Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I will admit, I did check out the ass of the guy picking the lock of my apartment. In my defense, he did have the outline of a gun pressing through his jacket.

"Can I help you with something?" Impressively, he didn’t startle or drop his lockpicks. Just kinda tensed up and hung his head.

"Dammit Sam," he had a really deep, growling sort of voice, like he drank quite a bit. Well, really not ‘like’ anything. The man had the classic abused voicebox. Drank, a lot, smoked at one point, for at least two years. Considering he hadn’t reached for his gun and wasn’t making any quick or sudden movements, this guy was very used to doing this.

Whatever this, was.

The man looked up, and holy shit. Even from fifteen feel I could see how startlingly green his eyes were. I was hung up on his eyes, to be sure, but my brain, being the obnoxious thing that it is, wouldn’t stop cataloging.

Worn jacket and workman’s shirt, in the style of the last five years, torn and faded jeans, same time frame, scuffed boots with creasing but no distinctive mud.

The groceries were heavy, so I started for the door. He extricated the lockpicks and took a step back.

"Look, um, I’m not here, to rob you, okay? I just need to see something." That was a weird thing to say.

"Like what? And before you say you’re with the police and feed me some shit about a drug operation across the street, I know you aren’t with any sort of law enforcement. I know cops, and detectives, and FBI, and CIA and probation workers, and you don’t look like any of them." The man looked a little affronted. Probably not used to people calling him on his game. But the bags were heavy and he didn’t look the bad sort…. I sighed.

"I’ll forgive the lockpicking and the gun and the fact that you’ve probably been staking out my apartment building if you just get out of my way and let me put these down. Then I’ll listen to whatever crap you want to spout at me before kicking you out of my apartment. Sound good?" he was taken aback, but smoothed his face out and nodded. His recovery time was impressive. He was going to try and win me over. I wished him good luck and godspeed.

"I’m Dean. Um, if you wanted to know," he said quietly as he stepped from the door.

"Esther. Esther Hobbes. But you probably already knew that." ‘Dean’ has the good grace to look abashed at that.

"Winchester." He said next. I snorted.

"Like the rifle?" I saw out of the corner of my eye that a smirk plays at the edge of his mouth as I jam the key into the lock.

"Yeah. Like the rifle. D’you, want some help?" I rolled my eyes, and put my shoulder to the door, shoving just so to make the damn thing pop open.

"Nope. I’m good. But," I continued, flicking the lights on with an elbow and turning right into the kitchen.

"You can put these away for me." Winchester looked flabbergasted at that, and, oddly enough, excited.

"You don’t have some, fancy filing system or any shit like that?" I paused on my way to the bathroom.

"Well, you know, it’s not a good idea to drink unrefrigerated milk, so…"

"Okay, yeah. I get the picture," he waved a hand, reaching for the first bag.

"You can put your gun on the table, so it’s not in your way." I still stood in the doorway, and suddenly it was very quiet. Staring into the dark hallway, I wondered what this guy would do next. Pull the gun on me? Leave? Well that really wouldn’t bother me; the guy had been trying to break into my apartment. Except, I wouldn’t get to know why…..

There was an embarrassed throat clearing and a soft click-click of something being set down. I let go of the breath I was holding silently, and walked to the bathroom. I had to think for a minute and try to get rid of the headache I felt coming on.

As I gulped down a couple ibuprofen, I recalled the details from Dean Winchester and his clothes.

Worn clothing, style somewhat recent, clean shaven, chronic drinker, gun, lockpicks, not easily startled, someone around named ‘Sam’, and if I took him at his word, not a thief.

I pushed a breath out, then went back into the kitchen. Winchester was putting my Cocoa Puffs in the cupboard.

"You wash all your clothes at laundromats, and you do a lot of running. Not concentrated running, otherwise those shoes wouldn’t have creases. You have to run for your job. You weren’t startled when I walked up, so whatever you do, it either requires nerves of steel or you get caught often," Winchester made a slight, insulted noise under his breath, but I plowed on. Get him good and rattled, as my brother says, so he’ll be dying to tell everything when you’re done.

"The gun looks well-used, but it’s meticulously clean and cared for. You didn’t reach for it when I walked up, ergo it’s not your first line of defense. So either you’re a lousy squatter, or a bounty hunter. That is, if you’re telling the truth about why you were trying to break into my apartment. If your name is even ‘Dean Winchester’."

His fingers twitched and I knew he was gonna pick the gun up. Something in me shriveled and twitched with fear.

"Please. Please don’t. Please. I’m not gonna call the cops, I just-don’t-please-" my stupid tongue started stammering, and my heart was jack-hammering. Winchester put his hands up in a sign of surrender.

"No, look, um, sorry I wasn’t going to-" he sighed and backed away from the table and the gun.

"You’re right, I don’t scare easily. Really, I don’t get scared at all, anymore," his mouth twitched a bit at that, in an ugly way.

