sam to his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam muttered, “I didn’t mean to, I tripped.”

“It’s fine,” Cordelia lied, she didn’t blame him, she couldn’t force herself to, “You armed?”

Sam pulled out his gun, spinning the chamber as he held it up, “Demon blade bullets.”

Cordelia nodded in approval. She stabbed a nearby demon, the soldier crumpling and falling. Cordelia craned her neck, looking around the now messed troops. Orion was beside Kevin, Jo, and Jack; the four of them were back to back, fighting the hostile troops. Jack was using his powers to stun the enemies while Jo was knifing them. Efficient. Near them, Ralph was beside Balthazar, Deanna covering them as they tried to push through towards the gates. Closer to Cordelia, Ellen, Eileen, and Charlie were covering Jane, a huge pile on happening.

Orion motioned for Cordelia to push through the troops. Cordelia wanted to rush and help the girls, but she knew the best thing to do was push through with her own group. She waded through the group, Sam and Garth helping her knife the demons that attacked them. Cordelia was fortunate enough to not know a great deal of the demons on the battlefield, it made it that much easier to kill them.

“Cordelia, duck,” Sam yelled over the roar of the fight. Cordelia did as instructed, Sam planting a bullet in the forehead of the demon that was ready to knife Cordelia. Cordelia looked up at Sam with gratitude.

“Thanks,” she muttered out of breath.

Sam nodded in acknowledgement. Cordelia gained a more firm footing, running alongside Garth, Sam, and Myst. Cordelia hadn’t been planning on getting killed today, and she wasn’t ready to let any of her crewmates get slaughtered either. She threw her angel blade at a soldier, the blade landing firmly in their chest. They glowed that same faltering yellow before collapsing. She jogged up to them, pulling the blade out with some added force.

She looked over at Garth who was handling the troops with ease beside Sam. Myst was killing demons as they approached her but she wasn’t as actively in combat as everyone else. Cordelia supposed it worked well enough. She shrugged it off, her eyes scanning the troops. There were so many of them, there was no way they were going to be able to get through this.

Her eyes fell on Charlie’s group where Jane was trying and failing to use her powers. Ellen was covering her with her salt gun, but it wasn’t doing much in the grand scheme of things. Cordelia looked back over at Garth and Sam then at Charlie and Eileen who were both in losing battles with demons. Cordelia met Garth’s eyes.

“Go, we’ve got this covered,” Garth instructed, “Go help them.”

Cordelia nodded firmly, gripping her blade tightly. She began to jog toward the group. She shoved most of the soldiers out of the way instead of killing them all. She stopped in her tracks, though. She felt the wind get knocked out of her. Her eyes grew wide as she made eye contact with Eileen whose face dropped.

Cordelia dropped her weapon, her hand going to her abdomen. Her eyes flickered black, trailing down to where the tip of a blade was poking through. She felt her power flicker in, then out. The blood oozed out of her wound as she smiled from the shock. She glowed her own flickering yellow before collapsing to the ground.

Chapter Text

Balthazar had been severely wounded. Ralph had watched the Hellian stab him deeply in his side and had heard Balthazar groan from the pain before pulling the knife out, stabbing the Hellian in return. Ralph could see the blood soaking his shirt. They needed to get the fallen angel over to Orion to be healed. That, or through the gates to where God– where Castiel could heal him.

“Balthazar,” Ralph warned as another Hellian approached, prepared to attack. Balthazar used his free hand, slicing the Hellian’s throat. The Hellian toppled over. Human.

“Thanks, Ralphie,” Balthazar muttered. He had his right hand wrapped around his torso, trying to cover the wound. Deanna jogged back to be beside Ralph, shooting a round between the eyes of a nearby demon. She looked over at Balthazar.

“What the hell happened to you?” Deanna asked, firing at another Hellian.

Balthazar looked down at his wound then back up at the woman, “Flesh wound, I’ll be fine.”

Deanna furrowed her brow, “Doesn’t look like a flesh wound.”

“I’m fine,” Balthazar snapped, “Let’s just get the bugger to Heaven, shall we?”

Deanna hesitated before nodding. Ralph didn’t like Balthazar ignoring his own problems, Ralph cared about him, he wanted the man to take care of himself. Deanna shot three Hellians and Balthazar stabbed a nearby demon. Ralph felt slightly defenseless. He had powers, yes, but he couldn’t do anything with them, he didn’t know how to control them in the slightest. If he did, he thought he might just smite all the troops instead of them having to fight through them.

They pushed through the troops, dropping a handful of demons as Deanna shot them. A group started to corner them. Deanna cocked her gun, aiming to shoot. She pulled the trigger, but nothing came out. Deanna looked down at her gun in frustration. Ralph met her eyes, silently praying that she had extra rounds on her. Deanna pocketed the gun, shaking her head. Of course she wouldn’t have extra bullets, they weren’t planning on fighting anyone on this mission.

The trio backed away from the demons. Balthazar pulled out his angel blade, raising it to fight. Ralph scanned Balthazar. There was no way he was going to be able to take on all of the demons. There were at least five there. It was a death wish. Ralph shook his head.

“Deanna, take him to the gates,” Balthazar instructed the Winchester. Deanna nodded, grabbing Ralph’s upper arm roughly. Ralph tried to pull away, his fingers sparking a bit from his frustration. He wasn’t going to leave Balthazar. It was suicide.

“No,” Ralph protested as Deanna started to drag him away, “Balthazar, NO!”

Deanna pulled Ralph away roughly, her grip tightening. Ralph tried to fight Deanna, attempting to plant his feet into the ground. But the dirt was too soft. Ralph’s veins coursed a vibrant orange as he tried harder and harder to return to Balthazar. He didn’t have the position to shove Deanna off of him. Ralph reached out his arm, his fingers gently brushing Balthazar’s hand. Balthazar looked down at his hand where the sparks from Ralph’s finger had ended up stinging his skin

“Forget about me, kid,” Balthazar called softly, “Go be a hero.”

Ralph watched as the ex-angel faded from his view, demons piling on top of him. Ralph yelled as Deanna pulled him deeper into the troops. She grabbed a knife from a demon with her free hand, clearing a path for them. Ralph watched Deanna push through to the edge to the troops. Ralph kicked and yelled, fighting against the hunter’s firm grasp.

Deanna’s grip slipped a few times, but she stayed firm. Once they were far enough away from the troops, Deanna let go of the Elioud, pausing to catch her breath. Ralph took this opportunity to try and run back into the troops, but Deanna’s arms wrapped tightly around Ralph’s waist, knocking the wind out of him. Ralph kicked, trying to run forward but Deanna pulled him back.

“We have to save him,” Ralph yelled, trying to rush towards the Hellians, “Deanna, we can’t let him die.”

“We can’t,” Deanna said calmly before raising her voice as Ralph fought her more, “RALPH, WE CAN’T SAVE HIM!!”

Ralph shook his head. Balthazar, next to Jack, was his closest thing to a friend. He needed to help him. He couldn’t let him die like that. Ralph tried to shove Deanna away before stopping. Deanna let go of him once he stopped fighting. Ralph’s eyes stung as he looked at the mass of troops. He turned to look at Deanna who was still catching her breath.

“He’s gone,” Deanna said between staggered breaths. Ralph didn’t want to believe her. He wasn’t willing to accept that as the truth.

He tried running into the troops again, Deanna lunging forward to stop him. She grabbed his ankle, causing him to fall. Deanna dragged Ralph farther away from the troops. Ralph dug his nails into the ground to try and stop himself from being pulled away. His nails split and broke, beginning to bleed. He didn’t care, he ignored the pain. He just wanted to save his friend.

Ralph stopped once Deanna stopped dragging him across the ground. She let go of his ankle, crouching beside him. Ralph rolled onto his back, sitting up slowly. He looked down at his hands that had ceased glowering. He looked up at Deanna whose focus was on the troops. Ralph coughed, looking over his shoulder at the Hellians.

Ralph paused, looking up at Deanna. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. He choked back sobs and the interaction caught Deanna off guard. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him in return, rubbing his back gently. Ralph hated himself for letting it happen. He wished it had been him, not Balthazar.

“I’m sorry,” Deanna muttered, “I really am, but we have to get you to Heaven. Gabriel said the gate’s not too far from here.”

Ralph sighed, he understood. He pulled away, wiping his eyes, looking at Deanna. Deanna looked down at her shoulder, wiping it off slowly to try not to offend Ralph but still get his tears off of her. Deanna leaned back as Ralph looked down at his hands.

“Let's go,” Ralph said, his voice wavering.

Chapter Text

Orion swerved out of the way of a demon. Jack sent a glowing yellow ball of power at the Hellian, stunning her long enough for Kevin to stab her. Orion nodded in approval, looking over at Jo who was using her salt gun to stun demons. They were making a pretty effective team, going through Hellians like water. Orion had seen Angelics that were far less efficient than this.

Orion slit a nearby Hellian’s neck, their angelic grace slowly flowing down their front. Orion had almost forgotten the amount of angels that had become Hellians during the war. He’d known the one he’d removed the grace from. She’d been with him during training, Orion didn’t think he knew her name still. Maeve. Orion felt bad but was reassured knowing he hadn’t killed her. And instead, he healed the wound on her neck, giving her the chance to run.

Kevin stabbed her with his angel blade, making eye contact with Orion, “We don’t have time to be soft, Orion.”

Orion’s jaw fell agape as Kevin removed the blade, Maeve falling forward onto her face. Kevin motioned for Orion to come forward with him and Orion motioned for Jo and Jack to do the same. They moved slowly through the soldiers, killing as they waded through. Jo stunned a few demons allowing Kevin and Orion to kill them with ease.

Orion was trained for combat, yes, but he had never been in active combat. Orion grabbed a nearby angel’s wing, pulling them close to him. Orion stabbed them, muttering an apology to the angel as he let them drop to the ground with a thud.

“Watch out,” Jack yelled as he prepared another energy ball. Orion took a few steps back. Jack set off the energy ball, knocking out a handful of Hellians, giving them a small window to push deeper into the mass of soldiers. Orion jogged alongside Kevin, trying to keep his eyes faced forward. But he kept looking over at the prophet.

“Fuck,” Jo yelped. Orion turned around to face the hunter. A vampire Hellian had grabbed her hair, pulling her back, about to sink its teeth into her neck. Orion didn’t know Corio had recruited vampires. Kevin rushed forward, with one flick of the blade, he cut off Jo’s hair, the hunter stumbling forward.

“Thanks,” Jo muttered, shooting the vampire to stun it as the group continued.

“Don’t they teach you to keep short hair in hunter school?” Kevin mocked Jo.

“Don’t they teach you how to read tablets in prophet school?” Jo snapped back.

Orion looked over at his shoulder, Kevin chuckling at Jo’s words. Orion shook his head, looking forward. He was letting himself get distracted again, and they were so close to getting out. Orion shoved a demon out of his way, knifing a nearby angel. Kevin nodded toward him in approval. No distractions. No distractions.

“We’re almost there,” Orion said, “Jack and I will go into Heaven. Kevin, you and Jo need to guard the entrance.”

