Blank Pages Part 1
Blank Pages: When Everything’s Made To Be Broken
Dean Winchester loved the feel of the open road. He relished the sound of rubber rolling over gravel and blacktopped roads, the strong guttural roar of the Impala’s engine, and the blaring beat of Ramblin’ On from the car’s tape deck. As much as he loved the open road and the pleasant sense of peace and solitude it had given him in his early years, the extra weight in his baby was just as nice.
The passenger seat, normally occupied by his brother Sam bore a relaxed looking angel of the Lord that day, who turned a shy smile to Dean when he noticed the Hunter’s eyes on him. Dean grinned back, taking in the smooth sweeps of the tan trench coat that billowed up around Castiel’s legs and the sky blue tie the same shade as the angel’s eyes hanging askew from his collar.
Just behind the angel sat Sam, who had a handful of toy soldiers strewn about in his lap, a rather comical sight considering his not-so-childlike size. He raised an amused eyebrow when he noticed his brother staring through the refection in the mirror, before turning back to what he’d been doing. Beside the younger Winchester sat a small boy. Or at least, you’d think he was a boy if it weren’t for the mottled feathers in shades of black protruding from his shoulder blades. He too had a lapful of little army men, and his honey-gold eyes were fixed on them as he played with Sam, peering up at the Hunter through auburn brown bangs with a laugh.
It was because of this child that they were on the road again, so soon after their ordeal with Raphael and Meg just a month before. Castiel had insisted, a motion that was only urged on by Crowley’s warnings that an angel as powerful as Gabriel could not be contained within a child’s body for much longer.
Gabriel
As if sensing the turmoil in the Hunter’s thoughts, Castiel reached over and squeezed Dean’s shoulder comfortingly. Dean smirked, watching as Sam observed the silent exchange with a roll of his eyes from the back seat. “Problem, Sammy?” he asked teasingly.
“No,” Sam muttered, looking away. Sam had always been an observer, even as a child. Watch, listen, sense, and learn; that’s how it had been since he was small. So it had come to no surprise to him when a little over a month ago the only way to save Castiel’s life was True Loves First Kiss. From Dean. He smirked to himself, thinking back to the mortified look on his brother’s face when innocent little Gabriel had presented him with the solution to keeping one renegade angel intact. However, as an observer, he was becoming increasingly annoyed with the fact that thus far, Castiel and Dean had yet to do anything more than that. A quick kiss here and there, a light brush of the hands or soft touches when they thought Sam wasn’t looking, but that was it.
It was odd to the younger Winchester that Dean hadn’t jumped the angel’s bones already, being Dean and all. He surmised it was some kind of purity issue, possibly even a nagging doubt in his brother’s mind about committing some sort of grievant sin. All the same though, Sam was slowly scheming to trick the little group into getting two rooms instead of the usual one. Then he could get rid of the general UST and do some legit research on their current predicament, AKA returning one archangel to full size and power.
Gabriel stood up in his seat then and climbed over into Castiel’s lap, ignoring Dean’s protests about safety and “Put the kid in a damn seatbelt!”, Sam simply laughed, amused before he went back to sneakily playing with the plastic soldiers all by himself. Castiel looked pleased, and undid his own seatbelt (earning a reprimand from Dean in the process) and holding out his hands towards the other angel, palm up. Gabriel giggled and smacked them, launching into a long practiced game of patty-cake with his brother.
It was a calming scene for Dean to watch his little rag-tag family. “Settle down,” Sam had urged him over a year a half ago now, “Live that apple pie life you’ve always wanted. Be happy, for God’s sake.” And he was. He had tried to be for a short time with Lisa, but as with everything that had ever made him mildly content, it just hadn’t worked out. Plus, the nagging feeling of the Hunt calling him back had always been there in his heart and mind.
Dean had always been a man of the road, and he was perfectly happy to have it remain
that way. Sitting still in one place too long made his skin crawl with apprehension, dreading the day some creature would find him and extract its rather dull and unjustified revenge. And now, just like Sam had wanted him to, he had his family.
There was his brother, who Dean knew he couldn’t live without and would sacrifice himself for again and again if it came down to it. Sam would do the same. There was Castiel, his angel who had “Raised him from perdition” and whispered soft I Love You’s to Dean in the night when he thought the Hunter was sound asleep. After that was Bobby, his father in all but blood, and, grudgingly, Crowley, who’s saved their asses a couple dozen times by now and who they owed more than they wanted to admit. Hey, at least he seemed to genuinely care for Bobby, thought he aging Hunter chose to ignore 99.9% of the affections directed at him from the demon.