"You did a good job rattling the bars, though. Jesus. You sound like Hendrickson. Only you’re-" he cut himself off, only to restart the sentence.

"How the hell you know all that?" My heart was still going a mile a minute, but I tapped a shaky finger against my temple.

"I saw. Your clothes are all worn and faded, but they’re recent style, so whatever you wash them in isn’t very good to them. Ergo, laundromat. Ergo, you either have a shitty ass apartment with a cheap-skate super, or you travel a lot. And no one in their right mind would do that much running in those shoes unless they had to. You didn’t reach for the gun because you weren’t worried about dealing with me, or me witnessing your crime, so you know how to take care of yourself and you really weren’t intending to steal anything," I added reluctantly.

Dean laughed dryly and shook his head.

"What the hell." he threw out as he leaned against my kitchen counter. I nodded agreeably in his assessment.

"So what do you want?" I pressed. Dean looked me dead in the eye.

"A way to close Hell."

Chapter Text

I blink at the man who calls himself 'Dean' for several seconds.

"Sorry, run that by me one more time?" I manage to sputter. Dean sighs and shakes his head.

"Look, it's a long story. And it involves angels and demons, and fuck ton of other really crappy things, so. I guess what I should really say is, I need to look at the scroll you took from the museum," he says it so casually I almost miss it.

"Excuse you! I didn't steal it! I'm borrowing it!" I exclaim. Dean snorts.

"Look sweetheart, I am a professional 'borrower'. No judgments. I don't care if you have it put in your coffin with you, I just need to look at it now." I don't let my eyes flick to the gun still resting on the table. Dean still seems at ease. Maybe he'll stay that way if I let him look at it.

"Fine. But just a heads up, I already tried to translate it, and it doesn't match anything I've ever seen." I hold up my hands in surrender.

"That's alright. I know a guy. And a girl. They'll be able to figure it out." Dean says, trying to mask his eagerness. But I can hear it.

I sigh again, give a silent prayer for the the poor people who get a visit from this 'Dean', and turn to go to my room. When I hear him follow me I whip around.

"Just stay here, okay! Jeez. I'm not going to mess around with it." I snap. He holds up his hands in surrender and goes back to leaning against the counter.

I walk quickly into my bedroom to hide the fact that I'm trembling all over. I take a deep breath, and pull the scroll out from under my bed.

"Here. You can take pictures, but without a flash. I'm not letting you take it." I say, noticing the gun has disappeared back under Mr. 'Winchester's' coat. He nods once.

"No problemo. Will you uh, help me roll it out?" he asks. I nod in return. We wrestle with the thick vellum; the thing looks like it survived a nuclear blast. I comment as much. Dean laughs, ruefully.

"It prob'ly did," he says, with an odd assurance. He pulls out an off-brand smart phone, photographs each section. The scroll is 10th century B.C.E, according to the experts at the university. It has some kind of looping, dotted language written on it that no one's been able to decipher. It's not in any ancient language dictionary, on the Rosetta stone, nothing. The is cow's blood mixed with liquid iron. It was obviously designed to last a long time.

"Great. That's all I need. So uh, guess you'll never see me again," he says, smiling a lopsided smile. I don't look at him as I roll the scroll up in silence.

"Right. I'll just. Let myself out then!" I still don't look at him.

Several clomping footsteps later, and the door slams shut. I take a deep breath; just me and my apartment.

Just how I like it.

Chapter Text

My apartment is nice; that happens when you receive the payout from a life insurance policy your grandfather had for twenty years. Grandpa Régis was an antiques dealer. Who actually made money.

Except the door, but I suppose that gives the place charm.

That was what was bothering me, a week after Mr. 'Winchester' attempted to break into my nice apartment. Not a single resident reported seeing anyone shady, no alarms were tripped, and presumably the rent-a-cops who watch the security cameras from a remote office didn't see anything worth noticing. So...how had Winchester dodged all that?

"Heeeey, Celina. How's it goin'?" I said, artfully draping myself against my coworker's cubicle wall (Celina and I go way back. We'd won the office treasure hunt four years ago).

"Mmm, probably better now that you're here," she shot me a flirty smile. Bingo.

"So, I saw this weird guy lurking around my apartment complex the other day, and um, it's....like. I just wanna like. Know. You know?" I stuttered, fighting that little spark of panic that lit up behind my sternum. Celina eyed me.

"So, you want me to use my government sanctioned powers of computer manipulation to hack into your apartment's security system and then run a background check on the shady person you saw." she said slowly.

"Uh, yeah." I couldn't help letting my eyes dart away from her face and around the office. It's your standard office building, nothing special, even if Celina works for the busy Illinois FBI office and I work for the National Archive of Criminal Justice Data. My office is in the basement, unsurprisingly.

"Okay. 'S not like the NSA isn't a thing, right? Come back after lunch and I'll tell you what I find." Celina said. I let out a breath.

"Great, you are the best!"