Kevin stopped the group. They were in a fairly safe part of the troops, they stood around to discuss things for a moment. Jack circled the group, an energy ball ready in case it was needed. Jo repositioned her salt gun as Orion and Kevin stared at each other.

“Why are Jo and I standing guard? I know Heaven, and Jack is literally a guard dog,” Kevin said, raising his hands in offense.

“Hey!,” Jack mumbled under his breath, clearly focused on guarding the group. Orion looked at the Nephilim shortly before returning his attention to Kevin.

“Sorry,” Kevin muttered a half apology, “Still, Orion. I've been to Heaven, I can handle it better than Jack!”

Orion shook his head, “It’s too dangerous for you. Angel Radio is going haywire right now, I had to turn it off. It’s better if I have Jack’s power.”

“I’m just as good as Jack,” Kevin snapped, “What the hell? I know you better than him.”

“Kevin, you’re not an angel, Heaven will chew you up and spit you out if it’s in a state of chaos,” Orion countered. He was just keeping Kevin safe, why couldn’t he see that? Orion was making sure Kevin didn’t accidentally get killed. Even if Kevin didn’t feel the same way about him, Orion still cared about the prophet. And furthermore, he was friends with him. There was no way he was going to let the human risk his life.

“You’re barely an angel yourself!” Kevin sniped, “You can’t even fly!”

“Kevin,” Jo spoke up, her eyes still on the soldiers, “That’s not fair and you know it.”

Kevin bit his lip, looking away from Orion. Orion let out a heavy sigh. Kevin just wanted to help and he understood. He wanted the prophet to help too, he really did, but it wasn’t safe. Maybe it wasn’t his job to put Kevin in his place, but no one was going to do it. Kevin was important in his own regard, Orion wasn’t going to put him in a position of almost certain abolition.

Orion opened his mouth to say something when he caught the glint of an angel blade poised to stab Kevin. His eyes darted quickly over to Jo and Jack who both hadn’t seen anything yet. They weren’t going to be able to stun the person in time. Orion sucked in a breath. He rushed forward, shoving Kevin out of the trajectory of the blade.

The blade landed solidly in Orion’s chest and his eyes dropped to the handle. His eyes flickered in and out as he staggered back from the impact. His brain felt fuzzy and he could feel his energy fading slowly. His eyes hazed as he slipped away.

Chapter Text

Myst pulled the knife out of Cordelia’s back with an extra amount of effort. Her eyes graced over the blood coated blade before she wiped it off with her shirt. Myst stared at Cordelia’s dead body, wondering if she was going to come back for a moment, even if she knew it wasn’t possible. Myst stabbed a nearby soldier in the abdomen, ripping her knife so their internal organs began to spill out. Myst slid the knife into her pocket. She looked at Cordelia again, nudging her body gently with her foot.

“Myst!” Garth yelled as he and Sam ran up. Sam shot a handful of demons, them glowering before toppling over. The two of them stopped beside Myst. Sam was busy shooting down the troops, he didn’t see Cordelia. But Garth did. He looked between Cordelia then Myst and Myst bit her lip before stabbing a nearby soldier.

“Tell me you didn’t.” Garth said shortly and when Myst didn’t reply right away, he repeated, “TELL ME YOU DIDN’T KILL HER!”

Myst took a step back, bumping into a soldier. The soldier held a knife to her neck. The blade pressed into Myst’s throat, threatening to slice. Myst looked to Garth for help. He let out a short sigh before jogging up to the Hellian, sinking his blade into their abdomen. The soldier stumbled back, releasing Myst.

Myst gave Garth a look of thanks, but Garth didn’t seem to care. Myst looked down at Cordelia soaking in a pool of her own blood. Myst had to explain, right? She took in a breath. There was no way Garth was going to even begin to believe or trust her. Myst guessed she could understand that, if she pretended to be someone who gave half a shit.

“Corporal, this isn’t what it looks like,” Myst started, pulling out her angel blade as she stabbed a nearby Hellian in the shoulder.

“It looks like you killed her,” Garth replied shortly, grabbing the handle of the blade in the Hellian’s shoulder. He twisted it slightly before pulling it out and shoving it into their abdomen. He did all this maintaining general eye contact with Myst

“Killed who?” Sam jogged over, his eyes falling on Cordelia before looking at Myst, “You didn’t–”

“ORION, NO!” Kevin’s screams could be heard over the roar of the fight. Garth looked up around the war zone. Myst paused, tightening her grip on her angel blade. Garth looked at Myst and then Sam.

“Garth, no.” Sam shook his head.

Garth hesitated before running, pushing his way through the troops. Sam cursed under his breath before running after Garth. Myst hesitated, looking down at Cordelia, then over at the boys who were running away, running towards Kevin’s cries. Myst looked down at Cordelia, stepping over her body gently before she ran too. But not after Garth or Sam, but through towards the gates.

Myst tried not to get distracted, but she looked over at Garth and Sam as gunfire rang out, Garth collapsing to the ground. It wasn’t her problem, she needed to get to the gates. Sam crouched beside Garth, trying to patch up the wounds he’d suffered. Garth could be bleeding out, or going into shock, or dying. But it wasn’t Myst’s problem. Their goal wasn’t to keep each other alive. It was to get to Heaven and end the war.

Myst stabbed a handful of soldiers as she pushed through the troops. Blood splattered and she got herself cut and stabbed a time or two, but it wasn’t anything too serious. Myst’s eyes glazed over the troops as she noticed a dull glow of blue… somewhere . She wasn’t sure what was making the color or why, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t concerned about anything other than getting herself out of the clutches of the war.

A soldier swept her feet out from under her which caused her angel blade to fly from her hand, climbing on top of her. He pressed a blade against her neck. Myst tried to push him off of her, but she couldn’t get the right position. Her hand searched for her knife but she couldn’t reach it. The tip of the blade played on her throat, threatening to slide through to the back of her neck.

Myst tried, without any success, to gain the upper hand. The person pinning her down raised the knife above his head, his eyes turning black. Demon. Not that it mattered, Myst had no way of getting herself out of this. She shut her eyes, accepting her reality. She inhaled deeply, waiting for the blade to pierce her skin, but instead she heard a choking noise.

Myst reopened her eyes, the demon beginning to forcibly smoke out of their vessel through congested heaves. The demon toppled over, falling off of Myst who looked at him, confused. She looked up at a frazzled Jane who was offering her hand to help Myst up. Myst took the hand hesitantly. She didn't like the thought of a Nephilim helping her, but she was going to keep her mouth shut. Myst dusted herself off, looking at Eileen who was holding Charlie up. Ellen was nowhere to be seen.

“Major Harvelle?” Myst asked and Eileen shook her head.

“I tried to save her,” Jane said, “I don’t have enough power, I could barely exorcize him for you.”

Myst looked at Charlie who had clearly been stabbed in the abdomen and was bleeding out. She was lucky that she wasn’t dead yet. Myst looked around, they were almost out of the woods with the fight. Myst looked at the ragtag group around her. It wasn’t her preference for people. But she could probably make it work, and if she was ever going to lead anyone, she was going to need to work with lesser people.

“Okay, let’s just work this out,” Myst started, “We’re almost there, I’ll go into Heaven.”

The group nodded in agreement. Good, no one was going to put up fights. Jane jogged to the other side of Charlie, helping her through the troops. Myst grabbed the salt gun from Eileen, prepared to stun anyone necessary. She looked at the group. Not ideal, but they could make it work.

Chapter Text

Cordelia felt cold. Was this death? Being cold and uncomfortable? She guessed that made sense, some way, somehow. She’d always been told growing up that death meant Heaven or Hell. Which she supposed was correct for humans, given how many years she had spent in Hell. But when Demons and Angels died, they came here. Well, ‘here’ was a relative term. There was no here or there. There was no anywhere. There was just a great black abyss. It was nothing. It was empty.

Cordelia opened her eyes, sitting up. She looked down at her torso, feeling where the blade had pierced her. She was fine, that’s how she knew for certain she was dead. She let out a short breath, looking around. Not that there was much of anything to look at. There was nothing. She got to her feet, not sure of how she was standing on anything when there was nothing. She was breaking her own brain.

Cordelia walked slowly, feeling as though a large weight had been lifted off of her. She’d spent so many years feeling guilty for what she had done. But now? She walked through the emptiness, each step shedding more and more guilt. Things she’d felt bad for, she forgot or was able to rationalize in a way she couldn’t when she was alive. Cordelia had once felt suffocated, but as she walked, she could breathe. She was loving every moment of it. Maybe death wasn’t as bad as she had originally thought. It was actually… blissful.

Cordelia didn’t know where she was going, or why. She just wanted to walk, and so she did. Her shoes dragged along the, well, darkness. A click then a clack as she continued forward. There was nothing for her to see or care about. Just the feeling of freedom. There was nothing chaining her anymore, she was completely free. She didn’t care that she had left Garth or Rowena. She didn’t care about the war she’d left behind. The people who were dying. All of it felt irrelevant to her.

Forward, a ways away, Cordelia could see a light and a figure. She looked left, then right before pushing forward. Her leisurely walk of nonchalance turned into a jog of curiosity. As she jogged forward, the figure became a more distinct version of itself. A man. Cordelia felt like she recognized him. Not from his face, no he had his back to her, but from his presence alone. Cordelia’s pace slowed slightly as she approached the spotlight.

The man turned around, facing Cordelia and she gasped as she took a step back. The crooked bridge of his nose, the rounded jawline. Cordelia recognized him. Buck. She hadn’t seen him in ages. But, that didn’t make sense. Buck had gone to Hell. He wasn’t a demon that she had known of. Cordelia’s carefree nature turned defensive. She didn’t know what the afterlife was trying to pull here, but she didn’t like it.

“Cordelia,” Buck muttered in his graveled voice. No, no, this was all wrong. Buck never knew her by that name. This wasn’t making any sense. Cordelia reached for her angel blade, but it wasn’t there. Of course not, she was dead.

“You’re probably confused,” Buck said, smiling wearily as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Understatement of the year,” Cordelia whispered. She circled the carbon copy of her childhood friend. He wasn’t a ghost or a hologram. Not that she thought they had holograms in the afterlife. She reached out, touching his arm gently. He was physically there, it was him. Or some form of him.

“I know you think I’m evil.” Buck started grabbing Cordelia’s porcelain hands. Her hands felt so small in his. This wasn’t like the last time they’d seen each other. Memories of Buck on the battlefield so long ago flooded back to Cordelia. She tried to pull away but Buck tightened his grasp on her hands.

“No, I killed you.” Cordelia shook her head, looking around. Was this some kind of sick joke? Was the afterlife genuinely this cruel? Cordelia looked at Buck with horror, she didn’t want to think about it, about what had happened.

“I’m not Buck,” he replied, placing a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder, “But I fear you knew that.”

Cordelia stumbled back, the man letting go of her hands. Was he a reaper of some sort? That couldn’t be right, demons didn’t get the pleasure of reapers. And he sure as hell wasn’t Death. So what was he? It didn’t matter, Cordelia didn’t like it either way.

“I’m a guide,” he continued, “you can call me Dee. Welcome to the Empty.”

