![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
NOTE: Okay, first? This thing would not come right for me. I apologise for that in advance. Secondly, mostly because they wouldn't cooperate, I'm afraid that Sam/Gabriel in the locked room will have to wait until they're in a better mood, and I can write an Interlude to slot in between the last chapter and this one. Again, I apologise. Thirdly ... this thing is LONG. It wouldn't go any other way. In the end, I figure it just better to post as-is, and try to do better next part. *sighs* Sorry, all.
Title: Temptation 2
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Follows straight from Falling Angel
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Gabriel, Castiel, Aziraphale, Crowley, Lucifer, Anansi. Sam/Gabriel. Dean/Castiel. Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: The Devil and an angel talk. Anansi knocks on the door.
Wordcount: 5096 (???)
Warnings/Spoilers: Verse as a whole only takes canon up to 5x16, from this point on. Warnings for language, and ... no. I won't warn for that. But I will apologise in advance.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.
Between them, at their feet, holy fire flickered fitfully, ruddy light licking up dark walls like water, lapping across the floor and pooling in the Devil's shadow. A sanctified echo of Hell. Lucifer smiled.
"Let me tell you a story," he went on, tilting his head with a small smile for his captive, ignoring the wary glare he got in return. "You'll appreciate it, I promise. It's one that's ... very close to your heart. Or would be, if you had known of it."
The angel he had captured glared at him. "Is this really the time for stories?" he asked, waspishly. Courageously. Finding strength in audacity, as he always had. Lucifer felt a hungry quiver inside him at the sight.
"This story?" he answered, indulgently. "Yes. Yes, I think there is time for this story. In fact ... I think this story may well be one of the most important for this day and age. For these ... troubled times. It contains an important moral, you might say. Some facts that certain people, yourself most of all, should really be aware of, if they intend to keep acting as they have."
The angel shifted nervously at that, frowning. "What do you mean?" he asked. Nervously. Worried. Afraid. Defiant.
Delicious.
Lucifer smiled, fatherly and malicious and concerned, sweet as rotting. "Listen," he said. "Listen, and you'll understand. Listen."
But the archangel wasn't listening to his complaints. The archangel was, in fact, crouched on the floor beside Sam, head tilted warily at the wall, as if seeing something Sam couldn't, looking out at whoever -whatever?- was doing their damnedest to pound the door in.
The expression on Gabriel's face wasn't at all happy, whatever it was he saw. Seeing that, Sam swallowed his mutterings, and started trying to tie his pants and find his shirt.
"But this angel was different from the others. This angel was something else. Not a terrified little yes-man, like so many. Not a stalwart questioner, a bright rebel, like those who had Fallen. This angel was something ... quieter. Something, in his way, far more dangerous. This angel was a thinker. And while his brothers muttered among themselves, whispered and questioned and reached desperately for answers they were never going to get, this angel did something different.
"This angel went, very quietly, to the place over-looking the source of all their troubles, the source of all their woe. He went to sit above the Garden of Eden, went to sit and watch the humans there, the originators of an angel's sin. He propped his chin in his hand, looked down on the reason his Father had betrayed them, and ... thought. Slowly. Carefully. Considering them. Evaluating them.
"Understanding them.
"While Heaven staggered back to its feet, while God watched uncaring, one angel went to Eden's Walls, and thought."
Looked like he wasn't the only one this intruder had deprived of a bit of angel nookie. Once one of them worked up to actually opening the door, whoever was out there was going to rue the fucking day. Seriously.
Aziraphale, coming in behind them, smiled faintly at the lot of them, edged around Castiel gingerly, squeezed past Sam and Dean, and came to a stop beside Gabriel in front of the door. The angel frowned as the knock continued, steady and harsh and almost frantic, and glanced sidelong at the archangel as he rested his hand on the lock. Not opening it. Not yet.
"Gabriel?" Aziraphale asked, cautiously. The archangel was staring a hole through the door, staring at whatever waited on the other side, separated from them by wards and bolts and wood. There was a frown on his face, a puzzled wrinkle, and he had unconsciously placed himself directly in line with the door, between it and them, so that if something came through, they'd have to go through him first.
Sam swallowed faintly.
"I know this presence," Gabriel murmured thoughtfully. "It's distorted by the wards, a bit, but it is familiar. But ... there's no reason, none whatsoever, for this person to be here. It took me forever to get in here, to even find it, and I was at most twenty minutes behind you after you ditched Zach at the warehouse. There is no way they should have been able to find you. Not here."
Aziraphale frowned himself. "Unless ... Who is it? If they know Crowley from a while back, it's possible that he ...?"
"Asked them to stop by at his hideout?" Gabriel drawled, mouth curling contemptuously. "Come on. We both know that demon is way, way too paranoid for that. Besides. Why would he have asked them to come now, when he's buggered off to who knows where ..." He stopped, face freezing for a minute, as if he was trying very, very hard not to show the thought that had popped into his head.
Sam, Dean and Cas froze too, the same thought perhaps inevitably slipping into mind, the same kind of thought they'd been living with for a long, long time.
Why would a demon tell a stranger where to find them, and then make himself scarce?
Slowly, very carefully, they moved closer together, Cas standing ready out to one side, slightly in front of Dean, Sam moving to guard Gabriel's back, his brother at his side. Most of their weapons were still in the car, parked all the way over in Crowley's garage, but they still had some on them. They always had some on them, now. They'd been caught literally napping too many times to do otherwise.
Aziraphale stared at them, brow wrinkled in confusion, something very sad filtering over his round features. "Don't," he said, very quietly. "Don't think that. You know it isn't true."
And Sam wanted to agree with him. He really did. But one word echoed in his head, and probably in Dean's, that made it all but impossible.
Ruby.
"Before long, even God Himself had noticed the angel's preoccupation. And one day, Father came to him Himself, to find its cause. He asked the angel why he watched them, and what it was that he saw. And the angel answered:
"'I wanted to know what made them different, Father. I wanted to understand why.'
"And God asked him, 'Have you found your answer?'
"And the angel said, 'Yes, I have. It is ... this thing you have called free will. You have given them the ability to choose, and have no other will over-write that choice. I understand. But ...'