"I know. Now go cloister yourself in the dungeon," She commanded with mock-seriouness. I saluted, and headed for the elevators.

Chapter Text

I worked at the National Crime Archives, when Dean Winchester came calling. I practically lived in the basement of that office building, sorting and filing old cases, studies, statistics reports, everything. Actually, it was a satellite office, but I like to think I ran it with a certain grace and worldliness that was lacking in other archival circles. Anyway. In the upstairs office was the FBI satellite office. That being said, I had a friend who did a little digging in my apartment building's security footage (it's a nice apartment. my grandfather died on an archeological dig and willed me his life insurance).

I mean, that's completely legal when a matter of security is being called into question. Turns out, there's absolutely no record on the tapes of Winchester walking the hallways. Me, either, in that half hour span of time.

Ergo, someone with enough skill must have edited over the tapes to make it look like an empty hallway.

Sitting alone in my basement work room, I had an epic struggle; did I want Winchester to come back and tell me what he intended to do with the manuscript translation? Not the whole hell thing, of course. The real reason. Or was it better to just, keep going as I was, no more loss and uncertainty.

In the end I couldn't decide, of course. Whether or not Winchester was coming back was entirely up to him (I knew, deep down of course this was a lie, because I could have found him. But would timid old me ever have done this? Doubtful).

So when the asshole showed up again a week after he tried to break into my apartment, I immediately started panicking.

"What the actual fuck are you doing here? That's a question in all seriousness. Because you have ten seconds to get out of here before I call the cops!" I stopped dead, twenty feet from where Winchester leaned against a monstrosity of a car, right in front of my apartment building. I still laugh at his fucking nerve.

"We can't figure the damn thing out! We were hoping to....compare notes," a hulking man popped out of the car before Winchester could open his mouth. When Winchester did open his mouth, a dry laugh came out.

"What an opener, Sam."

Winchester got a stony look in return. I looked the giant of a man up and down, trying to assess him.

"Who're you, the archaic librarian who looks like the Terminator Winchester's got stashed away in that car?"

'Sam' stuttered angrily while Winchester laughed some more, although markedly with less cynicism.

"Hey, that's definitely you Sam. Look, uh, Ms. Weston. We don't mean to intrude again but uh, my guy and girl, turns out they couldn't make heads 'r tails of that crap. Uh, this is my brother, Sam. If you hadn't already figured that out." Dean drawled, and eyed me with some apprehension.

"Uh, no. Genetics and facial recognition aren't my strong suits. So, you're both Winchester." I concluded slowly.

"Yeah. Unfortunately. Look, from what Dean told me, you're sharp. You've been looking at that manuscript for a while, so, here we are. Metaphorically, on our knees, asking for your help." Sam said, his broad shoulders slumping.

"And, sorry about bringing my gun. It's pretty knee-jerk at this point. I wasn't gonna use it on you.....but you already knew that. Right." Dean spoke quickly, and looked fairly contrite and unhappy with himself. I stared at the both of them for a moment.

"Pending my forgiveness of you for scaring the shit out of me, you can't come inside. But I'll help you with the manuscript. We can meet at the public library." I conceded. It was quite comical, watching their faces change from disbelieving, to subtly relieved.

"Can we give you a lift?" Dean gave me a small, teasing grin. I gave him the finger. With a full grin, he got back behind the wheel of the ridiculous car. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, again. Uh, I don't like looking a gift horse in the mouth but can I ask-"

"I want to know what it says too." I gave a weak shrug.

"I'm a sucker for this kind of thing."

"Don't worry, so am I." Sam said, the most sincere look I'd ever seen on a person's face. And believe me, I've seen some very innocent expressions on some very guilty faces.

"See you in a bit, Sam." I pronounced his name carefully, then promptly turned and hurried for my building. The car came to life with a roar, but I didn't watch it go. I had a bad feeling I'd be seeing it a lot in the next few days.

Chapter Text

I loved (love) the campus library. Probably brought back easier college times. Not nicer, but easier. Everything from home was still dragging me down then, but I was finally physically free.

"So, are you going to tell me why this is actually important? Like, hell is a euphemism, right, so are you trying to dismantle the CIA? The Kremlin? Exxon? You can tell me, I don't have anyone to tell," I said, glaring up at Sam. He looked startled, and a little sad?

"How would an ancient manuscript help destroy a branch of the government?" Sam asked. I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. "Nevermind. Just, let's go somewhere quiet, and I'll explain," he muttered, throwing a pointed look at Winchester, who was already striding deeper into the library

We wound our way through the stacks, and I voiced my next question. "What're their names?"

"Who?"

Sam didn't even look in my direction. Bingo.

"The people meeting us here?" I said innocently. Sometimes taking a guess pays off. Sam stopped and stared at me.

"How...did you know we're meeting them?" Sam looked suspicious.

"I didn't. I guessed," I replied, walking past him after Winchester. I heard Sam sigh and hurry after me.