Cordelia looked around at the nothingness that surrounded them as the spotlight faded. She didn’t understand, this wasn’t in the demon brochure. Not that there was a demon brochure. Cordelia didn’t like any of this, but Dee took a step forward, still posing as Buck.

“Why are you wearing him?” Cordelia asked, shuffling away from the guide.

Dee smiled Buck’s familiar grin, “The Empty found that angels and demons are more likely to follow their guides if we’re dawning a familiar face. I can change it if you prefer.”

“No,” Cordelia said quickly, taking a hesitant step forward, “I– I prefer this one.”

Dee nodded, extending his hand, “There is a specific place for you. We’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

Cordelia paused before taking Dee’s hand slowly, walking with him. Cordelia kept her eyes on her feet, she didn’t want to look Dee in the eye. It wasn’t an eye she thought trusted her. Dee was in Buck’s skin. Last time she’d seen Buck, she’d put a bullet between his eyes– figuratively speaking. And then she rushed to the crossroads, making a deal.

“Did Buck forgive me?” Cordelia looked up at Dee who stayed staring forward. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he didn’t, she’d understand. Cordelia didn’t think she’d forgive herself either. She hadn’t for the longest time, even with all the other guilt that had left in the afterlife, she still blamed herself.

“No,” Dee responded gently, “But he never forgave anyone. You knew him, no?”

Cordelia smiled half-heartedly. Yeah, she knew him. And she knew Buck had the horrible habit of holding grudges. And he was rotting in Hell, stewing in his anger. Maybe it was her fault? She was the one who had killed him. She still remembered burying his body. She had to pull him away from the active battle. She spent a whole day and night digging that hole. He had been considered MIA. But she couldn’t let Buck’s family bury him, he would’ve been buried on the estate. Buck hated that estate.

Cordelia tightened her grip on Dee’s hand. She should’ve visited him in Hell. Why hadn’t she? Well, how would she explain… her. Last Buck had seen of her, she had been Private Walter James. It wasn’t exactly easy to explain that to a man from the 1800s. So maybe that was why she had stayed away. But maybe she shouldn’t have. She should’ve grown a metaphorical pair and visited him. Now she couldn’t.

“You’re thinking an awful lot for a dead person,” Dee interrupted her thoughts, “Not that the average dead guy that comes through here doesn’t, but you’re thinking about all the wrong things.”

Cordelia tucked her hair behind her ear, looking at Dee, “There’s right and wrong things to think about now?”

“Now? There always was,” Dee snorted, “Most the demons that come through here think about how they could’ve prevented their deaths. Or how they’re going to get out. But you’re thinking about your childhood friend that you killed. Why?”

Cordelia shrugged, a shiver rolling down her spine, “I feel bad. I did, I mean. I don’t know that I feel all that much here. But, I mean, he had a wife and kid.”

“You’re quite human for a demon,” Dee said, looking down at Cordelia, “Most demons don’t care who they’ve killed or what they’ve done, but you’re different.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had time to be,” Cordelia retorted, “You’d feel remorseful too if you were given time to think about what you’ve done.”

Dee nodded, looking forward. Cordelia sighed, continuing to walk. Another shiver crawled through her. Something was off about the place. She looked around the darkness, trying to figure out what was going on. Her eyes fell on two familiar figures. Orion and Kevin. She began to pull away from Dee who tightened his grip. Orion was there, she had to see him.

“Let me go,” Cordelia said, trying to free herself. She looked over at Dee whose face, though still Buck’s, felt quite different to her. It had harder features and darker eyes, like she’d done something to completely piss him off.

“You don’t seem to understand,” Dee pulled her closer, “We have to put you to sleep before The Empty wakes up.”

Dee began to pull her forward. Cordelia looked over her shoulder at Orion. He didn’t seem to notice her, she just needed to tell him she was there. Let him know he wasn’t alone.

“ORION,” She yelled, “ORION, I’LL FIND YOU!”

Orion looked away from Kevin, looking in Cordelia’s direction. Cordelia waved to get Orion’s attention more, but Dee grabbed her roughly. He pulled her around, practically carrying her. Cordelia tried to push the guide away from her, but his grip tightened. Not that it mattered, Cordelia couldn’t feel pain in the afterlife.

Dee carried her to a section of the darkness where she couldn’t see Orion. Dee set her down, his face clearly unamused by her attempts to interact with her angel comrade. Cordelia searched for an indication of Orion somewhere, anywhere. Dee pushed her forward slightly and Cordelia could feel her feet teetering back and forth, threatening to fall into what felt like a hole.

“We have protocol here,” Dee explained, “If you woke up the Empty, you’re going to regret it.”

“He’s my friend,” Cordelia replied, trying to step forward, but Dee prevented her from doing so, “I had to tell him I’d find him.”

“No one is finding anyone,” Dee inched toward Cordelia, causing the demon to wobble from her poor footing, “You’re going to go to sleep now for a very long time. And I’m going to pray that the Empty didn’t wake up.”

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest but Dee shoved her roughly backwards, Cordelia falling down the hole. She slid down a dark shute. As she did, she could feel herself fading from consciousness. Her body felt heavy as she fell into a deep slumber.

Chapter Text

The gates to Heaven were hidden behind a boulder. Deanna and Ralph had spent a good fifteen minutes staring at it in confusion before they realized how to enter. Ralph had figured that he would need to be covered when he entered, Heaven must’ve been in complete anarchy. Deanna was hesitant at first, but eventually agreed.

Deanna was sitting on the boulder, sharpening her angel blade while Ralph sat with his back against the boulder. He rested his head on a curve, staring at the Hellian troops. His hands were subconsciously running over the blade of his pocket knife. He didn’t notice at first, he was too absorbed in nothing. His brain wasn’t in any one specific place. He hated himself at that moment, but that’s not what he was thinking about.

“You’re bleeding, kid.” Deanna slid off of the boulder. She pulled the knife out of his hands, setting it down. Ralph looked down at his hands that were bleeding from the cuts he had made. Deanna tore off part of her flannel, wrapping his hands up. Ralph gave her a look of silent thanks as she grabbed the knife, sliding it in her own pocket.

“You can’t be doing that.” Deanna stood up, offering Ralph a hand. He took it, allowing her to help him to his feet. He leaned against the boulder, folding his arms. He wasn’t upset with her, he just was tired. Tired of just about everything.

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose,” Ralph murmured, his eyes glossed over. His mind kept trailing back to Balthazar. He’d let him die. Ralph was the reason that Balthazar was nothing more than a corpse. Ralph sighed.

“On purpose or not, you can’t do that,” Deanna replied shortly, “That’s a deep rabbit hole that you’re gonna fall down.”

Ralph nodded. He was more than aware. He turned away from the troops, walking around the boulder. He stared at the landscape behind it. There was really nothing there. But Ralph was fully aware that there was a door there, he just couldn’t see it. Luckily, he was fully aware that he could use the door without needing to see it.

Deanna walked up beside him, sliding the angel blade into the hit of her belt. She placed a firm hand on Ralph’s shoulder, looking over at him. Ralph didn’t return the look. Balthazar should’ve been there with him. He should’ve been there to waltz into that throne room and demand that Castiel give him his wings back. Ralph hung his head.

“Balthazar should be here,” Ralph muttered under his breath. He didn’t think Deanna had even heard him until she spoke up.

“I dunno if this is the no soul talking or the being raised by John Winchester,” Deanna started, “But if you let all the people we lost along the way weigh down on you, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Ralph looked at Deanna. He didn’t know the hunter well, he didn’t know what she was like before she’d lost her soul. But he knew that she had a point. But Balthazar had meant something to Ralph and Ralph wasn’t going to let himself just forget that Balthazar was important. Maybe Deanna could easily detach herself like that, but Ralph definitely couldn’t.

“Right,” Ralph whispered, not much force behind the word. At this rate, the only thing keeping him going was the thought that Jack was still alive. He assumed Jack was still alive at least. Ralph took in a deep breath, staring ahead of him. Heaven. 

Deanna and Ralph began to step forward when a familiar voice called for them, “STOP, NO, WAIT!”

Ralph turned around, looking at Myst who was jogging up to meet them. Eileen and Jane were a great distance behind her, helping a wounded Charlie to walk. Deanna rushed past Myst– who gave her an acute side eye– to help with Charlie. Ralph ran forward, greeting Myst with a nod and she returned the gesture with a stoic version.

“What happened to her?” Deanna asked, helping Charlie closer to the boulder. They set her down, leaning her against the boulder. She looked pale and weak and Ralph could tell she was on her last legs of life. If he had any form of control over his powers, he’d help her. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t.

“Some angel bitch knifed her,” Eileen explained, “I got him back, though.”

Deanna crouched beside Charlie, brushing her red hair out of her face. Charlie tilted her head to the side as if it was too heavy for her to hold up on her own. Ralph stood beside Jane who gave him a soft smile before returning her attention to Charlie. Deanna had her back turned to Eileen and Jane as she examined the wound.

“Am I gonna die?” Charlie coughed, blood dripping out of her mouth and down her chin. Deanna shook her head, propping the young hunter up as she coughed up some blood.

“No, we’re not going to let you,” Deanna muttered, she called for Eileen without looking over her shoulder, “Is there anything you have medical wise?”

Jane nudged Eileen and Eileen shrugged, pointing to her ears. Ralph watched as Jane nodded gently.

“She asked if there’s any medical supplies,” Jane said. Eileen shook her head.

“No, there’s none,” Eileen said to Deanna. Deanna swore under her breath. Ralph didn’t want the hunter to die anymore than anyone else. He looked over at Jane. He didn’t have powers, but she did, maybe she could heal her.

“Jane,” Ralph started.

“No,” Jane cut him off, “I know what you’re going to say and I can’t. I don’t have nearly enough juice to even imagine healing her. If I did, I would’ve already.”

Ralph bit his lip. Charlie was slumped over, still breathing, but barely. Ralph wasn’t about to let another person die. He wasn’t able to do anything, no. But they’d figure something out. They had to. Ralph walked up beside the hunter, hovering his hands over the wound. Nothing. He tried to focus on his energy, but still, nothing. There had to be something he could do.

“Can you transfer energy?” Eileen asked, walking beside Ralph. She turned to face Jane who stared in thought. That might work, transferring someone’s energy to another person. Then Jane wouldn’t have to try to produce energy she didn’t have.

Jane nodded slowly, “Yeah, I can, but whoever it is will be left equally as weak.”

Eileen nodded, rolling up her sleeve. She stepped forward, her arm extended for Jane. Ralph stood up. All these people didn't have souls, but they were still taking care of one another. Ralph didn’t understand. He had been trained that a soulless person meant a reckless and dangerous enemy. Ralph had seen them put down plenty of hunters for being soulless. Yet here they were, a group of soulless hunters doing their best to save Charlie. Ralph couldn’t fathom why.

“Eileen, that’s dangerous,” Deanna stood up, Eileen watching her lips as they moved.

“I have to, for Charlie,” Eileen replied, “She doesn’t deserve to die, even if I’m weak from it.”