"The angel stopped, confused, and suddenly nervous. So God prompted him to continue, to ask the final question. And the angel did not want to, because the angel had seen what happened to those who questioned, because the angel had watched the Fall and wept. But he was too curious even for his own good, and desire to know compelled his question.
"'Father ... what is it that they must choose between?'
"And in that moment a terrible expression crossed our Father's visage. Something that was not anger, nor hate, but something worse. A determination. A pity. And God, in that moment, even as the angel started in fear ... God struck that angel down. Even as He had stricken his brothers. Even as He had cast them down. For the crime of questioning, for the crime of understanding, that angel was cast after the Fallen into the Pit.
"And it was there, as Hell began to form itself, as fallen angels searched for this late-falling star ... it was there that the Devil found him. It was there that Lucifer, the brightest of all, the first questioner, found that angel, and took pity on him."
The voice echoed through the wood, through the silence as the knocking stopped at last, and then a sliding sound as whoever it was slumped against the other side of the door. They sounded tired, whoever they were. Tired and frightened and resigned.
They didn't sound like a threat. They didn't sound like someone a demon would send against them if he planned to betray them. They didn't, most importantly, sound like an archangel. Any archangel. Sam looked over at Dean, cautiously, and then to Gabriel, who was frowning again but not worried. Not anymore. The archangel wavered for a bit, thinking it over, then nodded at Aziraphale.
"Oh, fine then," he snapped, peevishly. "But if the little bastard tries to kill us I'm blaming you."
Dean snorted loudly. Gabriel glared at the both of them, and Cas and Sam too for good measure. Sam raised his eyebrows, and ruthlessly stifled his smirk. Gabriel, predictably, saw it anyway, his narrowed eyes promised retribution later. Once they got this little annoyance out of the way.
If they could get it out of the way.
"We gonna stand here all night, or are you actually gonna open the door at some point," Dean drawled, leaning back in amusement against the wall, the picture of relaxation. Except for the knife tucked against his arm, hidden from the door and ready. Aziraphale grimaced at him, but clicked the lock open and, carefully, swung the door open at last.
A small african man, gently aged and very, very handsome, looked up at them from his seat on the step, and grimaced expressively.
"It's well that you are not trusted to make any important rapid decisions," he reproached quietly. "If it takes you half an hour of standing in a hallway to decide if you should open a door or not."
"Well, you know how it is, Anansi," Gabriel drawled back, gesturing flamboyantly, but his smile was somewhat fixed. "All these people out to kill us or sell us down the river, makes us a little wary about inviting them in around, you know?"
The little man froze in his seat, an expression that looked a lot like guilt creeping over his striking features.
Sam, who'd managed to almost relax for a second when a monster and/or angel hadn't immediately leapt at them through the door, began to feel something heavy and hard weighing down his stomach.
"Spider?" Gabriel narrowed his eyes, stepping forward a little, menacingly, though not crossing the threshold. "Anansi? Anything you want to tell us?"
The little Trickster grimaced in shame, but didn't answer. "Not you," he said instead. "I need to speak with Crowley's angel, if it is possible? He told me some time ago that I could find him here, if ever there was need." He paused, tilting his head, looking them over. "I did not expect to find so many of you. But then, perhaps I should not be surprised ..."
Gabriel growled, snapping forward onto the porch to scoop the other man up by the collar, completely ignoring the fact that it put him right out in the open. Sam leapt after him instinctively, one hand snagging the archangel's arm, the other braced on the doorframe to pull them both back inside if need be. Gabriel flashed him an unreadable look, but otherwise ignored his touch.
"Nancy, I should warn you that I'm not running on a lot of patience right now. Any time you want to start filling me in would be good ..."
"Ah-ah! No." The Spider shook his head vehemently, but not in fear. In anger, maybe, or something like it. In shame, too. "I must speak with Crowley's angel. Only him. It's the bargain, Gabriel!"
If the archangel was shocked that the spirit knew his identity, he didn't show it, growling low in his throat and shaking him, but before he could resort to actual violence, Aziraphale stepped through the door after them, and reached out to rest his own hand over Sam's on Gabriel's arm. The three of them stared at him, one in confusion, one in concern, and one in annoyance.
Then they noticed that the hand laid over theirs ... was shaking.
"I am Crowley's angel," Aziraphale said quietly, gently. "Please. Tell me your message, wise one. Tell all of us. Please."
Anansi looked at him for a moment, looked around at all five of them, at Dean and Cas in the hall, Sam in the doorway, and Gabriel and Aziraphale bracketing him like penitents. Or jailers. He looked at them, and sagged in Gabriel's grasp.
"You must understand," he said, quietly, sadly. "The bright one threatened my children. He threatened my family."
Well shit. Like that was a conversational opener that ever went anyplace good ...
The angel stopped, though, when a dark, delighted smile crept over Lucifer's face, when he grinned almost helplessly at his captive. The angel stopped, and slowly but surely, suspicion crept forward in his eyes.
"None of the above," Lucifer murmured gently, smiling. "Yet."
The angel shifted uneasily in his prison, curling into himself defensively. "What do you mean?" he asked, suspiciously, watching the Devil as if he could fathom the lie just from his look. Maybe he could. This one had always been brighter than he let on, more interesting, more tempting. This one, if he ever cared to, might actually be capable of understanding Lucifer's goals, his feelings.
Which was sort of the purpose of this little endeavour, after all.
"I said I took pity on him," he went on, still holding that indulgent smile. "It's true. I showed him the only mercy I knew, then. I gave him the only gift I could, this angel who had fallen too late. This angel who was none of mine. I didn't blame him for that. I didn't hurt him, even though I could have. He wasn't my follower. He might even have stood against me in the War. I owed him nothing. But I took pity on him. I knew the betrayal he had suffered. I knew his pain."
The angel frowned at him some more, expression creeping back from confused suspicion to derision, incredulity. "That so?" he asked, flatly. Unconvinced. Lucifer smiled.