Now I knew I'd always have an advantage; like my brother always said, I don't let anything (in this case anyone) get past me.

************

"Okay, now that I've assembled you here-"

"Dean, leave the nerd shit to me, please. As our team leader your integrity can't be compromised-"

"Both of you need to stop embarrassing us in front of the new recruit-"

Turned out Winchester reserved an entire study room in the library. At that moment though he was trying not to look jazzed about the fact he'd trapped a number of people in the room and had control over what happened.

The woman who'd admonished Winchester had milky pale skin hair a deep red auburn and a mischievous smile, strangely innocent to be rubbing elbows with the likes of Winchester; the irritated young man had jet black hair in a somewhat-grown-out-buzz-cut and sweet brown eyes, most definitely too young to be here, probably still in high school.

The man hadn't spoken, only observed. He sat quietly with messy brown hair and huge blue eyes, incredibly haunted. I shuddered inwardly. He gave off a weird vibe; I was torn between pitying him and fearing him.

"Everyone, this is Esther Hobbes. Ms. Hobbes, this is Charlie, Kevin, and Cas," Sam pointedly talked over his compatriots, gesturing to the woman, kid, and man respectively. I waved awkwardly and they waved awkwardly back. Except Cas. He just looked at me, which had me leaning towards the 'fear him' category. Then there was an awkward silence, as Sam didn't seem to know how to proceed with this meeting.

"Well? Aren'tcha gonna do your freaky observation thing?" Winchester said, grinning lazily from where he was slumped in a chair. Wow, he didn't waste any time. Sam glowered at his brother, giving him a 'shut the fuck up don't insult the help' look. Well. Had to get it out of the way at some point.

"Glad you've found somewhere new to settle down. For longer, this time, I mean. Sorry about your parents, I know how that goes," I said to the woman, Charlie. She blinked, and looked at Dean, who looked like he'd been slapped. Served him right.

"You should be back in school, dude, why are you with these reprobates? You should've at least brought your cello along, that'd be entertaining," I said to Kevin who looked askance but mustered a teenager look-of-judgment.

"Maybe you wouldn't be so depressed if you weren't wearing Sam's clothes, honestly he's like three times your size," I said gently to Cas. The man's eyes widened a fraction, and you could probably have heard a pin drop. Sam glared, and Dean looked so regretful I almost took pity on him. Almost.

"Now that I'm done being a carnival sideshow, I brought the manuscript. Who wants to look at it first?" I said brightly. Cas wordlessly extended a hand. I passed him the scroll, then took a seat next to Winchester, pointedly not looking at him. Sam sat down next to Cas and tried reading over his shoulder.

"Who the hell are you?" Kevin asked. I sized up the teen, evaluating my choices of response.

"Nobody. I just like old stuff," I gestured at the manuscript, Cas and Sam with their heads together, pouring over it.

"How do you know about my parents? And the moves?" Charlie looked bewildered, but not angry. Now I felt guilty for bringing it up.

"Your car. It's changed license plates a lot, but the one it has now is a bit older. Also the layers of paint. You didn't want to give it up, but you had to disguise it. Which, understandable, it's a cute car," I reply. "I happened to see the scabbard in the backseat, and I noticed when I came in you have the callouses of a sword user. So," I trailed off

Charlie looked at her palms. "Huh. Guess I do. That's actually really badass, go me!" She grinned at me, her face lighting up. I couldn't help give a genuine, if small smile. Her sweet enthusiasm was nice, like sitting next to my little space heater in my office in January. I got the feeling she was as grateful as I was for skipping over her first question.

"You could tell from my hands about the cello, right?" Kevin interjected, seeming to have lost his belligerent teenager attitude. I nodded.

"How could you tell I stopped playing?" came the next question, as he steepled his hands and raised an eyebrow. The kid was (still is) a charmer, a little like Charlie. But I could sense the anger and bitterness behind the light.

"The callouses faded. Also, I was kidding. If you're like the Winchesters, you're on the road. Have to pack light," I said. The interest left Kevin's face, replaced with a stony expression. Charlie put a gentle had on Kevin's shoulder. I make it a point to be open about it, that my OCD comes with all the bells and whistles. Including intrusive thoughts.

"Are you two...y'know, together? I'm sorry, never mind that was irrelevant, I'm so sorry," I stammered. To this day, the jury is still out on whether or not my lack of brain-to-mouth filter is also a product of it. I try not to beat myself up over it, anymore but. Old habits die hard.

Charlie looked at me with confusion. Kevin recoiled. Winchester snickered.

"Oh, no no. That's definitely not-" Charlie stuttered out, while Kevin continued to look horrified.

"This parchment, it has an enchantment on it. It must be within a protective boundary in order to safely examine it. And it must be the original," I jumped in fright, and wondered wildly for a moment if the ceiling was speaking. Then I realized it was 'Cas'. Winchester awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Uh Cas, maybe ix-nay the agic-may? Let's not come off any crazier than we already are," Winchester chuckled with false joviality. Cas pressed his lips together, but I was over trying to figure these people out. It was time to listen to the warning bells in my head going off.