And then there was Gabriel, or Gabe as Sam so adoringly called the little archangel. They’d discovered him when Castiel had gone missing a little more than a month ago, hiding out in a suburbia playground with nothing but his name to console him. He had no memories, little controllable powers, and possessed the typical vocabulary of a four year old. Next to none. Sam wouldn’t let him leave his sight, and Dean couldn’t say for sure whether it was out of guilt or something else that made his brother look at the archangel like he did. To Gabriel, they were his family just as much as they were Dean’s. Castiel was his “little” brother, who he enjoyed playing with the most out of anyone, though Cass wasn’t the best company when it came down to it. He was getting better though, and these days even had a small smile on his face whenever Gabriel tugged at his hand or whispered secret child whisperings to him. Dean was his father, or at least the Hunter was treated as such. Gabriel held his hand when they went grocery shopping or crossed the street, and he went to Dean with his biggest questions, large golden eyes begging for answers to things even Dean sometimes couldn’t fathom. Bobby was his grandfather; the one he insisted should read him bedtime stories and whose lap he always wanted to sit in. Unfortunately, Bobby was also the one who got the brunt of Gabriel’s jokes, possibly unconscious revenge emerging from his Trickster personality. Crowley was simply the demon, the man the little archangel would stare at around corners in Bobby’s old house, shying away whenever Crowley looked at him but never coming within ten feet of the man.
And Sam? Sam was . . . Well, Dean wasn’t entirely sure what Sam was to Gabriel. He was the adult the angel ran to when he was scared, or had had a nightmare and needed someone to hold onto him through the remainder of the night. And Sam took diligent care of the fledgling as he would his own child, except that metaphor seemed off and somehow wrong to Dean. It was just another reason why this trip was so crucial. They needed to find out a way to change Gabriel back to normal as soon as possible, for Sam’s sake. Every day his brother’s eyes grew more and more anguished when he looked at Gabriel, guilt and fear and something Dean couldn’t name swimming in viridian green depths.
If he thought about it, Dean had to admit that he’d miss the kid when he turned back into an annoying bastard again. He’d always liked having someone who depended on him, or called up that “Maternal instinct” as Sam had so kindly put it one time. But Sam was grown, and though Dean loved to pretend he still needed him Sam had always had that independent streak to him. It was quite frustrating, really. As for Castiel, he and Dean were equals (in Dean’s mind anyways), so that didn’t fill in the blank for Dean either. For now, Gabriel did, and if the kid became an annoying jerk again he would miss it.
“I wannna sister, Tass,” Gabriel spoke up suddenly. The car swerved as Dean’s hands slipped on the wheel momentarily.
Castiel raised an eyebrow, pointedly ignoring Sam’s hysterical laughter from the back seat, “If Dean and I had a child it would be your niece, not your sister,” Castiel said logically, and Dean nearly lost control of the car again. Sam was clutching his sides and fighting for breath at this point.
“Wait, what?” Dean gasped, “What’s all this about kids? I never said anything about kids!”
Gabriel and Castiel both turned their heads in that slightly creepy robotic-angel way to look at him, “You were thinking it,” Castiel said firmly.
“W-was not!” Dean protested. Sure, he’d been thinking about kids in general, that didn’t mean he wanted a half-angel baby with Cass. Right? He coughed, directing his gaze to the road again as Gabriel crossed his arms and pouted.
“Meany-head,” Gabriel muttered, “Tell him he’s a meany-head, Tass!”
Obligingly, Castiel smirked and mouthed, “You’re a meany-head,” to Dean, watching as the corners of the Hunter’s mouth quirked upwards into a lopsided smile before he too laughed, the sound echoing Sam’s own persistent giggle from the back seat.
Yes, this was exactly where he wanted to be for the rest of his life.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Balthazar was not a kind angel. Every movement he made, every miracle he brought about, every step he took between the three planes of this world he did for himself, and himself alone. If an action came with no rewards it was not worth his time, or his thin patience. He’d stood by during the biblical plagues of Egypt, gathering up the newly released souls of first borns like candy on Halloween, bargaining them off to demons and deavas alike. For a price, of course. If he’d had a choice, he would have preferred the lifestyle of a crossroads demon, buying and selling to his heart’s desire and swimming in the riches he was presented with.
But no, he was an angel. All that holy do-gooding la-di-dah that made him gag at the mere thought of it. Sure, he fought his wars when it was required of him, he’d even filled out a few prayers in his time. However, he considered that to be the dullest part of his existence. Wasn’t there supposed to be some higher purpose?
Sure, as an angel he should have been content to be a servant of God. If only he was. The truth of the matter was that Balthazar cared only about himself; not humanity, not his brothers, and certainly not his Father.