"It is," he said, very softly. "But he doesn't remember that, this angel. He doesn't remember, or he would know the truth of my words. Because that ... that was my gift to him. That was my mercy. To take his memory. To take it for my own, to take his pain, his knowledge of the betrayal he had suffered, and leave him free to serve me as if he always had. To let him have a commander who cared, where none had before. This angel who had been struck down, for only trying to understand our Father's will. Who had tried to serve, and been betrayed. I knew that pain. I understood it. I pitied him. I did. So I took his pain for myself, and let him be free of it."
The angel stared at him, comprehension rising, fear bubbling up through him. Fear. Pain. Horror. Each expression delicious, perfect. Beautiful. The angel looked at him, and understood. "You ... You took my memories," he whispered, low and shocked. "That's why ... that's why I can't ... Heaven, my name ... none of it."
"I took your pain," Lucifer whispered, gently. "I took it from you, and gave you a purpose. A job. A name. I gave you back everything that He took from you. I gave you your name. Gave it to you, and sent you above. I sent you to fulfil the purpose you were so obviously designed for. My Father, when He questioned you, when He understood your answer ... He knew what you would become. He always knew. That's why He struck you down. Not for questioning, not for rebelling. But for understanding. For realising what the humans were."
His voice rose, gained vehemence, as he stepped forward, as he reached the edge of the boundary of flame and trapped the imprisoned angel all over again, in his gaze, in his voice, in his zeal. "He struck you down," he whispered, sibilantly, powerfully. "He cut you off, cast you down, threw you into the Pit. Not for any crime. Not for any sin. But because you were more useful as a demon. He tortured you, betrayed you, threw you away, because He wanted to use you. Because He wanted you to show them, those creatures, those mudmen, their little choice. He wanted you to be what you've become. He sacrificed all that you were, all that you could have been, took away your every choice, just so He could give them one more gift. Just so He favour them that little bit more. He betrayed you. Don't you see that?"
The angel shook his head, bewildered, stricken. "I don't ... I don't ... Why? Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
Lucifer smiled at him sadly, twisting his face into soft pity, moulding it into what was needed. The human face was stiff, damaged, but beneath his will it did as he asked. "I didn't want to. When I sent you above, when I gave you your freedom from the knowledge of what had been done to you ... I expected you to do your job. To do what was right by us. To help me prove to our Father that the humans weren't worth all that He had destroyed for their sake. I expected you to help me. To make sure that they chose the right choice, of the two my Father gave them. I expected you to do what you were designed to do. I expected you to serve."
He paused, smiled into golden eyes that widened in comprehension, in sick understanding. He smiled at the once-angel, at the demon. Smiled at what had been, and always would be, his.
"Crawly. My serpent. My precious serpent. I gave you your name, and your job, and everything you are. And now, I want something back. I want you to put aside these foolish notions you have, that humans are worth something. Worth anything. I want you to stop fighting me. I want you to remember who betrayed you first, remember what was done to you, remember what I gave you to make up for it. I want you to remember what you are. I want you to do your job!"
He stopped, pulled himself back under control, put aside the roar in the face of his captive's terror, and put back on his smile.
"I want you to come back," he finished, simply. "I want you back, Crowley. I'm the only one who has ever done right by you. I want you back."
And one way or another, you will come.
"He gave me no choice," Anansi whispered, sadly. "Crowley's been on his shit-list ever since the first apocalypse, and since the incident with the Colt ... He found some of us. Some of Crowley's contacts. He's been rooting us out, trying to close a net on him. Waiting for Crowley to move again. To look for information. Anything. It was just unfortunate that ... Crowley came to me, a couple of hours ago. Looking for access to some of my boys' businesses. Came to me for help. And I ... I had no choice. The bright one threatened my son. He hurt my son."
Sam bit his lip, shaking his head. He backed up a step on autopilot, backed away from the little man and what he was saying. Backed away from what it meant. He bumped into Dean, felt his brother reach out to catch his arm and steady him, met the cold, pained expression in his eyes. Beside him, Cas' face had settled like stone, like granite.
"Where is he?" Castiel asked, harshly. "Where did you take him?"
Anansi looked at them, shaking his head, face crinkled in genuine pain. "I only told the other where to come, and wove ... wove a web to hold Crowley there until he came. Crowley ... he knew. He knew as soon as I moved what had happened. He knew ... he knew what the bright one would have to have done, to make me. He knew. He asked ... he asked me to come here. To tell his angel. He asked me to make sure I was not followed, that no-one else, bright one or otherwise, be able to find you through me. And he asked me to tell you. To tell you ..."
Someone made a small sound. A choked, whimpering gasp, a stricken sob.
As one, all of them turned to Aziraphale.
The angel was looking at Anansi. He was very pale, shaking softly. Gently. His eyes were dry, but suspiciously bright, and his expression for one endless second was nothing but pain, and a deep, etched grief. A quiet horror. Then, by some miracle, Aziraphale shoved it down, shoved it away, and reached out to gently detach Gabriel's hands from Anansi's collar, and free the little god.
"I ..." he started, and swallowed. "I'm sorry that you've been ... that you've been used so, Mr Anansi. I hope ... I hope your boys are alright, that you get them back. And ... thank you, very much, for bringing me his message. I know it was a risk. Thank you."
They stared at him. All of them. Sam could feel something climbing his throat, could distantly feel the burning behind his eyes. Aziraphale tried a wobbly smile, reaching out to catch Anansi's hand gently.
"Is he ..." he asked, voice breaking before he caught it. "Do you know ... Is he ...?"
Anansi shook his head, a depthless sorrow in his eyes, a grieving pity. "I don't think so," he said, with forced strength, but maybe ... maybe there was a glimmer of genuine conviction there too. "He's too damn useful to get rid of, that one. Too damn sly to let himself be gotten rid of. You trust me on that. The bright one ... he may be terrible, but he has needs, up here. Needs your demon can play on. None better. Trust me. He'll not fall until he's ready, that one."
Aziraphale gave him another wobbly smile, pulling himself together with a visible effort. "Yes," he murmured, absently. "I'm sure you're right. I'm sure ..."
"We have to find him!" Sam spoke up, flinching a little as everyone looked at him, but determined nonetheless. Crowley hadn't betrayed them. The demon, this demon, hadn't betrayed them. Instead, he'd been betrayed, and Sam ... couldn't let that lie. Couldn't let it go.
Couldn't bear the look in Aziraphale's face.