"You can't take that, it's checked out under my name, what will I tell Mrs. Martin when I can't return it? Give it to me!" I remember shoving my chair back, the feeling of everything spiraling so badly out of control. My brother would have scolded me if he had been there. Or given me that blank, dead-eyed look that I know means 'you asked for this'.

My blood ran cold when Cas met my eyes that first time, with a near identical expression. He raises a hand and I couldn't help but flinch back and tip my chair over entirely. The noise startled everyone to their feet, but Cas just lowered his hand slowly. That's when I realized there was something in my clenched fist that wasn't there before.

'No, no fucking way' was the mantra running through my head at that point.

"That should hold up under scrutiny," the man (at least that's what he looked like) stood and turned to leave but the room broke into noise I couldn't interpret. Didn't want to interpret. I was holding an identical scroll, in my hand. I immediately thought 'It has to be a trick!', but the vellum has the same weight, color, runes. And it had just.

Appeared. In my hand.

Next thing I knew I was sitting and I didn't remember how I got there, but I knew I had my voice back.

"What the hell? Did you just do magic?" I blurted out. Cas lowered his chin, observed me from his seat once more.
"A miracle. I performed a miracle," his voice gained a little strength the second time he said it. It took me a second but then it clicked.

"You're an angel. Or, something....heavenly?" I like to imagine that the word left a foul taste in my mouth the first time I spoke it but. I had no idea. Not then.

A flicker of interest ignited in 'Cas'' face. "A seraphim, to be precise. But, that is more of a species classification, at this point, rather than anything related to.....heaven. Or what most people consider heavenly," Cas clarified.
My second foster family was religious. Very, religious. I didn't see eye to eye with them on that (and many other) fronts, but their fear of God and his minions was difficult to not internalize. But it sure as hell is easy to unlearn, once you actually get to meet a member of the angelic choir.

"Yeah so, 'be not afraid!' and all that shit, right Cas?" Winchester grinned at the seraphim, who surprisingly smiled slightly back. They were weirdly connected, but not in a good way. I didn't really see it then, I didn't really care. But hindsight is 20/20.

"For real, though, Cas is a really chill guy....celestial being....whatever. Mostly he hangs out and helps Kev with his research," Charlie chimed in. Sam was grinning at this point, like some proud parent. I remember Kevin not saying anything.

"So, Winchester, when you said you're trying to close hell, you....actually meant closing hell," there was a moment of silence when every head in the room swiveled to stare at Dean.

"Dean?" Sam said with forced calm.

"Hey! There's no better place to hide the truth than in plain sight! How was I supposed to know Cas was gonna do mojo and blow our game?! If you wanna blame somebody, blame him," Dean grumbled. Everyone trained their attention on Cas.

"I...suppose I was hasty, in my eagerness to see the scroll. It is my fault," Cas conceded. Later, Charlie told me that this was a second miracle, albeit one I was unaware of.

"Wait, guys, stop, this is stupid. Esther, look, we are trying to find a way to close hell. But why did you bring it up? Do you care, are you curious? Or, do you think we're just chasing a white whale?" Charlie cut across Sam's retort. She sounded hopeful, which sent me into a spiral of panic. This was not, and has never been, my forté. People don't usually latch on to me, I latch on to them.

"Uh, I just, ok I'm an archivist? So I get curious about stuff, really. That's why I checked the scroll out of the library. I guess it'd be cool to find out what it's really about?" I stammered out. Charlie beamed at me. Fuck, I'll always remember that smile; I mean, I see it every day now, but that first one. Something so sweet and mischievous and welcoming.

"Of course! I'm a tech nerd, I know the feeling, gotta know what's behind that extra firewall, am I right?" she giggled. That explained why she'd been recruited by the Winchesters.

"Hang on, you can't just waltz on home with us like we're having an open house, are you joking?" Sam interrupts, but Kevin looks at him sternly.

"Look Sam, we all know you and Dean are old," Winchester flipped the kid off. "So you don't really know the meaning of 'networking'. It pays to make friends! So what if she wants to see our grubby basement library? Who gives a shit?" Kevin said, all caustic disdain and irritation. Sam's mouth snapped shut.

"Yay friends!" Charlie sings out, slapping palms with Kevin. Sam looks at Dean, who shrugged and smirked at his brother.

"Don't loose hope Sam, they need a majority. Oh wait, I think they have one," Winchester held his hand out and Charlie smacked it with a whoop. Sam's glare could probably kill a small animal, or maybe a flock of pigeons. It was really impressive

"I'm not...against going wherever it is you guys live but. Can I have two seconds to talk to my boss?" I hedged, part of me hoping that the plea was a deal-breaker for these weirdos, part of me fearing that it wasn't.