Ralph took a step back before walking around to be beside Deanna. Jane folded her arms across her torso. Ralph could sense her unease. Energy transference was a very risky thing. Doing it could either barely save both parties involved, or kill them both slowly and painfully. There was no secret third option. It was safety or death.

“Fine,” Jane muttered, “But Myst needs to cover us in case any Hellians decide to pay us a visit… or Angelics, at this rate.”

“What?” Myst stepped forward, shaking her head, “No, I’m going into Heaven with Ralph, he needs someone to cover him.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Deanna replied, raising her newly sharpened angel blade. Myst’s nostrils flared in anger and Ralph realized that she was likely to throw a fit. Myst had the temperament of a misbehaved child and he’d known her for maybe a day or three. Ralph grabbed Deanna’s arm.

“Deanna, we have to go,” Ralph muttered, “We don’t have time for this.”

Deanna looked at Ralph, then Myst, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“No,” Myst murmured as they headed for the doors to Heaven, “NO, DON’T DO THIS–”

Chapter Text

Orion found the darkness of the afterlife to be nerve-wracking. Once he had scrambled to his feet, he looked around for anything. Nothing. Everything? The afterlife was overwhelming to the angel. He spun around once, twice, thrice. He just wanted to find something to grab onto. The permanent darkness made him feel like he was falling and couldn’t catch his breath. Which was rather ridiculous to him given his lack of a need for air.

Orion ran through the nothingness, trying to find just one thing. Dimension, an object, color, light. Orion stopped running, his hands going to his hair as he grabbed handfuls. He didn’t remember his death. He didn’t remember much of anything. He knew he wanted to breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? How had he died? He checked his body for visible wounds, but nothing was there.

How long ago had he died? An hour? a year? He didn’t understand. Nothing felt linear where he was, and it frightened him. If there was a wall, this would’ve been a good time to have a break down with his back pressed to it. But it was just black. Everywhere. No walls, no lights, no anything.

His brain was so loud and at first he thought it was all of his thoughts. Orion wasn’t one to usually let thoughts consume him like that. Taking his mind over completely. Which is how he realized it wasn’t his thoughts. No. It was Angel Radio. Orion covered his ears, looking around. He didn’t understand how he could hear it. This was the afterlife, it should’ve been peaceful. But here he was, ready to break down.

Orion tried to tune the Angel Radio out, but whenever he tried to change the frequency, it just got louder. He wanted the noise to leave. He wanted everything to stop. He wanted to be alive again, why wasn’t he alive? How did he die? His chest ached. His hand went to his clavicle, trying to feel anything wrong with it, nothing. Why couldn’t he remember anything?

Well, no. That was a lie. He could remember one thing: Kevin.

The Angel Radio stopped momentarily at the thought. Orion looked down at his hands. His wings? No, he couldn’t feel them anymore. He looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t see his wings. The harsh reality hit him. He was dead, and death had burned his wings away. Not that he had much use for them anyways, but now his back felt empty. What had he done to deserve death?

Angel Radio began blaring again and Orion squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling back from the noise. He could hear some words ‘security breach’ and ‘guard’ but he couldn’t make out more of the words. As he stumbled back, he bumped into something. A glimmer of hope filled in him, Angel Radio silencing. Orion whipped around, his eyes falling on someone under a spotlight.

Kevin.

“K-Kevin?” Orion paused only a moment before wrapping his arms tightly around the prophet. Orion held him tightly, swearing to himself that he’d never let him go again. Orion hadn’t realized how much he had needed Kevin in his life… in his afterlife, at least. Orion breathed the man in, just wanting to relish in the moment. He felt calm, collected. He felt like he could tackle anything with Kevin by his side.

But all good things must come to an end and this too did. Orion realized how stiff Kevin was in his embrace. This wasn’t Kevin. Orion pulled away, shoving the imposter. He took a defensive step back, trying to summon his angel blade. Nothing. Of course the afterlife would be like that. Orion cursed under his breath in Enochian as he scanned the imposter wearing Kevin’s skin.

“Orion, be not afraid,” the imposter stepped forward.

“Not afraid,” Orion echoed, his voice firm and deep, “I’m going to gut you and skin you alive. What the hell are you and why do you look like Kevin?”

“Putting up quite the fight for an angel,” the imposter rolled his eyes, “I’m AJ, I’m your spirit guide and this! Is the Empty.”

Orion looked around a bit. He’d heard about the Empty in training, but had assumed it to be a myth. Realistically, how could anyone know for sure where angels and demons went when they died? No one came back to life miraculously, that would be ridiculous. So no one was able to genuinely speak on what the afterlife was for angels. The Empty was just one of the many rumors.

“Why do you look like Kevin?” Orion looked at AJ like he was plagued. He didn’t trust the guy. Spirit guide his ass, AJ probably had ulterior motives.

AJ looked down at his body, “ I appear as your most treasured person. It seems the prophet is your most treasured person.”

“So Kevin is–” Orion started. Kevin couldn’t be dead, Orion wouldn’t allow it. Not that he had all that much say in it. Orion, himself, was gone, he had no control over anything now.

“Not dead, no,” AJ reassured him, “His soul is, though. It burned up wholly, you never returned it to him.”

“Shit,” Orion grumbled. Of course he had forgotten something as vital as that. Now that would be resting on Orion’s consciousness for the rest of his afterlife. Which would be eternity. Lucky Orion, and poor Kevin.

“Let’s walk,” AJ said, extending his hand. Orion hesitated before taking it. It wasn’t Kevin, he knew that. But he wanted it to be. And if he closed his eyes tight and pretended hard enough, he might be able to convince himself that it was. That Kevin was actually the one walking alongside him instead of a spirit guide wearing his face.

“Does he hate me?” Orion asked, looking down at AJ. The spirit guide kept his eyes ahead, but he still answered his question.

“No, he never hated you, Orion,” AJ put Orion’s anxieties to rest, “And for the record, Kevin didn’t love you romantically, no, but if it makes you feel better, he never has and never will.”

Orion squinted, “That’s supposed to make me feel better, how?”

“The prophet never experienced romantic attraction,” AJ explained, “It was never a you thing. It was just a Kevin thing.”

Orion paused, looking down. That did make him feel a bit better, even if he didn’t know how to say it. Orion focused on his walking, looking down at his hand in AJ’s. He felt more relaxed than previously in the afterlife. He felt calm and he was ready for whatever was to come for him.

They walked a bit more. As they walked, Orion didn’t think about much. He just relished in the moment. He almost didn’t miss life, his wings, anything. He just felt free, more free than before. The afterlife didn’t scare him anymore. If he walked like this for the rest of his afterlife, he’d be content.

“This is our stop.” AJ stopped walking, letting go of Orion’s hand and Orion’s anxieties slipped back into his mind.

“There’s nothing here,” Orion replied, a couple of figures moving in his peripheral vision. He ignored the figures, focusing on AJ.

“Nothing that you can see,” AJ smiled, “I can see everything. And this is our stop.”

Orion looked down, then back up at AJ, “So… what next?”

“Well,” AJ began, guiding Orion to his place beside something Orion couldn’t see, “The Empty thrives off sleep and natural order, so for eternity you will–”

“ORION!” A familiar voice called, interrupting AJ. AJ’s face grew stone cold. Orion looked up where the figures were. It almost looked like… Cordelia? No, that didn’t make sense. Orion took a step forward, but AJ grabbed his wrist roughly, his nails digging into the angel’s skin.

“ORION, I’LL FIND YOU!!” Cordelia yelled before she disappeared from his view. Orion took a step back. Cordelia was dead, and she was going to find him. Why? Orion couldn’t think of a reason as to why Cordelia would need to find him. This place? The Empty, as AJ had referred to it. It was nice. It was beautiful. It felt safe.

“Alright, off to sleep,” AJ said frantically.

“What was Cordelia yelling for?” Orion asked, still backing up to where AJ wanted him, “She sounded desperate. Demons don’t sound desperate.”

“So she did,” AJ replied, “Don’t pay her any mind, the Empty treats everyone differently. Just jump down the chute.”

Orion furrowed his brow. But he was an angel, he was created to obey orders. So he did. He took a small step back, then to the side, losing his footing. He slid down the long and winding chute for a while, slowly fading into sleep.

Chapter Text

Souls were a precarious thing. One tip of the scale and your soul was on a one way track to Hell. They are weaker than any demon or angel gives them credit for. Sure, souls make you moral and emotional and blah blah blah. But souls, at their core, are absolutely and utterly fragile. Drop too much on them, and they shatter into a million pieces. Most souls can patch themselves back together with pins and needles. Some duct tape here, a bandaid there.

But some souls can't. Some souls slowly dissolve and dissipate until there’s nothing left but anger, frustration, and blame. Not blame on oneself, no of course not. Those who lose their souls over time have no sense of self blame. No, this is blame on others. Even if the arrows are neon with bright lights and pointing directly at the person without the soul, in their minds, it’s not their fault.

So what happens to a soul when it dissolves? It can do one of two things. Either A: it redistributes in the body as something else ie increased strength, dexterity, etc. Or, and the more common of the two, is the soul pieces expel themselves from the body, leaving themselves on other people, other objects. Souls that have dissolved can’t be replaced, they can’t be replenished. Once a soul is gone, it’s gone.

Myst had experienced the latter. Most of her soul had rubbed off on the Eighth Hunter Battalion or, rather, people in the Battalion (ie Deanna). She hadn't noticed, souls have the tendency to dissipate over time, at a rate that’s not noticeable. So Myst grew colder and angrier every passing day until there was nothing left of her soul. Which, of course, explained her horrid behavior. But it did not excuse or justify it. 

Myst shot at a Hellian with the salt gun she’d taken from Eileen. Most of the Hellian soldiers had done the math and realized that the group was trying to enter Heaven. They had redirected their troops to be attacking the group and Myst had nowhere near enough ammunition to take care of all the troops. It felt like they were just multiplying. She shot a handful of demons, but she wasn’t able to tell the demons from the angels from the humans. All of them looked the same to her.

Myst looked over her shoulder at Jane who was coursing a pale blue energy. She had a hand on the shoulders of Eileen and Charlie. Myst understood she was just transferring energy, but the least she could’ve done was pull them into Heaven. Most humans couldn’t get through as well as most demons. Myst was mostly guessing on the demons part, she had no way of actually knowing. If she was a demon, she would think that stepping through the pearly gates would burn her alive.

“Would you hurry up?” Myst called, shooting another Hellian that turned out to be human. She swore under her breath at herself for wasting a salt round.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Jane’s voice was weak, “This is taking a lot out of me, okay?”

Myst aimed her salt gun at a nearby Hellian, she tried but nothing was released from the chamber. She swore, trying again. She was out of rounds. She tossed the useless gun aside, pulling out her angel blade. She could definitely try to kill all these soldiers, but she didn’t think she could. She wasn’t completely delusional, she knew what she was capable of.

“Yeah, you might wanna prepare to leave the Sergeant,” Myst muttered over her shoulder. She stole a quick look at Jane who just shook her head fervently. 

“We’re not leaving Charlie, I’m almost done,” Jane replied, her tired eyes slowly losing light.