If one traced Balthazar’s actions back far enough it would be easy to find the point in time when he’d begun to stop caring about anyone but himself. As with all angels back then, it had been Balthazar’s duty to guard the tree at the center of Eden for a short time, and he’d done his job quite well if he said so himself. At least until the snake came, it’s fangs dripping with the venom of greed. It bit Balthazar in the cover of the night, just as it did Eve, and the movement so fast and swift that the angel never felt a thing.
Soon after Balthazar grew tired of his duties, frustrated with his siblings, and spiteful of his Father. It was then that the snake struck a bargain with him, the first of many the angel would partake in from then on. He was to leave his post, if just for an hour, and allow Eve access to the tree. In return he would be granted a piece of Lucifer’s own Grace, the brightest of them all.
Who could resist such an offer?
It was a small piece, but it still glowed brighter than the sun and the moon combined, even after Lucifer’s Fall from Grace, the most beautiful spark Balthazar had ever seen. It was his most treasured possession, and it made his greed grow.
It was Balthazar who told Michael about the angels down on earth who had bred with humanity, and he’d watched in glee as the garrison in question was struck down and the offspring locked away, never to be seen by living eyes again.
It was Balthazar who’d pointed out the Tower Of Babel to his siblings, taking the riches from it after it had been crumbled to dust.
It was Balthazar who’d convinced his brothers to give humanity another chance, to spare the greedy lowlifes so that he too could continue to roll in the corruption he created. Thus, Noah was given the message to build an arc.
It was Balthazar who brought a gift to The Savior the night of his birth, knowing that to give was to receive. Who better to receive from than God’s son?
And it was Gabriel who Balthazar was jealous of, marking just another sin on his angelic self, Envy. Gabriel got away with everything. He was absent from Heaven for hundreds of years, and not a single angel had noticed the way the archangel played Pagan God down on Earth. No, not Gabriel, he’s an archangel. Even after Balthazar gave them proof they didn’t believe him. Then when Gabriel had taken a liking to the youngest, and the last angel to be born within Heaven, Balthazar seethed.
There was nothing special about Castiel that Balthazar could see. He was an awkward fledgling, and an even more awkward angel. Following orders seemed to be his only purpose in life, and he, like any other angel, possessed little to no real emotion. Yet Gabriel doted on him as he had any of his Pagan born child monstrosities, maybe even more. It made Balthazar sick. There wasn’t a single thing special about the little angel of Thursday, the weakest, the youngest, the most inexperienced of all the brethren. Yet somehow, Balthazar was overlooked, and Castiel stood in the light of Gabriel’s Grace. Always.
“One day his actions will change the world as we know it,” Gabriel had told him once, watching Castiel with a fond look. Of course he would know, as the Angel of Prophecy, what the future would hold. There was some great and divine destiny for Castiel, of course there was. But for Balthazar? How many times could an angel be overlooked before it got to be too much?. Dean still could hardly believe it when he looked at the fledgling riding in the backseat of his car. This was the Trickster that had wrecked havoc on a college campus, trapped the brothers in an endless time loop of hundreds of Tuesdays, and watched in glee as they tried to play their roles in TV land. Dean sighed, reminding himself that besides that, it had been Gabriel who had died for them and basically handed over the keys to Hell. If it hadn’t been for the archangel, they wouldn’t even be around to face this problem in the first place.
Not long after that Gabriel vanished. The others said he died, but Balthazar knew better. Gabriel was too clever, too conniving, too human to simply die. No, he wasn’t dead. He was simply free, one of the many things Balthazar had never been able to obtain. But it was from Gabriel’s disappearance that Balthazar realized how to release himself from heaven’s confines, and truly begin the life he’d always wanted to lead.
He faked his own death in the heat of battle and slunk away into the shadows, not to be seen again for hundreds upon hundreds of years.
Balthazar had not been too pleased with the whole Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t affair. In truth he’d long grown tired of humanity, and saw nothing new in what they could provide him with save for their souls, filthy sinful things that they were, which he sold off first chance he got, . Actually, he’d been rather pleased to learn the world would be ending soon, and that Hell stood a winning chance. He’d always been one of the few on Lucifer’s good side ever since Eden, and the pickings in Hell presented him with whole new opportunities he’d never had before. It was quite exciting.
Until that damn Castiel had gone and put his foot down, screwing up the whole matter for everyone. And for what, some “Righteous Man?” Balthazar gagged on the very thought, remembering the angels he’d turned in for affections towards humanity.
Before Gabriel interfered things were still swinging his way however. The future Dean Winchester had glimpsed courtesy of Zachariah remained basically the same until the lost archangel had done a U-turn and changed his mind, going against the prophecy he knew all too well and getting himself killed.
Balthazar had never hated anyone more than he did in that moment when Gabriel’s Grace sent a shockwave across the earth as he died. From that point on, Team Hell was royally screwed.