"Definitely! What kind of archivist did you say you are?" Charlie once again cut off Winchester, this time Dean looked put out.

"I work in the crimes archive," I said, and pushed back my chair. All of them stared at me with looks of surprise and horror. To this day I cackle when I think of their faces.

"What? No, no no! I'm not the cops! I'm not gonna dig up dirt on you guys," well that was a straight-up lie. I was gonna do it and just not tell any of them.

"Wonderful. Can we please go now?" Kevin scowled at his companions, already standing at the door.

Chapter Text

Kevin wasn't kidding when he said their 'home base' was a musty basement full of books. This ragtag group of....people, and I use that in the loosest sense of the term, lived in a goddamn bunker.A hole in the ground. When we'd first driven up, I hadn't seen the entrance, so I'd asked if they'd been camping out in a field. Dean had laughed at me.

Only Kevin shared my disgust.

"Yeah. When I first got here, my latent claustrophobia flared up. I had nightmares of being buried alive for weeks," the kid clutched his arms to himself. Jesus, he was just a kid.

"I dunno, I thinks it's like batman's lair? Wish there was a hot tub though," Charlie said from behind us, hauling her sword-fighting equipment down the staircase. Despite the whole 'underground' thing, I had to appreciate the stately wooden finishings and the delicately colored glass of the main room. Somehow, someway, they managed to make the place feel slightly homey.

"Can we not bash the heritage please? We only just got the place," Winchester groused, yanking his jacket off and heading into a different room. Cas trailed along behind, looking pensive. Sam sighed.

"I'll show you the library, if you want. It's this way," he motioned me along a short hallway. The library was decorated the same as the main entrance, but Kevin hadn't been kidding when he'd said they had a shitton of book.

"Damn," I breathed, looking over the book cases. Sam actually smiled.

"It is kinda epic, I guess. What Dean meant is that our grandfather was a member of the group, the Men of Letters, that built this place. We kinda inherited it," Sam explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. I nodded slowly, wondering why it was just Winchester and his brother rattling around in the place, no other 'Men of Letters' around, but I was betting it wasn't a nice reason, so I didn't ask.

"Uh, you said, before, that you wouldn't say anything about us because you didn't have anyone. Did you mean that?" Sam asked quietly. Oh boy. Guess it was time for the sob story.

"Just my brother, and some coworkers really. Parents are dead. When I was seven. Went through foster care, and then I aged out. Went to college. Now I'm here," I summarized, squinting at some of the book titles sitting on the giant reading table. Sam nodded.

"Not to be Dickensian, but we're kind of an orphanage here at this point," he said quietly. I stared at him, feeling a strange mix of sad and hopeful.

"My mom was killed by a de-murdered. When I was a baby. My dad died of a heart attack when I was 22," he explained calmly. I didn't know what to say; tell him the truth, that my parents were Russian spies who got caught trying to defect to the U.S.? Most people got angry when I told them, thinking I was making fun of them.

"I like my coworkers a lot, they're good people, even if we work for the government. My brother travels a lot, he's-- he works for a different branch," I finally say. Sam nods, and I chance a glance at him. He doesn't look upset or disappointed, just thoughtful.

"We traveled a lot, when I was a kid, and sometimes my dad and Dean would have to leave. I hated it," Sam took a seat at the table, resting his chin on his hand. I sat down diagonally from him.

"My brother and I were separated in the system, but...he's weird like me. Observant. Smart. So he never lost track of me. I dunno, the system changed him. Not for the better. A few years ago, we had a falling out, a bad one, so we communicate through email mostly now." The memory of that night even now makes the scars on my arms and back throb. We communicate through email because I won't forgive him; the messages are filled with increasingly nihilistic arguments trying to convince me to 'let it go'.

Right because your brother leaving you in the hands of a murderous asshole, even if it was for the greater good, automatically means it was an okay thing to do.

"Oh. I'm sorry for that," Sam says. And the stupid thing is, he sounds utterly sincere. Is utterly sincere. There isn't pity written on his face, but understanding, sympathy. Maybe I'll tell him something. But it's so much easier to keep it locked up.

"I hated my dad. Before and after he died. He was the one who started hunting, stuff, and he wasn't a nice or good person. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for that, but, he's gone. So, I figure, it's okay for me to let go of that," Sam says casually. I stare at the grain of the table.

"Wow. Not that that wasn't deep and moving, but why are you telling me this?" I ask, feeling genuinely bewildered. Sam smiles a little.

"I didn't want you to feel unwelcome here. I know I wasn't the most polite back at the library so...I thought maybe talking would help. Kevin and Charlie are right, we, Dean and I, can't keep holing ourselves up and push the outside world away. I used to know that, a long time ago, and I want to try again, y'know?" Sam said earnestly. Well, he certainly knew how to get right under peoples' skin.

"Thanks Sam. I do feel better, about, y'know, stuff. I'm just," I took a deep breath. "I can't make twenty years worth of abuse and neglect dry up overnight," I said.