“Well, I’m out of ammo,” Myst retorted, slitting the throat of a nearby Hellian who ended up being an angel, their grace spilling out. Myst lunged forward to stab a soldier, the blade getting stuck in the soldier’s chest. She couldn’t remove it at risk of getting stabbed by another soldier while she was at it. She was officially out of ways to fight these sons of bitches. Myst stumbled back as the troops continued to push towards them. She wished they were in Heaven, God dammit.

“I can’t kill anymore,” Myst warned, her voice turning stern with the young girl. She looked down at Jane, the girl’s arms coursing that pale blue. Charlie’s wound glowed dully, slowly weaving a patchwork of new skin. Myst looked at Eileen who had her head hung from the energy drain. Myst didn’t want to die like this. Cornered, not putting up a fight.

“I’m almost done,” Jane hissed, looking up at Myst. Her eyes flashed a similar pale blue to the one her arms were glowing.  Myst didn’t want to wait, the entrance to Heaven was right there. The Captain paused momentarily before running behind the boulder, prepared to enter Heaven. Jane, Charlie, and Eileen weren’t her problem.

“MYST, DAMMIT,” Jane yelled after the hunter. Myst ignored her, sucking in a breath. She was fully prepared to take a step toward the door.

A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her back as it spun her around. It was a Hellian from the troops. He pinned Myst against the boulder, pulling his blade out. Myst tried to shove the man away but she couldn’t manage. He pressed the blade against her cheek roughly, trailing it down her cheek as he drew blood. Myst squirmed under his firm press on her.

“I’m going to have a fun time carving you,” he hissed. Myst tried to kick him but his feet pressed roughly down on hers. She was beginning to slightly regret some life decisions as he sliced her cheek again. The blood rolled down her skin, warm and wet. Myst turned her head away.

The demon let out a low guttural scream. Myst turned to look back, his eyes burning out of his sockets as he yelled. Myst felt a form of relief as the Hellian soldier dropped to the ground. Myst’s gaze followed the soldier as he crumpled like a dead spider. She smiled, finding it amusing, if only slightly.

Myst slowly looked back up, Jack’s face greeting her. The boy smiled, extending a hand. Myst paused before taking it as she stepped over the corpse. Jack had… saved her? She had assumed him to be an abomination. Being a Nephilim and all, she thought he was incapable of caring for others. She almost felt genuine gratitude toward him. Almost.

“Here, let me heal those for you,” Jack said. He raised his hand to Myst’s cheek. Myst pulled away out of instinct before leaning forward, letting the boy heal her cuts. Myst felt a warm tingling sensation as the cuts on her cheek healed. Once Jack had lowered his hand, Myst raised hers to check his works. No cuts.

“Thanks,” she grumbled under her breath.

Jack pulled her gently around the boulder where Jane, Charlie, and Eileen were all out of it. There was a very small and unstable forcefield around the small group. Kevin stood beside Jo, waving at Myst. Myst waved back slowly, looking around for the signs of anyone else. She knew Orion had been divided up to be with Kevin.

“Where’s–” Myst started but she didn’t get the chance to finish what she was saying.

“Dead,” Kevin replied shortly, “Let’s not discuss it, okay?”

Jo crossed her arms, her hip cocked,”Where’s my mom?”

“Jesus, what happened to your hair?” Myst mocked, her eyes falling on the haphazardly cut hair.

Jo rolled her eyes, “Vampire, where’s my mom?”

“Uh, she’s dead,” Myst said bluntly, watching Jo for a reaction. Jo nodded slowly, looking at her combat boots. Myst could basically see her biting the inside of her cheek.

“I know I should feel really bad right now,” Jo started, looking up at Myst, “But I feel nothing, not even sad, angry. I feel nothing.”

“That’s the no soul talking,” Jack said as he walked the perimeter of the forcefield.

“We don’t have time for this, okay?!” Kevin spoke up, “Let’s just get the hell into Heaven, okay?”

Myst nodded in agreement, all this small talk was doing was slowing them down. It was trivial, unnecessary. Myst looked at Jack, then Jane. It looked like Jack was the one keeping the forcefield up, the Hellians surrounding it and looking at it curiously.

“Jo, Myst, and I should go,” Kevin said, “Jack, you keep the girls safe, okay?”

Jack nodded, “Stay safe, Kevin.”

Kevin didn’t acknowledge him, just heading toward the doors with the help of Myst. Jo followed after them, stealing a quick look over her shoulder.

“And Kevin,” Jack called, causing him to stop, “Orion wasn’t your fault.”

Kevin bit his lip, waiting for Myst to lead the way. And she did, stepping through the doors.

Chapter Text

Gabriel had greeted Ralph and Deanna at the doors– still in Rowena’s body, of course. The halls of Heaven were rather empty, which Ralph assumed made sense. Most angels would be on Earth fighting the war. Though, them entering Heaven with an archangel must’ve sent out an angel wide alert as more and more angels started appearing in the halls. Gabriel very quickly snapped them away, walking through the halls with his head raised high.

Ralph was walking directly beside the archangel, Deanna a few feet behind them. Gabriel hadn’t made many attempts at conversation. He sort of just walked there, staring ahead. He held the box to his abdomen tightly, his knuckles turning white. He wasn’t ready to ever let that box go.

Ralph didn’t like that he did, but he trusted Gabriel. Gabriel seemed to know the layout of Heaven like the back of his hand, he took turns without much of any thought. Ralph liked that, he liked the security of having someone who knew the place.

“Why’d you leave Heaven?” Ralph asked, looking over at Gabriel. The archangel bit his lip and Ralph waited for a response. From what he’d heard, archangels had a pretty cushy place in Heaven. So he couldn’t understand why he might not want to be there.

“Heaven wasn’t a very good place for me,” Gabriel explained, “I tried to be a good son, following Dad’s rules, you know? But when Lucifer and Michael started throwing their fits–”

“You left,” Deanna said from behind, Ralph and Gabriel looked at her and she scrambled to explain, “Sam did the same when Dad and I were fighting all the time.”

Gabriel looked forward, taking a left turn. An angel materialized and Gabriel snapped his fingers, the angel dissolving. Gabriel muttered something about angels being a pain before continuing his conversation with Ralph.

“Either way,” Gabriel continued, “After Lucifer got cast out, Michael became Daddy’s favorite. And after Michael went AWOL, Raphael. I was nowhere near Dad’s favorite and I had come to terms with the fact that I would never be.”

Ralph nodded, he understood, sort of. Ralph hadn’t been raised with siblings, no, he couldn’t sympathize in that regard. But he understood parents prioritizing something over their child. Ralph’s parents had prioritized hunting over Ralph and he turned out just peachy, didn’t he? Well, he turned out well enough given.

“You ran away because Daddy didn’t love you?” Deanna asked, “If we ran away when our parents didn’t love us, I think Sam and I would’ve run away long before we thought about it.”

“No,” Gabriel muttered, “Because I sense the corruption in Heaven and there was no way I was going to be able to fix it. It’s better to leave something doomed than to stick around to see the turn out.”

Ralph nodded, he understood what Gabriel was saying. He didn’t stick around for the fallout of the Anarchist camp, or the Third Hunter Battalion. Ralph had a habit of not sticking around when shit hit the fan, maybe he and Gabriel weren’t as different as he had originally thought. Ralph could always use another friend. 

Friend. Balthazar. Ralph was going to talk to Castiel about Balthazar's death. Ralph wasn’t quite ready to let his friend go. Balthazar was one of the first people Ralph had learned to trust. They were friends, and if Raph had learned anything, it was that trusting people wasn’t terrible. Ralph wouldn’t put his life in Deanna’s hands unless he had to, same with Gabriel, but he was learning to trust people.

Gabriel continued to walk forward, his hands still gripped tightly around the box. Ralph wasn’t sure when Gabriel was going to cede control back to Rowena, but it had to be in time to cast the spell. Ralph sort of liked Rowena, minus the distinct threat of draining him dry for the sake of the spell. She felt honest, like she didn’t sugar coat things for the sake of the person’s feelings. Ralph liked the blunt nature of her and her words.

Gabriel took a quick right turn, guiding the group. Ralph looked over his shoulder as Deanna jogged to catch up. Something felt oddly calm about all of this. Like something could go very wrong very soon. But that was severely unlikely, not this far into everything. Ralph’s stomach still churned at the thought, his nerves getting the better of him. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, he just knew he was.

The Archangel grabbed Ralph’s arm, pulling him off into a room and Deanna followed after quickly. Ralph looked around, the stark white room was somehow different than all the others. Hanging on the walls were four large oil paintings. All of what Ralph assumed to be angels as they were strange amalgamations of wings, eyes, and various limbs.

The room was mostly barren, empty aside from the two thrones that were parallel to them risen on a platform. The thrones were filled. A taller man sitting in one and a woman in the other. Both looked to be rather disinterested in everything happening. The man’s eyes lit up upon seeing Gabriel, he stood, his trench coat falling behind him. He descended the platform, approaching Gabriel.

“Gabriel,” he smiled softly, reaching out his hands for the archangel. Gabriel instinctively took a step back. The man furrowed his brow, his features hardening. He was clearly unamused by Gabriel and his actions.

“Dad,” Gabriel took a deep breath, “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Myst watched as Kevin hastily stabbed an angel with his angel blade. The angel collapsed to the stark white linoleum, their blood pooling as their wing marks burned into the walls. Kevin was stabbing through angels like they were nothing more than pieces of meat. Even Myst didn’t go through angels this intensely. She was kind of concerned. It made her want to be his friend, yeah, but he seemed to be going through something.

Kevin slit the throat of an angel, this one not even hostile, watching the grace dribble out of the open wound before stabbing his knife through his mouth. Kevin continued on, but Myst was convinced this was the man’s personal rage room. Myst wasn’t even certain that Kevin knew where they were going at that moment, but he seemed to be getting some form of catharsis out of killing all of these angels.

“Kevin, maybe you should slow down on the killing thing,” Jo called without much force to her words. Myst could tell she was still processing her mother’s death. As much as Myst hated people and emotions and all of that, she wished the girl would just shed a damn tear. It would be easier than the void and vacant expressions. Myst was stuck with a rage filled small man and a devoid of emotion hunter.

“They don’t deserve life,” Kevin muttered back, stabbing his angel blade through the nearest angel’s eye. His blade stuck the angel to the wall for a moment before he ripped it out, sliding it into his pocket. Myst watched as Kevin continued to kill with no regard for the angels. It was almost mesmerizing. Myst enjoyed watching it.

Jo let out a short sigh, shaking her head as she pressed on with the rest of the group. Myst almost felt her own permanent anger was miniscule in comparison to whatever Kevin was actively processing. Myst had doubted for so long that people could experience the same amount of sheer anger that Myst lived with daily. Yet here she was, watching Kevin kill any angels that got in his way. It was impressive, scary, but impressive.

Kevin took another left turn. It felt like the eighth left they’d taken and Myst was almost convinced that they were lost. Well, Kevin was lost. Myst was just following Kevin who had taken leader. Myst wasn’t lost at all. And Jo? Yeah, Jo was probably lost too, she hadn’t stepped up to lead the way. Clearly, that meant everyone was lost except Myst.