"I agree," Castiel said quietly. "I have been a prisoner of Lucifer myself, and he did not kill me. There is every chance that the Spider is right, and Crowley is still alive. If that is the case ... we must find him, and help him." Their angel stood stiff and firm, his eyes fixed firmly on Aziraphale's face, and Sam thought he might be attempting to look reassuring, in that very grim, Cas-like way of his.
"No arguments here," Dean growled. "Sonofabitch might be a slimy little bastard, but we're not leaving him to be Devil-chow. We're not leaving anyone to be Devil-chow!"
Aziraphale stared at them, blinked furiously, wringing his hands in confusion. "You don't ... you don't have to. We said ... Crowley and I, we said we'd look out for you. You don't have to risk yourselves ..."
"Shut up, Aziraphale." And that was Gabriel. The archangel, who'd been silent for a long time, staring at the hand Aziraphale had pried from the Spider's neck, looked up now, and his expression ... his expression was terrible. Cold. Implacable. Sam, who remembered that face from only an hour ago, who remembered it warm and laughing and sad and playful, who remembered it leaning close to lick at his lips and grin into his moan, almost shuddered. This was not the Trickster. This wasn't even Gabriel, not his Gabriel, not their Gabriel. This was someone ... older. Harder. This was someone who'd fought wars, once, someone who'd done terrible, terrible things in his Father's name, in His service. This was the archangel.
Aziraphale shut up.
"Too far," Gabriel whispered, almost below hearing. "Too far, brother. That one is mine. I don't care if you had him once. He's mine, I stole him, and you don't ever get him back. You don't get to take what's mine." His eyes flashed up, briefly, met Sam's, something rich and dark and fiercely possessive in them. Something powerful.
"I can find him," Gabriel said, cold as void. "Not Crowley. My brother. I can find him. I can always find him." He turned, looked at Castiel, shaking with power. "And you can find me. Lucifer can hide Crowley. He can't hide me. You can follow me, once I've found them. You can find me."
Castiel nodded slowly, grimly. "Yes," he said. Simply. Flatly. Implicit agreement, instant trust. Yes. That simple.
"And us," Dean said, stepping up beside his angel, one hand landing on Cas' shoulder. Immovable. Together. A unit, whole and complete, and then Dean reached out to rest his other hand on Sam. Team Free Will. And Sam, for his part, caught Gabriel's arm, ignoring the jolt of almost shock from the archangel, tugging him in, making him part of it, while Castiel reached out, far more gently, and brought Aziraphale forward. "We're not leaving anyone behind. Not this time."
Not this time.
Gabriel smiled at them, fierce and cruel and proud, just for a second. "Then be ready," he whispered. "Be ready." And then ... he vanished. In an instant, there and gone again, and all that showed his passing was the silent beat of massive, innumerable wings. The Messenger, the Trickster. Hunting.
Aziraphale stared after him, white and trembling, leaning into Castiel, and beneath the fear and grief in his eyes there was an echo of Gabriel's fury. Slow and deep, banked inside him. Sam remembered Zachariah, remembered the warehouse, remembered the calm, quiet planning this angel was capable of. He remembered the gleam in Castiel's eyes as he plotted with Crowley, remembered the almost-glee of it. He remembered that.
And he remembered the look on Dean's face when the Devil simply stood back up after being shot with the Colt. He remembered Carthage, and Jo and Ellen. He remembered demons slaughtered simply because it was convenient, and a town laid to waste simply because the Devil wanted it so. He remembered the quiet, reasonable sound of Lucifer's voice, and the implacable malice that lurked underneath it.
He remembered all that, and thought of Crowley. Thought of the demon prisoner to it.
He remembered that, and hoped they'd be in time. Hoped they'd be able to do something even if they were.
Pity.
"You great pillock," Crowley sighed, swinging his hands, crouching down inside his prison as if to lessen the target he presented, but there was no hesitation in him, and what fear was there was tamped down, held in check, and over it ... only pity. "You great bloody pillock. All this bloody time, and you never got it, did you? You never got it."
"What are you talking about?" he growled, dangerously, a whipcrack of power. Crowley flinched, but didn't stop.
"You think this is about betrayal?" he said, very quietly. "You think this is about who hurt me first, or most, or at all? You think this is about humanity?" He smiled lopsidedly, shook his head. "I don't care about that. I don't care. I don't give a flying fuck what Daddy did to me, way back when. I don't care who betrayed me. I'm a fucking demon! Hello? Betrayal's the name of the bloody game! I'm not picking sides based on shit like that."
Lucifer glared at him coldly. "Oh? And what are you picking sides for, then?"
Crowley stood, slowly, fluidly, the serpent never more clear in his features, the venom never more clear in his voice. "I'm choosing the side that lets me keep what matters to me," he hissed, slow and deadly. "I'm choosing the side that letsss me have my world, and my friendsss, and my angel. I'm choosssing the ssside that isn't trying to fucking kill what matters to me! And that side? Is not bloody yourssss!"
He smirked, terrified and fierce, shaking to his bones, pointing a trembling finger in Lucifer's face. "Sssso you ... You can go fuck yourself, if it's all the sssame to you."
The Devil stared. For a long, long time.
And then, he raised his hand.
Contd: Big Damn Heroes
Title: Temptation 2
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Follows straight from Falling Angel
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Gabriel, Castiel, Aziraphale, Crowley, Lucifer, Anansi. Sam/Gabriel. Dean/Castiel. Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: The Devil and an angel talk. Anansi knocks on the door.
Wordcount: 5096 (???)
Warnings/Spoilers: Verse as a whole only takes canon up to 5x16, from this point on. Warnings for language, and ... no. I won't warn for that. But I will apologise in advance.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.
Temptation 2
"Let me tell you a story," the Devil said.
Between them, at their feet, holy fire flickered fitfully, ruddy light licking up dark walls like water, lapping across the floor and pooling in the Devil's shadow. A sanctified echo of Hell. Lucifer smiled.
"Let me tell you a story," he went on, tilting his head with a small smile for his captive, ignoring the wary glare he got in return. "You'll appreciate it, I promise. It's one that's ... very close to your heart. Or would be, if you had known of it."