"Don't worry. You're at least one step ahead of Dean. He doesn't really acknowledge anything fucked up about our childhood," Sam said wryly. He stood up.

"Want some food?" He asked, stretching his arms above his head. I nodded, and he took the lead.

"What about Cas?" I asked, as we went through a labyrinth of hallways. Sam's shoulders stiffened.

"Well, his actual name is Castiel. He's having familial issues too, in a sense. Heaven has kinda fucked him over, for a long time. He's working on it," Sam said over his shoulder. I stopped dead.

"Heaven?" I ask a little too loudly. Kevin's head popped out of the doorway up ahead.

"Dean's almost done making dinner," Kevin said.

"I'll answer your questions after burgers?" Sam wheedled. I nod, the tantalizing smell from the kitchen too much to resist.



One awkward and strangely comfortable dinner later (which Cas was conspicuously absent from), we all went back to the library. "Is there a reason Cas didn't eat with us?" I asked Charlie.

"Oh, yeah, Cas doesn't eat. Well, he doesn't need to eat. Like Sam probs told you, he's an angel. He gets his....fortitude? HP? From secret angel sources. But he should really try Dean's burgers, they're heavenly enough," Charlie snickered at her own pun and Kevin pretended to vomit. Dean grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

"Huh. Okay. Those burgers were pretty good," I conceded. Only because whenever I make burgers I forget to buy buns and usually put too much oil in the pan. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement. Yo Cas, you in here?" I glared at Dean's back. Charlie gave me a gentle nudge.

"He's like that with all the new people. But he's also kinda sensitive about his cooking. He's good at it," Charlie gave a slight grimace. I laughed a little at her expression. "So uh, there are plenty of rooms to pick from in our Bat Cave, you can have any one you like," Charlie offered. I thought awkwardly of the single dufflebag sitting in the entry-way, holding most of my material possessions in it. They didn't know that, but I did, so it was awkward.

"Oh, great, thanks. Maybe you could show me around, after we're done with whatever this is?" I gestured at the library, which looked as though a very precise and careful tornado had torn through it. In the midst of the papers and books laying on every available surface was Castiel. Seraphim. Angel. Denizen of heaven. Or, more accurately an ex-denizen of heaven.

"I have been tracking down the origins of this scroll, verifying its authenticity. It would be disastrous to invoke the spell without knowing what it will do," Castiel announced. He set down his book and picked up the scroll. It was silent for a second.

"Okay? And?" Dean prompted the angel.

"It is real. We should probably go to a more secure room on a lower floor," Cas finished. Dean rolled his eyes, fondly, and waved at Cas, who strode out of the library, the rest of us close behind. Technically with Sam bringing up the rear.

"There's a basement to this place?" I muttered to Sam. He gave a small chuckle, and it didn't escape my notice that Cas glanced over his shoulder at us. "Yeah, just one more level. Need a safe space in a safe space to store the really gnarly stuff," he explained.

So we all crowded into that dark, painted room. Strange designs in red and white paint, circles in circles. Pentagrams, long lines of what looked like words in a very different language. "It's enochian," Kevin offered when he saw me staring. "What does that mean?" I asked him. Kevin's eyes grew darker, as the candles in the room burst into life on their own. I will admit, I jumped at that. "It's the language of angels," he said. That was when I knew I needed to talk to this poor kid. There was something here I was missing. Something being hidden.

"If you all would stand within this square," Cas instructed us. I was the first to follow his instructions; I wasn't about to get myself obliterated by this freaky shit. At least not yet. "The scroll will go here, and I will activate it," Cas continued, placing the scroll in the center of the circle inscribed in the squared. Dean looked at Cas. "You got any idea what it'll do?" Dean asked dryly. Cas tilted his head.

"Nothing violent, if that's what you're concerned about. Most likely it will speak, or tell us something. Are you all prepared?" Cas said with devastating gravity. Everyone nodded silently.

"We're okay Cas," Sam said with a small smile. Cas didn't even look at Sam, just put a hand out towards the scroll.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then I noticed a sharp blue light, just a blurry miasma around Castiel's hand. For a moment, I entertained wild theories that he'd shoved a flashlight up his baggy sleeve, but I knew I'd see the outline if it were true. No, this glow was coming from his hand. The phenomenon escalated, the hand glowing a violent blue-white. The scroll on the floor began to glow as well, although this was a deeply unnerving, sickly green color.

"Oh, that can't be a good thing," I heard Charlie mutter. I felt Sam edge closer to the being called Castiel. The green light neatly coalesced into the most bizarre thing I've seen outside of a bad D&D mod's wet dream.

It had the vague body of a kangaroo, as in, unnervingly muscular torso and haunch legs. Five sets of wings sprouted from the back of it (or what i assumed was the back of it), all covered with blinking eyes. Instead of a head, it had massive elk antlers sprouting directly from the top of the torso.