“He’s mad because Orion sacrificed himself so Kevin could live,” Jo explained, before saying loudly, “He’s throwing a hissy fit!”

Kevin shot her a dirty look over his shoulder before returning his focus to the path. Myst didn’t take Kevin for the vengeful type. Or the secretly pining for an angel type. People were surprising her left and right this lifetime, honestly. Kevin stabbed another angel, taking a ninth left turn.

“We lost a lot of people out there today,” Jo muttered, rubbing her arm nervously, “I’ve been wondering if it’s worth it.”

Myst looked at Jo, thinking about what she was saying Myst couldn’t deny it, they had lost a great deal of people. But also, what did it matter? Darwinism stated that natural selection chose the strong, the intelligent, et cetera. If they died in the war, they were weak, they were stupid, natural selection did its job. That’s the way she viewed it anyhow. But something about social cues told her it probably wasn’t best to voice that opinion.

“The war has been going on for decades, Captain,” Myst started, “Don’t you think that ending it is worth a few lives?”

Jo bit her lip, like she had to think about how to react. Jo was clearly not a professional at coping without a soul. Maybe Myst could teach her a few tricks and pointers. That was under the assumption that Jo didn’t get her soul back. From how Metatron and Loki had made it sound, it sounded like the chancers were high that all the souls were returned.

“What are you going to do once the war is over?” Jo asked, looking at Myst who just shrugged.

Myst had only thought about it briefly before the battle broke loose. She didn’t know what to do with herself honestly. Probably just hunt? But given the increasing decline in Civvies and people who needed to be saved, there was no reason to hunt. Unless God restored Earth to the way it was before the war, which Myst found highly unlikely despite never meeting the guy.

“Maybe I’ll move to Canada,” Myst cracked a joke. Jo didn’t laugh until Myst raised her brows, indicating she should. Jo forced a half laugh which didn’t really give Myst the satisfaction she had originally wanted.

“Why? What are you going to do?” Myst asked, watching as Kevin gutted another angel. So out of character for him.

“Run my mom’s bar,” Jo replied, “Maybe look for Ash, but… someone has to run the Roadhouse for the people recovering from the war, you know?”

Myst hadn’t heard the name Ash but a few times, she didn’t bother herself with people’s past lives. Myst could understand where the hunter was coming from, though. Having something to look for, to return to. Myst didn’t have that. Everything had died with Autumn. Myst honestly didn’t know how she was able to live from day to day. Myst didn’t like thinking about it, dwelling on it. It hurt.

The hallway fell silent after that. The only sound; their footsteps and the occasional stabbing of an angel at the hands of Kevin. Myst looked over her shoulder at the trail of blood and dead bodies that Kevin had left in his wake. Myst looked forward again as an angel approached them. Kevin raised his blade, pausing momentarily. The angel had his hands raised in defense.

“Samandriel?” Kevin muttered, “What are you doing here?”

The angel stepped forward, lowering an arm. His angel blade slid down his sleeve, his hand wrapping tightly around the handle. Samandriel took a step forward, raising his blade.

“An alarm was set out due to an influx of angel deaths,” Samandriel explained, “They told me that cameras caught you.”

“They were in my way,” Kevin explained, “I kinda had to kill them. You understand, Samandriel.”

Samandriel furrowed his brow. Myst sensed tension. Clearly, Kevin knew Samandriel, well it seemed. Myst took a step back, not wanting to get caught up in whatever was about to take place. Jo did the same, clearly having a similar sentiment.

“Kevin, I heard about Orion. This is not how we handle things in the Angelics,” Samandriel took a testing step forward. Kevin tightened his grip on his blade causing Samandriel to take a step back again.

“Orion didn’t do anything to deserve to die,” Kevin replied.

“Kevin, we didn’t kill him,” Samandriel tried to reason with the man,”The Hellians did. Are you going to punish us for something they did?”

“You don’t understand, Samandriel,” Kevin started, tightening his grip on his blade. Samandriel raised his own, prepared to attack if need be. Myst could tell, a look behind the angel’s eyes, he didn’t want to attack Kevin. From the looks of it, he didn’t even want to be in Heaven in the first place, he’d been forced there by angelic orders.

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Samandriel nodded, “Explain it to me, Kevin. Explain why you’re trying to get revenge on someone who isn't to blame.”

Kevin’s stance faltered slightly before he firmly replanted it, “Orion didn’t need to die. Bring him back.”

“Kevin, I don’t have that power,” Samandriel started, “You know that, you’re not an unintelligent swine.”

“I don’t care,” Kevin snapped, “Bring him back! Get Castiel to do it for all I care!”

Myst took a half step back, this was about to get very ugly very fast. Jo followed suit, neither of them wanted to be caught in the backfire of the fight. Myst looked at Jo, from the look on her face, she wanted to get out of there. And Myst shared sentiments with the hunter for once in her life. That's not to say she didn’t still harbor hate, she definitely did; but at least she could pretend she didn’t.

“Kevin, you’re intelligent,” Samandriel replied, “Castiel can’t bring him back. Even if he could, what makes you think he would? Orion was a broken soldier. Castiel would bring back a soldier of strength and valor, not one that couldn’t even carry his own.”

Kevin stepped forward, raising the angel blade to Samanriel’s throat. The angel swallowed hard, taking a half-step back. His pale eyes scanned the man in front of him, trying to understand what his next move was going to be.

“Orion wasn’t broken,” Kevin hissed, “Why do you all keep saying that he was?”

“You’re really playing with fire here, feathers.” Jo folded her arms, but underneath the tough demeanor, Myst could sense her own uncertainty.

“Orion was made br– differently, okay?” Samandriel made a wiser choice in words, “He’s not ideal for combat, or really anything that isn’t button pushing. Castiel can just make more button pushers, there’s no reason for him to bring Orion back.”

“Well then,” Kevin pressed his blade to the angel’s throat so it was threatening to draw blood, “You’re of no use to me.”

“WAIT!” Samandriel gasped, “I can take you to the throne room, just let me live.”

Myst stepped forward, not trusting the angel, “And this isn’t a trap?”

Samandriel shook his head swiftly. Kevin paused before slowly lowering his blade, nodding in agreement.

“Take us to Castiel, no funny moves though,” Kevin muttered, sliding the blade into his pocket.

“Of course not,” Samandriel replied, “If you guys are really going to end this war, I want to be there when it happens.”

Chapter Text

At the dawn of time Castiel created everything. From the tips of the mountains to the bottom of the seas. Castiel had spent all this time creating this world, putting detail into every inch of it. When he was done, he had viewed it with complete pride. Then, he returned to Heaven, never to walk the Earth again. He had considered Earth soil to be too sultry.

And while he had stated he was never going to walk the Earth again, he did long enough to take control of the vessel known as Jimmy Novak. No one really knew why he decided to take the vessel, one might say it was a near perfect domino effect. But, of course, Castiel had never intended that. To intentionally set up a complex butterfly effect? Now that would be ridiculous, no?

Castiel wouldn’t have referred to himself as a cruel and capricious god. Fickle? Maybe. Capricious? Never. But it didn’t matter what Castiel thought of himself as, as it stood, he had the ego the size of the Chrysler building. In the end, Castiel probably looked himself in the mirror every morning telling himself how awesome he was. Or maybe that was why he had created himself a wife, to further inflate his ego. As if he needed more of an inflation.

That was Ralph’s thoughts on it, anyhow. He’d spent far too long listening to Gabriel and Castiel fight, then to Castiel introducing himself as God– or rather as Castiel. Castiel had conjured up a set of chairs for the group. Ralph took the seat graciously, Deanna was a little more hesitant, and Gabriel refused to sit down. Castiel acted mock offended at the rejection of the chair before he had briskly waved it away.

Ralph felt uncomfortable, Pandora staring blankly at him. He knew she was a figment of reality, but it was still slightly unnerving. Ralph shifted his eyes back to Castiel as he tried to focus. But Pandora’s gaze bore into his very being. Ralph squirmed slightly under the being’s distinct stare.

“Dad, Ralph and Deanna don’t care about your worldly plunders, okay?” Gabriel spoke up, “We came here to discuss the war.”

“Deanna?” Castiel looked at the hunter, any light leaving his eyes, “Oh… You’re Deanna.”

His voice sounded distant, almost sad. Ralph didn’t understand, but he didn’t understand a lot of things. Ralph sat up straight in his seat as Gabriel handed the box over to Deanna who clutched it tightly. Castiel squinted at the box before returning his gaze to the archangel.

“Gabriel, discussing the war is futile,” Castiel rose off his throne, descending to be on the level of the group, “It’s not going to end any time soon.”

“But we can end it,” Deanna stood up defensively.

“Okay, hush you,” Castiel stared daggers at Deanna, snapping his fingers and the hunter disappeared. The box she was holding fell towards the floor, but Gabriel caught it before it could hit the tile. Ralph stood up abruptly, accidentally knocking over his chair. If he had any weapons on him, he’d probably have grabbed them. But the truth was Ralph was not a combat guy.

“What did you do with her?” Gabriel asked shortly.

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, she’s fine,” Castiel wandered away from the group, snapping his fingers to materialize a glass of wine, “You should actually thank me, three outcomes of this interaction ended with her killing you.”

“Uh, God– Castiel– Sir,” Ralph stammered, his eyes drifting back to Pandora whose face was unwavering.

“Ralph, is it?” Castiel began towards Ralph. He swirled his wine as Ralph slowly looked back at him. It wasn’t that the man was particularly intimidating. In fact, if Ralph was completely honest, he found the man rather soft. But this interaction, the all knowing omnipotent God standing in front of him, struck a chord of fear into Ralph.

“You know, we weren’t even sure you were going to make it, Pandora and I,” Castiel stuck out a thumb towards Pandora who continued to stare blankly, “You took a hot minute to fall into your powers. But once Meg and Alastair tracked you down in that Gas n Sip. When you moved those bolted down shelves from fear. Yeah, we knew you were going to make it.”

Ralph furrowed his brow. He took a hesitant step back. Castiel wasn’t advancing forward on the Elioud, Ralph just didn’t like the thought of Castiel knowing so much about him. Ralph looked over at Gabriel who was checking over the box to ensure it was safe.

“If you know me, then you– uh, you know why I’m– why I’m here.” Ralph cleared his throat. Speaking felt like an exceedingly difficult thing to do. He knew how to, he just didn’t know why it felt so damn hard at that moment. Maybe it was Pandora who was still peering into him. He looked at her, the stray raven strands of hair in her face, her olive toned skin just looking perfectly preserved. Her icy cold blue eyes. He shuddered internally.

“Yes, I know why the mess is here,” Castiel rolled his eyes, sipping his wine, “I honestly expected you here sooner but your subplots kept dividing and getting more complex. Amirite, Pandora?”

Pandora gave a nod, smiling softly. It gave Ralph the creeps. From the looks of it, Gabriel too.

“Dad, if you know why we’re here, why don’t you just work with us already?” Gabriel asked, handing the box delicately to Ralph who looked down at it curiously.

“Because it’s too easy ,” Castiel exaggerated his syllables, “Besides, you think I’d let some ragtag team that’s more mismatched than ANY team I’ve seen before come in here and demand I end a war I started?”