The angel he had captured glared at him. "Is this really the time for stories?" he asked, waspishly. Courageously. Finding strength in audacity, as he always had. Lucifer felt a hungry quiver inside him at the sight.
"This story?" he answered, indulgently. "Yes. Yes, I think there is time for this story. In fact ... I think this story may well be one of the most important for this day and age. For these ... troubled times. It contains an important moral, you might say. Some facts that certain people, yourself most of all, should really be aware of, if they intend to keep acting as they have."
The angel shifted nervously at that, frowning. "What do you mean?" he asked. Nervously. Worried. Afraid. Defiant.
Delicious.
Lucifer smiled, fatherly and malicious and concerned, sweet as rotting. "Listen," he said. "Listen, and you'll understand. Listen."
***
Sam groaned when the thundering on the door jerked Gabriel up and away from him, almost yelled when the archangel fell away and took his warm, slippery fingers and hungry mouth with him. He almost shouted, decidedly pissed off, because a little warning, here? That too much to ask? And he'd been enjoying that. He'd been really, really enjoying that. Gabriel, it turned out, had really talented hands.
But the archangel wasn't listening to his complaints. The archangel was, in fact, crouched on the floor beside Sam, head tilted warily at the wall, as if seeing something Sam couldn't, looking out at whoever -whatever?- was doing their damnedest to pound the door in.
The expression on Gabriel's face wasn't at all happy, whatever it was he saw. Seeing that, Sam swallowed his mutterings, and started trying to tie his pants and find his shirt.
***
"Once upon a time, there was an angel. An ordinary little angel, no-one very special or important. No-one powerful, or favoured, or bright. Just an angel, one of many, standing in the remnants of a once-beautiful Heaven. An angel who had watched the Fall of his Brothers, who had seen the War of Heaven, who had witnessed the betrayal of his kind. An angel who stood watching as his brothers strove to rebuild, to reaffirm, to understand. Just another survivor, one of many.
"But this angel was different from the others. This angel was something else. Not a terrified little yes-man, like so many. Not a stalwart questioner, a bright rebel, like those who had Fallen. This angel was something ... quieter. Something, in his way, far more dangerous. This angel was a thinker. And while his brothers muttered among themselves, whispered and questioned and reached desperately for answers they were never going to get, this angel did something different.
"This angel went, very quietly, to the place over-looking the source of all their troubles, the source of all their woe. He went to sit above the Garden of Eden, went to sit and watch the humans there, the originators of an angel's sin. He propped his chin in his hand, looked down on the reason his Father had betrayed them, and ... thought. Slowly. Carefully. Considering them. Evaluating them.
"Understanding them.
"While Heaven staggered back to its feet, while God watched uncaring, one angel went to Eden's Walls, and thought."
***
Dean and Cas made it to the hall before them. Which wouldn't have been exactly surprising, considering what Sam and Gabriel had been doing, except that Castiel was looking more than a little rumpled himself, and when Sam caught Dean's eye his brother shot him an exact replica of Sam's own grimace.
Looked like he wasn't the only one this intruder had deprived of a bit of angel nookie. Once one of them worked up to actually opening the door, whoever was out there was going to rue the fucking day. Seriously.
Aziraphale, coming in behind them, smiled faintly at the lot of them, edged around Castiel gingerly, squeezed past Sam and Dean, and came to a stop beside Gabriel in front of the door. The angel frowned as the knock continued, steady and harsh and almost frantic, and glanced sidelong at the archangel as he rested his hand on the lock. Not opening it. Not yet.
"Gabriel?" Aziraphale asked, cautiously. The archangel was staring a hole through the door, staring at whatever waited on the other side, separated from them by wards and bolts and wood. There was a frown on his face, a puzzled wrinkle, and he had unconsciously placed himself directly in line with the door, between it and them, so that if something came through, they'd have to go through him first.
Sam swallowed faintly.
"I know this presence," Gabriel murmured thoughtfully. "It's distorted by the wards, a bit, but it is familiar. But ... there's no reason, none whatsoever, for this person to be here. It took me forever to get in here, to even find it, and I was at most twenty minutes behind you after you ditched Zach at the warehouse. There is no way they should have been able to find you. Not here."
Aziraphale frowned himself. "Unless ... Who is it? If they know Crowley from a while back, it's possible that he ...?"
"Asked them to stop by at his hideout?" Gabriel drawled, mouth curling contemptuously. "Come on. We both know that demon is way, way too paranoid for that. Besides. Why would he have asked them to come now, when he's buggered off to who knows where ..." He stopped, face freezing for a minute, as if he was trying very, very hard not to show the thought that had popped into his head.
Sam, Dean and Cas froze too, the same thought perhaps inevitably slipping into mind, the same kind of thought they'd been living with for a long, long time.
Why would a demon tell a stranger where to find them, and then make himself scarce?
Slowly, very carefully, they moved closer together, Cas standing ready out to one side, slightly in front of Dean, Sam moving to guard Gabriel's back, his brother at his side. Most of their weapons were still in the car, parked all the way over in Crowley's garage, but they still had some on them. They always had some on them, now. They'd been caught literally napping too many times to do otherwise.
Aziraphale stared at them, brow wrinkled in confusion, something very sad filtering over his round features. "Don't," he said, very quietly. "Don't think that. You know it isn't true."
And Sam wanted to agree with him. He really did. But one word echoed in his head, and probably in Dean's, that made it all but impossible.
Ruby.
***
"Soon, the other angels noticed that this angel had not moved, that this angel was not helping with the rebuilding efforts. Many came to confront him, to challenge him, but the angel did not move. He ignored his brothers, and kept watching the humans, kept watching this Adam and this Eve. Trying to find the reason for Father's favouritism, trying to understand why these pitiful creatures could be worth the War, and the banishment of his brothers.
"Before long, even God Himself had noticed the angel's preoccupation. And one day, Father came to him Himself, to find its cause. He asked the angel why he watched them, and what it was that he saw. And the angel answered:
"'I wanted to know what made them different, Father. I wanted to understand why.'
"And God asked him, 'Have you found your answer?'
"And the angel said, 'Yes, I have. It is ... this thing you have called free will. You have given them the ability to choose, and have no other will over-write that choice. I understand. But ...'
