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Castiel stood in the bathroom of the second story of the Visitor’s Center. It was covered in years of dust. 39 years of dust to be exact. The second story had been turned into three one room apartments that shared a single bathroom and shower. Cas wiped the dust from the mirror, looking at himself. Well looking at his vessel, well hardly a vessel. Cas had never told Dean this, but he looked nothing like Jimmy Novack. His true form was basically human shaped, he had two hands, two legs, five fingers, five toes, but Cas didn’t have a face. None of the angels did. Cas didn’t have… junk… as Dean put it. He also didn’t have organs or a soul. So when Dean had told him he had no heart, it was true, but Dean was speaking metaphorically. Jimmy was no longer in the body with him. When Raphael had destroyed Castiel’s body, angelic and meat suit, Jimmy’s soul had been accepted into Heaven. Castiel did not think of Jimmy much these days.

Cas pulled a box cutter from the pocket of his trenchcoat. Angels, they were so small minded. They didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, and they didn’t change their clothes. Cas also didn’t sweat or emit any other bodily fluids. He’s bled but the clothes are repaired easier than the body. Cas sighed looking at the box cutter. Anything for Dean, he would bleed, he would cross Hell and high water, he now he would die for Dean.

He dragged the box cutter across his wrist and as the blood dripped into the sink, he dipped his fingers into it and began to paint an Enochian sigil on the mirror. Enochian was always either simple or complicated. The sigil to prevent an angel from detecting you was complicated and long, a combination of multiple runes. However the sigil to banish an angel, well to blow them to the opposite side the earth, taking a rather slow route, was rather simple, only about 4 runes. The sigil to kill an angel was about as equally as simple. It was also rarely known. Sigils to banish, to protect against had been shared with humans but angels had closely guarded this secret.

Castiel’s angel blade dropped into his hand. The blade could kill demons, could kill other angels, and was really an extension of him. He looked at the sigil painted in his blood. He looked at the angel blade in his hand. He closed his eyes, raised the blade, “Dean. I’m coming,” he whispered and plunged it middle of the sigil on the mirror. Castiel really hadn’t known what to expect. He’d died more than once. He’d died at Raphael’s hands, at Lucifer’s hands, at the hands of the Leviathan, he’d nearly died in Purgatory. The difference between the sigil to kill an angel and Castiel just plunging his own angel blade into the heart of his vessel was the sigil gave him an afterlife. Death by the angel blade was oblivion.

He noticed that now everything was foggy. The mirror in front of him was covered in dust, like he’d never wiped it away. His angel blade was gone as were the sigil. An angel could summon their blade, even if it was knocked away or taken from them. He summoned. The blade did not answer. He could feel Dean, closer than ever. Cas walked from the bathroom, down the stairs and back into the street. He still had no powers of teleportation. He was dead, he was pretty sure the only powers he had left were his reflexes. He spotted the bashed corpse of something with wings on the ground. Dean had been this way. He walked down the street, following Dean’s trail.


“You must have me mistaken for someone else, I’m not a god,” Sam tried to tell the girl. She looked up, above him. Sam tried to follow her gaze. He blinked. Oh God. Was that him? The face of the angel he was chained to was all too familiar. He recognized it, because he shaved that face every morning. The only difference was the length of hair. Sam’s hair had over the years gotten longer and longer, when he’d been 22, it hadn’t even touched his collar, now it was nearly the same length all over, nearly to his shoulders. The statue’s hair was long, tied at the back of the head in a ponytail that fell over one shoulder. This made no sense. He wasn’t a god. He was Sam Winchester, a hunter, Lucifer’s vessel, he was a good person. “What’s your name?” Sam asked. He may as well get friendly. Maybe she could be convinced to free him eventually. Usually it was Dean who had the ability to charm girls just from that cocky eyebrow lift and his crooked smile. Dean was the bad boy that girls tried to hide from their parents, the one who left them with memories of the greatest night of their life, but not one to marry.

“Lydia,” she replied. Sam smiled at her again.

“Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself. He tried to offer his hand to shake, but his arms were so sore and tired he could barely feel his fingers.

“You are Valtiel, returned,” she corrected him. Sam raised his brows.

“Who is Valtiel?” He asked.

“Our God. The one who will smite the evil that has trapped us here. You will deliver us. I have prayed to you everyday since I was a little girl.”

“Well I can’t help you if I’m chained to a statue,” Sam stated hoping to change tactics again. She smiled sweetly at him, as if he was a slow minded child.

“You are not at your full powers, my Lord, this is for your own safety,” the voice that spoke was deeper and from the shadows. A woman dressed in brilliant white, but with nearly as pale skin, and red hair, just as red as Lydia’s, stepped into the light and stopped next to the altar.

“Valtiel, my mother, Esther,” Lydia introduced them. Sam supposed there was no sense in trying to talk sense into these people that he wasn’t a God, he was Sam. Just emo Sam. The woman turned to her daughter, and plucked the flask from her hands.

“Go prepare yourself for the ceremony,” she said to Lydia. The girl nodded and left the room.


“We have to awaken you,” Esther said and glanced between Sam’s eyes watching Lydia retreating back into the darkness. “I hope you will be pleased with her.”

“Lydia? She seems nice, a little starstruck. You seem to be a bit more reserved.” Sam looked Esther up then down.

“She has prepared her whole life for the ceremony tonight. She’ll make a lovely bride.”

“She’s getting married? She’s like fifteen.” Sam asked incredulously. Esther was laughing and Sam realized he didn’t like the sound of it. It had a twinge of madness in it. Esther walked to the edge of the darkness of the room.

“She’s your bride, then she’ll be your sacrifice. Its a great honor.” Esther stepped into the darkness.

“What? Wait! Sacrifice?” Sam jerked on the shackles again. “Dean. Hurry your ass up and rescue me.”