“You–?” Ralph started, but Castiel cut him off.

“Started the war? Yes,” Castiel grumbled, “Balthazar didn’t explain it to you? I suppose that part was cut out due to length, yes?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, leaning back on his heels. He bit the inside of his cheek, looking over at Ralph who was just as bothered as the archangel. Castiel was treating this situation like a game, or a TV show, or a poorly written story. But this wasn’t just some silly thing he could ignore. He’d started a war and he was treating it like people hadn’t died.

“Yes, I started the war, population control and other reasons,” Castiel bit his lip, looking at Ralph, “But I’m starting to think that you two– sorry, three– are actually serious about this whole ending the war business.”

“We are,” Gabriel started, “Look, you wrote the ancient texts. A natural born witch,” he motioned at himself, “An Elioud, i.e. Ralph over there. And a being made of light,” he pointed at Pandora.

Castiel looked at the two. He looked over his shoulder at Pandora and Gabriel slowly lowered his hand. Castiel’s laugh sounded like a cough at first before it became more present. He began to clap his hands slowly, making eye contact with Gabriel, then Ralph.

“Wow, that’s,” Castiel smiled, waggling his finger in a mock disapproval, “Clever, clever boys. And Rowena.”

Gabriel squinted and Ralph did the same. Ralph didn’t understand what angle Castiel was playing at. It gave Ralph a sense of unease. Like at any moment Castiel would snap their necks, ending their lives for his own sake. If he started the war, why would he ever want to end it? Ralph took a side step to be closer to Gabriel, the box clutched closely to his abdomen.

“Of all my sons,” Castiel let out a sigh, flattening his trench coat as he looked at Gabriel, “I didn’t foresee you being the one to figure it out, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, taking a step towards Ralph, “Well, I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?”

Ralph watched Castiel sip his wine before snapping it away. He was just playing with them. He wanted to screw with them as much as possible before he was just done. Castiel seemed like the type of God to play with his food before eating it. Ralph didn’t like it, not one bit. He looked down at his hands, wrapped in strips of Deanna’s shirt. Balthazar.

Ralph looked up fiercely, “Bring him back.”

“I’m sorry?” Castiel muttered, tilting his head. Ralph clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring.

“Bring back Balthazar,” Ralph repeated.

This time Castiel let out a soft ‘ohhhhh’ of recognition. He climbed back up to his throne, taking a seat on it. He crossed his right leg over his knee, leaning forward as he stared at Ralph. Ralph was ready to kill some God ass if it meant getting the condescending smirk off of his face.

“I would if I could,” Castiel shrugged, “But I can’t, so I shan’t.”

Ralph stared hard at the man. He was God for Pete’s sake, and he couldn’t bring back Balthazar? Ralph felt a burning rage. His veins glowed a dull orange but it only lasted a short period. Suddenly, the Elioud felt a strong deterrence from speaking. Nothing external, just that spewing insults at literal God wouldn’t do much of anything in helping their situation.

Instead, Ralph hung his head, sort of just accepting what was happening. Ralph was tired, he just wanted to get this over with. Looking at Gabriel from the corner of his eyes, the archangel seemed to have a similar attitude. But Castiel didn’t seem the most keen about helping them end the war.

“Why won’t you just help us?” Gabriel asked, the frustration rising in his voice. Castiel smiled, nodding.

“I’ve been stalling,” Castiel muttered his admission, “I know, I know, so mean . But you’ll thank me later.”

“Wait, you’re actually going to help us?” Ralph asked, “We don’t have to jump through hoops or do a bunch of trials?”

“What?” Castiel scrunched his brows, “Maybe other Gods are like that, but believe you me, this benefits me in the long run. Ralph, I wrote the ancient texts for a reason. If I didn’t want an end to a war, I wouldn’t have made one.”

Gabriel’s eyes glowed a dull blue. Rowena stumbled into control of her body again. She rubbed her temples roughly, trying to orient herself to Heaven. Ralph handed the box to her once she’d gathered her bearings.

“Ah, Rowena,” Castiel smiled, “Last time we met you were dead.”

“Last time we met you weren’t wearing that dead girl’s father,” Rowena replied shortly, “So I guess we’ve both changed.”

Castiel looked down at his body then up at Rowena, “Of course, I’d show my true form but it would burn your eyes out.”

Rowena forced a smile, “Oh, believe you me, there are much worse things I’ve seen.”

Castiel raised his brows shortly, “Start the incantation, I think I’ve wasted enough time. Pieces are falling into place, Pandora, I can feel it.”

Chapter Text

Kevin had been holding Samandriel at knife point as they walked through the halls. Myst didn't know how she felt about it. She knew it was necessary to get where they were going, but the angel quivered in fear and every few paces he’d shed feathers that disintegrated upon hitting the floor. Myst couldn’t see the wings, no, but she could see the burn marks etching into the linoleum.

Myst shook her thoughts away, ending this war was in their clutches. Kevin shoved Samandriel forward roughly. The angel looked over his shoulder sharply but Kevin just taunted the blade in front of the angel’s eyes. Samandriel turned forward, hanging his head in frustration. Myst huffed, looking over at Jo as she walked forward.

“Kevin, you can lighten up on the acute abuse,” Jo spoke up, “He’s already agreed to help us, no need to abuse him into wanting death more.”

“He’s an angel,” Kevin retorted, “He doesn’t deserve respect let alone us giving him an easy time.”

“Would you say that about Orion?” Jo slowed her pace so she wasn’t directly behind the man. Which happened to be the right choice. Kevin stopped in his tracks, whipping around, angel blade in hand. His face was painted in pain and frustration. It was clear that Jo had gone a little too far.

“No, but guess what?” Kevin started, “Orion is dead. Because of me. I got him killed. So the least I can do is go to Castiel and try to get him back, okay?”

Samandriel stopped walking, turning around to listen to the conversation. Myst folded her arms, leaning back on her heels as Kevin spoke. For a man without a soul, he had a distinct amount of emotions. Jo had none, Myst herself… Well, she was complicated.

“So if a few people die as a result of this, so be it,” Kevin snapped and Myst’s eyes flitted down to his blood coated shirt and flannel, “I’m not killing the angel, I’m just giving him a rough nudge so he knows his place.”

Kevin didn’t wait for a response from Jo or Myst before he turned back forward, shoving Samandriel to continue walking. Samandriel led the trio through the halls. Each hall looked like the last to Myst. Each one was long, stark, and lined with doors on either side. Myst didn’t pay too much attention to the doors, but she could see that there were nameplates on all of them. Myst wasn’t entirely sure about the whole reason behind the silver nameplates, and she didn’t particularly care, though.

The walk through the halls felt longer than it actually was. The silence was a tightness that seemed to slip its way through the air and wrap around their throats, threatening to choke them. It was uncomfortable, even for Myst who preferred the silence. It felt like there were a thousand unspoken words between them all. Jo focused on her footing, even if it wasn’t really necessary for her to. Myst stared ahead, trying not to let her eyes drift away to anything along the sides of the hallways.

When Myst had originally envisioned Heaven, she had seen it in her mind as pearlescent and gold. Silver and bejeweled. Never stark, white, cold. There was no glamor, no essence. It was all just one large office building. It had none of the whimsy that Myst’s father had raised her and Autumn with. In fact, it didn’t even feel all that Godly. It felt… empty, devoid of any emotion. How angels were meant to be. Myst almost didn’t mind it aside from the distinct unease she felt walking through it.

Samandriel took a right turn, leading the group down another hall. Myst was beginning to think they’d never get there when Samandriel stopped in front of a white archway, motioning towards the throne room inside. It looked to be completely empty from where Myst was standing. Maybe Castiel had figured out what they were doing and fucked off. It wouldn’t have surprised Myst in the slightest. Gods could do whatever they wanted. And Castiel was the God. The one and only. The almighty. Lord above. He could do whatever he felt like.

“Hey, thanks man.” Kevin smiled, grasping Samandriel’s shoulder. Samandriel smiled wearily, Myst could see the tension leaving his eyes slowly. Jo looked up from her feet. Kevin gripped his angel blade, sinking it into Samandriel’s abdomen. Samandriel’s jaw fell open as the angel looked down at his stomach, then up at Kevin. His eyes flickered softly.

“You lied,” Samandriel murmured.

“I know, that was terrible of me,” Kevin nodded as he whispered, “But you were a liability.”

Kevin pulled the blade out of the angel’s abdomen. Samandriel fell to the linoleum, his blood pooling as a bright light flashed. the outline of his wings burned themselves into the floor. Myst looked at the dead angel, then Kevin. Myst was one to shoot first and ask questions later, not keep promises, and kill people once they were of no use to her. Myst understood fully how and why Kevin would kill Samandriel. But an inkling in the back of her head questioned if it was the right thing to do.

“Kevin, what the hell?” Jo whispered aggressively, approaching the man. Kevin didn’t back away, he just stood there, clearly uninterested in whatever lecture the hunter was about to give.

“He was going to rat us out to other angels and then they’d try to kill us. I know how Heaven works, Jo,” Kevin replied simply.

“He didn’t do anything!!” Jo’s voice raised slightly, “You’re going to pull more attention to us killing unnecessary people than just letting it be!!”

Kevin opened his mouth to protest, but a man stuck his head out of the archway. The image they were seeing of an empty throne room seemed to be an illusion charm cast to make people walk past. This man was gruff, stubble across his jawline. His eyes piercing blue seemed to stare through all of them. Not in a harsh way, but, rather, an impatient one.

“Look, I don’t mean to interrupt your moment,” he spoke with a sense of attitude behind his words, “But are you going to come barging in on the spell or are you just going to argue about Samandriel?”

Myst shared a look of confusion with Jo, but Kevin looked at the man with a sense of recognition. Myst didn’t know who this man thought he was, but she took a hesitant step forward. Obviously he wasn’t an angel, at least not an ordinary one since Kevin had yet to stick an angel blade in his eye socket, which he had been so eager to do with every angel before.

“Right, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself,” the man stepped out fully, waving towards his body, wearing a suit and a trench coat, “I’m Castiel. Or God, as you call me.”

Chapter Text

Rowena, Ralph, and Pandora all sat around the mahogany box. The top was open to reveal its satin inside. Ralph stared at it curiously. He wanted to touch it, but last time he had tried, Rowena had smacked his hand rather roughly. Instead Ralph just looked at it while Rowena recited her, surprisingly long, incantation.

Pandora had been staring blankly at Castiel as he had paced the room. Part of the way into reciting the incantation, Castiel poked his head out into the empty hall, pulling in Kevin, Jo, and Myst. It took Ralph an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that it was a masking spell in the archway. He actually chuckled to himself, finding it rather amusing. It made sense that there would be a masking charm, but it still caught the boy off guard.

Kevin had shoved Castiel away roughly when he was pulled into the room. Jo had just taken it as it was, wiping her sleeve off before crossing her arms. Myst didn’t even allow Castiel to pull her in, slapping his hands away. Ralph returned his focus to the incantation as Rowena spread herbs around the box, pausing in her Latin.