"The angel stopped, confused, and suddenly nervous. So God prompted him to continue, to ask the final question. And the angel did not want to, because the angel had seen what happened to those who questioned, because the angel had watched the Fall and wept. But he was too curious even for his own good, and desire to know compelled his question.
"'Father ... what is it that they must choose between?'
"And in that moment a terrible expression crossed our Father's visage. Something that was not anger, nor hate, but something worse. A determination. A pity. And God, in that moment, even as the angel started in fear ... God struck that angel down. Even as He had stricken his brothers. Even as He had cast them down. For the crime of questioning, for the crime of understanding, that angel was cast after the Fallen into the Pit.
"And it was there, as Hell began to form itself, as fallen angels searched for this late-falling star ... it was there that the Devil found him. It was there that Lucifer, the brightest of all, the first questioner, found that angel, and took pity on him."
***
"Look, I can feel you in there, all five of you, so will you please just open the door?"
The voice echoed through the wood, through the silence as the knocking stopped at last, and then a sliding sound as whoever it was slumped against the other side of the door. They sounded tired, whoever they were. Tired and frightened and resigned.
They didn't sound like a threat. They didn't sound like someone a demon would send against them if he planned to betray them. They didn't, most importantly, sound like an archangel. Any archangel. Sam looked over at Dean, cautiously, and then to Gabriel, who was frowning again but not worried. Not anymore. The archangel wavered for a bit, thinking it over, then nodded at Aziraphale.
"Oh, fine then," he snapped, peevishly. "But if the little bastard tries to kill us I'm blaming you."
Dean snorted loudly. Gabriel glared at the both of them, and Cas and Sam too for good measure. Sam raised his eyebrows, and ruthlessly stifled his smirk. Gabriel, predictably, saw it anyway, his narrowed eyes promised retribution later. Once they got this little annoyance out of the way.
If they could get it out of the way.
"We gonna stand here all night, or are you actually gonna open the door at some point," Dean drawled, leaning back in amusement against the wall, the picture of relaxation. Except for the knife tucked against his arm, hidden from the door and ready. Aziraphale grimaced at him, but clicked the lock open and, carefully, swung the door open at last.
A small african man, gently aged and very, very handsome, looked up at them from his seat on the step, and grimaced expressively.
"It's well that you are not trusted to make any important rapid decisions," he reproached quietly. "If it takes you half an hour of standing in a hallway to decide if you should open a door or not."
"Well, you know how it is, Anansi," Gabriel drawled back, gesturing flamboyantly, but his smile was somewhat fixed. "All these people out to kill us or sell us down the river, makes us a little wary about inviting them in around, you know?"
The little man froze in his seat, an expression that looked a lot like guilt creeping over his striking features.
Sam, who'd managed to almost relax for a second when a monster and/or angel hadn't immediately leapt at them through the door, began to feel something heavy and hard weighing down his stomach.
"Spider?" Gabriel narrowed his eyes, stepping forward a little, menacingly, though not crossing the threshold. "Anansi? Anything you want to tell us?"
The little Trickster grimaced in shame, but didn't answer. "Not you," he said instead. "I need to speak with Crowley's angel, if it is possible? He told me some time ago that I could find him here, if ever there was need." He paused, tilting his head, looking them over. "I did not expect to find so many of you. But then, perhaps I should not be surprised ..."
Gabriel growled, snapping forward onto the porch to scoop the other man up by the collar, completely ignoring the fact that it put him right out in the open. Sam leapt after him instinctively, one hand snagging the archangel's arm, the other braced on the doorframe to pull them both back inside if need be. Gabriel flashed him an unreadable look, but otherwise ignored his touch.
"Nancy, I should warn you that I'm not running on a lot of patience right now. Any time you want to start filling me in would be good ..."
"Ah-ah! No." The Spider shook his head vehemently, but not in fear. In anger, maybe, or something like it. In shame, too. "I must speak with Crowley's angel. Only him. It's the bargain, Gabriel!"
If the archangel was shocked that the spirit knew his identity, he didn't show it, growling low in his throat and shaking him, but before he could resort to actual violence, Aziraphale stepped through the door after them, and reached out to rest his own hand over Sam's on Gabriel's arm. The three of them stared at him, one in confusion, one in concern, and one in annoyance.
Then they noticed that the hand laid over theirs ... was shaking.
"I am Crowley's angel," Aziraphale said quietly, gently. "Please. Tell me your message, wise one. Tell all of us. Please."
Anansi looked at him for a moment, looked around at all five of them, at Dean and Cas in the hall, Sam in the doorway, and Gabriel and Aziraphale bracketing him like penitents. Or jailers. He looked at them, and sagged in Gabriel's grasp.
"You must understand," he said, quietly, sadly. "The bright one threatened my children. He threatened my family."
Well shit. Like that was a conversational opener that ever went anyplace good ...
***
The angel smirked in scorn, raising one eyebrow. "Pity?" he asked, derisively. "When have you ever shown pity to anyone? Where's the poor bugger now, eh? Rotting somewhere? A gibbering wreck? Or just dead?"The angel stopped, though, when a dark, delighted smile crept over Lucifer's face, when he grinned almost helplessly at his captive. The angel stopped, and slowly but surely, suspicion crept forward in his eyes.
"None of the above," Lucifer murmured gently, smiling. "Yet."
The angel shifted uneasily in his prison, curling into himself defensively. "What do you mean?" he asked, suspiciously, watching the Devil as if he could fathom the lie just from his look. Maybe he could. This one had always been brighter than he let on, more interesting, more tempting. This one, if he ever cared to, might actually be capable of understanding Lucifer's goals, his feelings.
Which was sort of the purpose of this little endeavour, after all.
"I said I took pity on him," he went on, still holding that indulgent smile. "It's true. I showed him the only mercy I knew, then. I gave him the only gift I could, this angel who had fallen too late. This angel who was none of mine. I didn't blame him for that. I didn't hurt him, even though I could have. He wasn't my follower. He might even have stood against me in the War. I owed him nothing. But I took pity on him. I knew the betrayal he had suffered. I knew his pain."