Kevin twitched violently away, but Charlie and I each grabbed an arm. There was no telling what would happen to us if we stepped out of the square. Dean cursed violently, and Sam froze.

"Cas....is that...an angel?" he asked, almost reverently.

"More like the residue. An echo, someone trapped on this scroll. Quiet, they may speak," Castiel admonished us. And it did indeed speak.

"YOU SEEK ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS THAT SHOULD NEVER BE ASKED, TO TILT SCALES YOU ARE UNFIT TO KNOW OF. HUMAN AND SERAPHIM ALIKE ARE FLAWED AND SHORT-SIGHTED," the creature-angel?-shouted at us. It was loud, but that wasn't the terrifying part. It was the hollow emptiness in its voice, the raw grief and betrayal, that was a tangible mental blow. I felt tears prick in my eyes, despite myself; Kevin had tears trailing down his cheeks.

"We seek council, ancient one. I am-" and here Castiel made an unintelligible noise that left us with our hands clapped over our ears "-a seraphim of the heavenly host. Will you bless us with your name?" The thing's eyes kept blinking independently of one another. I can only assume that was the angelic equivalent of the loading symbol on a webpage. I squeezed Kevin's arm, hoping he would take the gesture as a sign of support.

"I am Hesediel, The Merciful," the voice was just as painfully empty and sad, but the volume drastically lowered. Still, Cas reacted as though he'd been struck. Kevin let out a small sob. All the uncountable eyes on the angel's wing's swiveled our way. If you don't know what it's like to have the thousand eyes of a supernatural creature of unknown power trained on you, thank all your lucky stars. It's fucking uncomfortable.

"You are the Scribe. You know my story," the thing pronounced. It wasn't an accusation, more of a confirmation. It kept staring until Kevin nodded. Then it, Hesediel, turned back to Castiel.

"My warning stands. The knowledge you seek will only further destroy our Creator's work, regardless of your perceived knowledge and circumstances." Cas stared a moment, jaw slack. Sam cleared his throat. The thing did not even look at him.

"Um, Hesediel. Do you, know what's going on? Because some stuff has changed, and not interfering is infinitely worse than interfering, at this point," Sam offered. Then Hesediel did the most terrifying thing up to that point. One eye at a time, it trained its gaze on Sam, until it finally drifted it's entire form over to within an inch of his face.

"It seems I have been woken at a most interesting time. The Scribe and The Shining One's vessel, in the same spot, asking for my help," the thing said in wonder. "Hey, we never said we wanted help, douchebag, we just want to talk. So take your high-and-mighty routine and shove it up your-" Dean always knows the exact worst moment to say something. That talent is alive and well today, I'm afraid.

"I AM HESEDIEL THE MERCIFUL, NOT HESEDIEL THE PATIENT. APPARENTLY I AM ALSO HESEDIEL THE BESIEGED, AS ONLY THE DENIZENS OF HELL COULD HAVE GIVEN MICHAEL SUCH AN IMPERTINENT AND BLASPHEMOUS VESSEL!" the thing raged again. Dean looked ready spit nails, his face bone white, but thankfully he stayed silent.

"Right, so, about that. We trapped Michael and Lucifer in the Cage, but I got trapped in there too, but Cas got me out. But he also decided he wanted to be the ruler of heaven and was working with Crowley, who is currently ruling hell, to harvest souls which ended in them opening Purgatory and taking a lot of souls and Cas really did become the ruler of heaven for a while. But he didn't realize he let the Leviathans out too. And we accidentally uh, woke? The Scribe? Trying to kill the Leviathans. Which worked, but Dean and Cas were trapped in Purgatory for a while. But they're out! And we want a way to send all the demons back to hell and lock them there. Oh, and if it makes a difference, Abaddon is loose."

My head was swimming at this point, from the candles, and the strain of not freaking out. I understood maybe every fourth word of Sam's word vomit, but the words 'Purgatory', 'Leviathans', and 'Hell' definitely did not escape my attention. These guys were in deeper shit than I'd realized. Even the thing, Hesediel, seemed taken aback, slowly drifting away from Sam.

"This is deeply troubling, but not unheard of. The wheel continues to turn, the balance shifts. I must meditate a while. Leave me. Except you, Seraphim, and you, impertinent child. I may have more questions," Hesediel replied, an octopus tentacle materializing from its trunk and jabbing in Dean's direction. We all stared at him, and he glanced at Cas, who shrugged helplessly.

"Fine. But you call me hell spawn again and I'm lighting that scroll on fire," Dean threatened. Hesediel didn't dignify the threat with a response. I looked at Charlie, and she nodded. Kevin was still crying silently between us, so we gently guided him out of the stifling room. "Hey Kev, c'mon, let's go watch some play-throughs, have some vodka, it'll be okay," Charlie coaxed the kid. I knew I'd need the vodka. Sam followed us like a sleep walker.

"Hell? Purgatory?" I asked. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Not until I've had at least two shots." Sam answered grimly.