“Keep your grubby hands off of me,” Kevin grumbled as Castiel tried to pull him toward the group. Castiel raised his brows, cocking a half smile. He walked towards the group himself, Jo following after him hesitantly.

“You’ve grown a bit of a spine since I last saw you,” Castiel crossed his arms, “You’ve got a pair. Of balls, that is.”

Kevin sneered back at Castiel, turning away. He didn't acknowledge the man. Castiel seemed rather amused by this as he watched Kevin walk lazily across the length of the room. Castiel sat on the platform where the thrones were perched. He planted his elbows on his knees, placing his chin in his open hands. He watched as Rowena continued the incantation.

“Ohh, this is so fun,” Castiel smiled, “I’m getting giddy thinking about it.”

“Do you shut up?” Myst asked, “Like, is there an off switch or something?”

Castiel widened his eyes, looking up, “You’re sassier than I had envisioned. No , there’s no off-switch . you get me in all my almighty glory,” he sat up straight, raising his arms before continuing, “What about you? Is there an off switch for that negative attitude of yours?”

“What the hell?” Jo furrowed her brow, “Aren’t you supposed to be God or something? You’re acting like a child.”

“He’s always like that,” Kevin mumbled, taking fake interest in a vase on one of the coffee tables. Ralph looked up from the ritual, looking at Castiel who took mock offense to what they were saying. Ralph didn’t understand him but as long as he wasn’t smiting people, he really didn’t care. Ralph watched as Myst’s eyes flitted about the room.

“I am not acting like a child,” Castiel rolled his eyes, standing up, “Would you rather I have a big boomy voice and be all ‘smite this’ and ‘smite that' and ‘I’m overcompensating for the fact that I have very fragile masculinity’? Honestly, if Zeus is your idea of how a God should act–”

“Where’s Deanna?” Myst looked up, meeting Castiel’s eyes. Deanna, Ralph remembered. Castiel had told them not to worry about her. Ralph had clearly put her out of his mind. Castiel said she wasn’t dead, but Gods aren’t exactly the most honest.

“Who?” Castiel paused, “Ohhh, the Winchester! Yes, no, don’t worry about her. I shipped her off to the Eighth Hunter Battalion, she passed out on her cot dreaming about an ending where you two start shacking up again. Hey! I have an idea! Let’s play a game called, let Rowena end the war.”

Castiel’s face dropped as he finished his statement. Ralph returned his attention to the spell as Rowena pulled out a blade. She sliced her palm open, her blood splattering against the white satin. She handed the blade to Pandora who followed suit. Pandora’s blood wasn’t blood, though, instead, she bled a wispy blue not dissimilar to angelic grace. Ralph watched her blood spill with concerned eyes.

“So, are you going to bring him back?” Kevin asked.

“What?” Castiel tilted his head, “No, seriously, no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Orion,” Kevin stepped forward, clearly serious about what was going on.

“OH, HIM ,” Castiel nodded, before shaking his head, “No, of course I’m not bringing back the angel whose heart you broke just so you can lie to yourself and him that you want to be in that relationship. I’ve seen the outcomes, trust me, it’s better this way.”

Kevin bit his lip, clearly trying to process his emotions. Ralph grabbed the knife from Pandora, slicing his palm. He watched his own blood drip into the mix. He looked up at Castiel, then Kevin before returning his graze to the stained satin.

“You’re God,” Jo said, “You won't because–?”

“It’s a horrible plot, trust me, it’s better this way,” Castiel shook his head.

“You’re a bastard,” Kevin muttered, “You care about no one but yourself.”

Castiel’s smile turned from playful to disgusted. Ralph bit his lip, Kevin had crossed a line. Ralph kept his head down, watching the blood in the box swirl together in a sickening yet mesmerizing fashion. Castiel cracked his knuckles, chuckling airily.

“Right, because you care about Orion, and don’t just want to clear your conscience,” Castiel snarked, “I made you the way you are on purpose. You can’t force a square in a circle hole, why are you trying to?”

“Because I want it to fit,” Kevin snapped, Ralph looked up at the man, seeing the emotion rising to his face, “Because I can’t come to terms with myself. Because I feel broken. Why is everyone else experiencing things I can’t?!”

Ralph watched Castiel step towards Kevin. He firmly grabbed Kevin’s shoulder, making eye contact. The man scanned Castiel, trying to see if he was being hostile or not. Ralph knew he should be focused on the blood still, it wasn’t his problem, but he was interested.

“Because you’re not meant to,” Castiel whispered, “You’re not broken Kevin, I made you like this for a reason. You have a purpose to fulfill. Orion was never meant to meet you, I don’t know what went wrong there.”

Kevin shoved Castiel away, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes. He dried his nose, looking away from Castiel as Castiel rejoined the group on the floor.

“We’re ready to continue,” Rowena said, looking up at Castiel. He looked down on the group before walking beside Pandora. He whispered into the woman’s ear. Pandora nodded before she began to turn into a white smoke. Ralph looked at her, caught off guard.

“Finish this off, I’m growing bored,” Castiel muttered, climbing up to his throne.

Rowena took Ralph’s hands in her own and Ralph tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of her blood smearing against his palm. They locked eyes as they both began to recite the incantation. Ralph was a little rusty on his Latin, but he did his best, trying not to stumble over any words.

Pandora’s essence began to swirl into a whirlpool. No, that was wrong, a funnel. Ralph looked cautiously at the funnel cloud forming above the box. The mist began to swirl faster and faster. That wasn’t right. No, Rowena had said–

Ralph looked up at Rowena, her brow furrowed as she stopped reciting her Latin. But the swirling didn’t stop. Ralph felt himself begin to pull. Not away, but in. In towards the box. His stomach churned. That wasn’t right, none of this was right. He tried to pull his hands away from Rowena’s, but they were stuck. Ralph looked up panicked. Jo, Myst, and Kevin seemed to share his sentiments. Castiel, however, was grinning, ear to ear.

Something was wrong, and Castiel was to blame.

“You lied,” Myst yelled over the growing noise of the funnel, “You told us this would bring peace.”

“What better way to bring peace than locking you into a box?” Castiel smarmed, “ If I trap the inhabitants of this world into a box, I can start over. I can make everything clean again.”

Kevin crossed the room as Ralph looked up at Rowena. Rowena’s eyes read fear. She clearly didn’t know the outcome. Ralph could feel himself pulling in toward the box. It made him sick, he needed to stop it, he couldn’t stop it. His fingers sparked a bit, but it did nothing but burn Rowena’s skin.

Myst and Jo joined Kevin across the room, making a makeshift shield for Ralph and Rowena.

“You’re going to lock us in a box?” Kevin snapped, “What? Because you got bored?”

“Because I have plans, Kevin,” Castiel stood up, descending to their level, “Do you really believe that everyone is better working together? Together, you and everyone against the world? Puh-lease.”

Ralph looked up at Rowena as her eyes glowed a dull blue. Gabriel. Maybe Gabriel could help the situation, but the archangel had the same distressed look that Rowena had before. Maybe the angel was protecting her, guarding her from what was to come.

“You’re all just pawns,” Castiel smiled, “You and everyone else in this universe. You’re all useless pieces to throw out when things go awry. They’ve gone awry, Kevin. Myst. Jo. You’re not even going to know you’re in a box.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, Castiel,” Jo shot back, but she couldn’t speak for long before she was sucked into the box. Ralph stared in horror. They were all going to end up in there. In the box, and he’d helped. This was his fault.

“You’re all going to go to a happy place,” Castiel explained, “You won’t even miss this world. And I can get a clean slate.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Myst yelled over the roar.

“Oh, but I am,” Castiel began to force Myst to back away, “You can’t stop me. United you stand? No, that was your first mistake. Trying to fix this.”

Ralph watched as Gabriel began to get sucked into the box. Gabriel winked at Ralph before he disappeared entirely. Ralph looked down at his hands, where Rowena’s blood had been, there was a symbol burned into his hand, he couldn’t tell what it was, no matter how hard he squinted. He looked up at Myst and Kevin, feeling his own grip on the world slipping.

“Divided you stood,” Castiel’s grin grew to be more and more sinister, “United? You’ve fallen.”

Ralph began to be sucked into the box, but he watched as Kevin grabbed onto Castiel, pulling him towards the swirling mass. Castiel screamed trying to push the man off of him. Myst mouthed an apology to Kevin before pushing the two of them into the trajectory of the box. Ralph watched them both get sucked in as he continued to fade away, slowly being absorbed by the box’s power. Myst crouched beside Ralph, tucking stray strands of his hair behind his ear.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Myst whispered, “We’re going to get out of this one way or another.”

Ralph looked at the symbol on his hand, “Is that a promise?”

Myst nodded as Ralph felt himself get sucked into the box entirely. It was swirling, faster and faster, until he felt completely content. The box had brought him what was promised.

Peace.

Chapter Text

On the tippy top shelf of Bobby’s study sat a dusty mahogany box. The box had been there for the better part of two decades. No one had ever questioned it, Bobby had handfuls of knick knacks everywhere. None of them were his, of course, they had all been Karen’s. Which, of course, meant they were never touched. They were never dusted at risk of breaking the fragile things.

Gayle’s eyes traced the box, she’d never thought that much about it if she was being honest. It had been there for as long as she could remember. But some days she looked at her mother’s knick knacks a little bit more than usual. Bobby never talked about Karen unless he was plastered or seriously injured, the latter usually included the former. But she knew that the box was important to her father.

Dean walked into the study, handing Gayle a beer. Gayle gave him a nod of thanks before cracking the top off the lid. She sipped it lazily, her eyes not leaving the box. Dean crossed his arms, tracing her gaze with his own green eyes.

“You’re awfully interested in that top shelf,” Dean muttered, sipping his own beer, “Any particular reason?”

Gayle shrugged, her gray eyes scanning the older Winchester before returning her gaze to her box, “I dunno, you ever just think about how important one thing could be?”

Dean chuckled, “Yeah, I got my Baby.”

“Not like that,” Gayle shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she stared, “Like, that object might be bigger than you think.”

Dean furrowed his brow, shrugging, “What’s that gotta do with your dad’s knick knacks? I mean, those things are older than Bobby himself.”

Gayle bit her lip, “I don’t know.”

Dean shrugged, taking a swig of his beer, “Well, Sam caught a case in Rockford. I’m still trying to track down my dad, why don’t you hit that up with him?”

“You two fighting again?” Gayle asked, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Dean rolled his eyes, shrugging.

“Just go work that case with him, will you?” Dean walked away.

Gayle set her beer down on Bobby’s desk, her eyes still trained on the box. Something about the box made her feel off. She didn’t know what it was or why, but it did. She sighed, shaking her head. She tightened her ponytail, grabbing her beer before heading out to the porch to meet up with Sam to hit up that Rockford case with him.

Still. The box sat still on the shelf. The dust that had collected on the top a reminder of the forgotten nature of the box itself as well as the contents. It wasn’t any form of complex box, but on the bottom, crudely carved, were three symbols. Kappa, Rho, and Gamma. The box sat there, and as the sun shone off it lightly, the box shook ever so slightly, threatening to fall off the edge of the shelf.