The angel frowned at him some more, expression creeping back from confused suspicion to derision, incredulity. "That so?" he asked, flatly. Unconvinced. Lucifer smiled.
"It is," he said, very softly. "But he doesn't remember that, this angel. He doesn't remember, or he would know the truth of my words. Because that ... that was my gift to him. That was my mercy. To take his memory. To take it for my own, to take his pain, his knowledge of the betrayal he had suffered, and leave him free to serve me as if he always had. To let him have a commander who cared, where none had before. This angel who had been struck down, for only trying to understand our Father's will. Who had tried to serve, and been betrayed. I knew that pain. I understood it. I pitied him. I did. So I took his pain for myself, and let him be free of it."
The angel stared at him, comprehension rising, fear bubbling up through him. Fear. Pain. Horror. Each expression delicious, perfect. Beautiful. The angel looked at him, and understood. "You ... You took my memories," he whispered, low and shocked. "That's why ... that's why I can't ... Heaven, my name ... none of it."
"I took your pain," Lucifer whispered, gently. "I took it from you, and gave you a purpose. A job. A name. I gave you back everything that He took from you. I gave you your name. Gave it to you, and sent you above. I sent you to fulfil the purpose you were so obviously designed for. My Father, when He questioned you, when He understood your answer ... He knew what you would become. He always knew. That's why He struck you down. Not for questioning, not for rebelling. But for understanding. For realising what the humans were."
His voice rose, gained vehemence, as he stepped forward, as he reached the edge of the boundary of flame and trapped the imprisoned angel all over again, in his gaze, in his voice, in his zeal. "He struck you down," he whispered, sibilantly, powerfully. "He cut you off, cast you down, threw you into the Pit. Not for any crime. Not for any sin. But because you were more useful as a demon. He tortured you, betrayed you, threw you away, because He wanted to use you. Because He wanted you to show them, those creatures, those mudmen, their little choice. He wanted you to be what you've become. He sacrificed all that you were, all that you could have been, took away your every choice, just so He could give them one more gift. Just so He favour them that little bit more. He betrayed you. Don't you see that?"
The angel shook his head, bewildered, stricken. "I don't ... I don't ... Why? Why are you telling me this? Why now?"
Lucifer smiled at him sadly, twisting his face into soft pity, moulding it into what was needed. The human face was stiff, damaged, but beneath his will it did as he asked. "I didn't want to. When I sent you above, when I gave you your freedom from the knowledge of what had been done to you ... I expected you to do your job. To do what was right by us. To help me prove to our Father that the humans weren't worth all that He had destroyed for their sake. I expected you to help me. To make sure that they chose the right choice, of the two my Father gave them. I expected you to do what you were designed to do. I expected you to serve."
He paused, smiled into golden eyes that widened in comprehension, in sick understanding. He smiled at the once-angel, at the demon. Smiled at what had been, and always would be, his.
"Crawly. My serpent. My precious serpent. I gave you your name, and your job, and everything you are. And now, I want something back. I want you to put aside these foolish notions you have, that humans are worth something. Worth anything. I want you to stop fighting me. I want you to remember who betrayed you first, remember what was done to you, remember what I gave you to make up for it. I want you to remember what you are. I want you to do your job!"
He stopped, pulled himself back under control, put aside the roar in the face of his captive's terror, and put back on his smile.
"I want you to come back," he finished, simply. "I want you back, Crowley. I'm the only one who has ever done right by you. I want you back."
And one way or another, you will come.
***
"What happened, Nancy?" Gabriel growled, expression twisting, turning pale. But he knew. They all knew. Before the little Trickster ever said a word. They knew.
"He gave me no choice," Anansi whispered, sadly. "Crowley's been on his shit-list ever since the first apocalypse, and since the incident with the Colt ... He found some of us. Some of Crowley's contacts. He's been rooting us out, trying to close a net on him. Waiting for Crowley to move again. To look for information. Anything. It was just unfortunate that ... Crowley came to me, a couple of hours ago. Looking for access to some of my boys' businesses. Came to me for help. And I ... I had no choice. The bright one threatened my son. He hurt my son."
Sam bit his lip, shaking his head. He backed up a step on autopilot, backed away from the little man and what he was saying. Backed away from what it meant. He bumped into Dean, felt his brother reach out to catch his arm and steady him, met the cold, pained expression in his eyes. Beside him, Cas' face had settled like stone, like granite.
"Where is he?" Castiel asked, harshly. "Where did you take him?"
Anansi looked at them, shaking his head, face crinkled in genuine pain. "I only told the other where to come, and wove ... wove a web to hold Crowley there until he came. Crowley ... he knew. He knew as soon as I moved what had happened. He knew ... he knew what the bright one would have to have done, to make me. He knew. He asked ... he asked me to come here. To tell his angel. He asked me to make sure I was not followed, that no-one else, bright one or otherwise, be able to find you through me. And he asked me to tell you. To tell you ..."
Someone made a small sound. A choked, whimpering gasp, a stricken sob.
As one, all of them turned to Aziraphale.
The angel was looking at Anansi. He was very pale, shaking softly. Gently. His eyes were dry, but suspiciously bright, and his expression for one endless second was nothing but pain, and a deep, etched grief. A quiet horror. Then, by some miracle, Aziraphale shoved it down, shoved it away, and reached out to gently detach Gabriel's hands from Anansi's collar, and free the little god.
"I ..." he started, and swallowed. "I'm sorry that you've been ... that you've been used so, Mr Anansi. I hope ... I hope your boys are alright, that you get them back. And ... thank you, very much, for bringing me his message. I know it was a risk. Thank you."
They stared at him. All of them. Sam could feel something climbing his throat, could distantly feel the burning behind his eyes. Aziraphale tried a wobbly smile, reaching out to catch Anansi's hand gently.
"Is he ..." he asked, voice breaking before he caught it. "Do you know ... Is he ...?"
Anansi shook his head, a depthless sorrow in his eyes, a grieving pity. "I don't think so," he said, with forced strength, but maybe ... maybe there was a glimmer of genuine conviction there too. "He's too damn useful to get rid of, that one. Too damn sly to let himself be gotten rid of. You trust me on that. The bright one ... he may be terrible, but he has needs, up here. Needs your demon can play on. None better. Trust me. He'll not fall until he's ready, that one."
Aziraphale gave him another wobbly smile, pulling himself together with a visible effort. "Yes," he murmured, absently. "I'm sure you're right. I'm sure ..."
"We have to find him!" Sam spoke up, flinching a little as everyone looked at him, but determined nonetheless. Crowley hadn't betrayed them. The demon, this demon, hadn't betrayed them. Instead, he'd been betrayed, and Sam ... couldn't let that lie. Couldn't let it go.
Couldn't bear the look in Aziraphale's face.
"I agree," Castiel said quietly. "I have been a prisoner of Lucifer myself, and he did not kill me. There is every chance that the Spider is right, and Crowley is still alive. If that is the case ... we must find him, and help him." Their angel stood stiff and firm, his eyes fixed firmly on Aziraphale's face, and Sam thought he might be attempting to look reassuring, in that very grim, Cas-like way of his.
"No arguments here," Dean growled. "Sonofabitch might be a slimy little bastard, but we're not leaving him to be Devil-chow. We're not leaving anyone to be Devil-chow!"
Aziraphale stared at them, blinked furiously, wringing his hands in confusion. "You don't ... you don't have to. We said ... Crowley and I, we said we'd look out for you. You don't have to risk yourselves ..."
"Shut up, Aziraphale." And that was Gabriel. The archangel, who'd been silent for a long time, staring at the hand Aziraphale had pried from the Spider's neck, looked up now, and his expression ... his expression was terrible. Cold. Implacable. Sam, who remembered that face from only an hour ago, who remembered it warm and laughing and sad and playful, who remembered it leaning close to lick at his lips and grin into his moan, almost shuddered. This was not the Trickster. This wasn't even Gabriel, not his Gabriel, not their Gabriel. This was someone ... older. Harder. This was someone who'd fought wars, once, someone who'd done terrible, terrible things in his Father's name, in His service. This was the archangel.
Aziraphale shut up.
"Too far," Gabriel whispered, almost below hearing. "Too far, brother. That one is mine. I don't care if you had him once. He's mine, I stole him, and you don't ever get him back. You don't get to take what's mine." His eyes flashed up, briefly, met Sam's, something rich and dark and fiercely possessive in them. Something powerful.
"I can find him," Gabriel said, cold as void. "Not Crowley. My brother. I can find him. I can always find him." He turned, looked at Castiel, shaking with power. "And you can find me. Lucifer can hide Crowley. He can't hide me. You can follow me, once I've found them. You can find me."
Castiel nodded slowly, grimly. "Yes," he said. Simply. Flatly. Implicit agreement, instant trust. Yes. That simple.
"And us," Dean said, stepping up beside his angel, one hand landing on Cas' shoulder. Immovable. Together. A unit, whole and complete, and then Dean reached out to rest his other hand on Sam. Team Free Will. And Sam, for his part, caught Gabriel's arm, ignoring the jolt of almost shock from the archangel, tugging him in, making him part of it, while Castiel reached out, far more gently, and brought Aziraphale forward. "We're not leaving anyone behind. Not this time."
Not this time.
Gabriel smiled at them, fierce and cruel and proud, just for a second. "Then be ready," he whispered. "Be ready." And then ... he vanished. In an instant, there and gone again, and all that showed his passing was the silent beat of massive, innumerable wings. The Messenger, the Trickster. Hunting.
Aziraphale stared after him, white and trembling, leaning into Castiel, and beneath the fear and grief in his eyes there was an echo of Gabriel's fury. Slow and deep, banked inside him. Sam remembered Zachariah, remembered the warehouse, remembered the calm, quiet planning this angel was capable of. He remembered the gleam in Castiel's eyes as he plotted with Crowley, remembered the almost-glee of it. He remembered that.
And he remembered the look on Dean's face when the Devil simply stood back up after being shot with the Colt. He remembered Carthage, and Jo and Ellen. He remembered demons slaughtered simply because it was convenient, and a town laid to waste simply because the Devil wanted it so. He remembered the quiet, reasonable sound of Lucifer's voice, and the implacable malice that lurked underneath it.
He remembered all that, and thought of Crowley. Thought of the demon prisoner to it.
He remembered that, and hoped they'd be in time. Hoped they'd be able to do something even if they were.
***
Crowley looked at him for a long moment, a pantomime of expression pouring across his face, a strange delight for Lucifer to taste. To admire. Crowley looked at him, fear and confusion first, melting to pain, to calculation, to fear again, to incredulity, to disgust, to pain again, and then ... then to something else. Something different. Something Lucifer had never, ever wanted to see, not on any face, not ever again. Something he had seen only once before, on his Father's face, just before the Fall. Something loathsome.
Pity.
"You great pillock," Crowley sighed, swinging his hands, crouching down inside his prison as if to lessen the target he presented, but there was no hesitation in him, and what fear was there was tamped down, held in check, and over it ... only pity. "You great bloody pillock. All this bloody time, and you never got it, did you? You never got it."
"What are you talking about?" he growled, dangerously, a whipcrack of power. Crowley flinched, but didn't stop.
"You think this is about betrayal?" he said, very quietly. "You think this is about who hurt me first, or most, or at all? You think this is about humanity?" He smiled lopsidedly, shook his head. "I don't care about that. I don't care. I don't give a flying fuck what Daddy did to me, way back when. I don't care who betrayed me. I'm a fucking demon! Hello? Betrayal's the name of the bloody game! I'm not picking sides based on shit like that."
Lucifer glared at him coldly. "Oh? And what are you picking sides for, then?"
Crowley stood, slowly, fluidly, the serpent never more clear in his features, the venom never more clear in his voice. "I'm choosing the side that lets me keep what matters to me," he hissed, slow and deadly. "I'm choosing the side that letsss me have my world, and my friendsss, and my angel. I'm choosssing the ssside that isn't trying to fucking kill what matters to me! And that side? Is not bloody yourssss!"
He smirked, terrified and fierce, shaking to his bones, pointing a trembling finger in Lucifer's face. "Sssso you ... You can go fuck yourself, if it's all the sssame to you."
The Devil stared. For a long, long time.
And then, he raised his hand.
Contd: Big Damn Heroes