Then Castiel the perfect little angel had reinstated heaven, putting out the order for all turncoat angels to be brought into custody. It was only a matter of time before they discovered Balthazar was not as dead as he’d pretended to be.
Which was why he had to act. Balthazar was no idiot, and he’d felt the flare of power from his Father the day shit went down at Stull cemetery. That was, after all, how Castiel had survived. Little known to most, that was how Gabriel survived as well.
The archangel’s Grace was contained in a tight ball, almost unnoticeable if Balthazar hadn’t been looking for it. God forbid the two biggest humanity loving angels should stay dead for any period of time. Though it was hidden to most, Balthazar saw it, for a brief flash of power before it disappeared amidst the rest of Earth’s life.
If he could find Gabriel, if he could kill an archangel, he could use that archangel’s Grace to conceal himself from his searching brethren for eternity, just as Gabriel had for so many years. It would have been the perfect plan except for the fact that he couldn’t actually find Gabriel. He’d managed to follow the faint glow of Grace to a playground in Collins County New Jersey before he lost it entirely. That was a month ago.
Balthazar paced in his apartment of the week, twirling his long-unused angel blade between his agile fingers. His eyes flickered to the naked figure bound to his bed and he licked his lips at the sight of the cuts already beginning to scab over. He’d enjoy picking them off one by one. “Where is he?” he asked, baring his teeth.
The figure on the bed glared up at Balthazar defiantly and jerked his head to the side so that his long silver-blond hair fell away from his blue eyes, “I. Don’t. Know.” It was the hundredth time he’d spoken those three words today alone.
“Don’t be like that,” Balthazar crooned, leaning over the man and tracing the scabs on his chest and abdomen.. He paused to watch him shudder with sick satisfaction. “You know you can tell me, Aziraphale. I won’t tattle.”
Aziraphale struggled against his binds and let out a defiant scream that Balthazar ignored. “You’re a monster!” Aziraphale roared, arching his back in an effort to free himself. Balthazar merely blinked.
“Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Balthazar replied coolly as he touched the tip the tip of the silver blade to Aziraphale’s sternum.
Aziraphale scowled and jerked away as far as he could from his brother, “You’re sick,” he hissed breathlessly, chest heaving for air as he fought down waves of fear.
“Let’s just say a snake bit me,” Balthazar murmured. He blinked, as though just realizing something and a wicked smile worked its way across his face before he cut a long line from collar to navel across Aziraphale’s flesh. “Now that I think about it, you’re friends with that snake, aren’t you.” He grinned as the other angel’s eyes went wide, “You are. What’s his name again? Crawley?”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale spat, the blood welling up from his newest wound, creating spider like whorls across his chest as he spoke, crimson dripping down his sides. “And he has nothing to do with this! You can’t blame your greed on him either; the venom only works on the ones who are already corrupted.”
“Keep telling yourself that. You’re just as corrupted as me,” Balthazar whispered, licking the blood away from the other’s ribs. He smirkd as Aziraphale hissed in disgust. “How long have you been on earth, Aziraphale? Longer than Gabriel even, surely. Which means you would have noticed the archangel’s presence wherever he is.”
The blond grimaced and bared his teeth, “Even if I did, you’d be the last person I’d tell.”
“No, but I know who will,” Balthazar sneered before he dragged the edge of the blade up Aziraphale’s arm with a bored stare, watching the blood well up in its wake. “Crowley has a looser mouth than you, little angel.”
Aziraphale’s blue eyes went wide again, his mouth dropping open, “Don’t you dare-”
“Hurt him? That’s not really up to you.” Balthazar paused, amused, “Oh, don’t tell me you care about the little Hellspawn, Aziraphale.” He laughed when the angel’s mouth set into a tight frown, silence stretching. “Do you love him, angel? Do you love that demon?” He spun the blade in his hands, waiting for an answer that would never come. “Why are you here then, angel? Why not be at his side like you wish to be.”
“It attracts to much attention,” Aziraphale spat, eyeing the silver apprehensively. “A demon and an angel hanging around each other during the midst of an apocalypse? It got us in enough trouble once. It’s safer this way.”
“Or so you thought,” Balthazar mused. His tongue flicked out to taste the tip of the blade, lapping up droplets of blood. “Now there’s no one here to save you, little angel.”
Aziraphale watched the knife lower towards his heart and swallowed, “He’ll kill you,” he whispered. “He won’t rest until he finds you and rips your head from your shoulders.”
“Exactly,” Balthazar laughed, the sound cruel and cold, making Aziraphale wince. “And when he does find me, I’ll be waiting. And I’ll get him to tell me where the last archangel is.” He cocked his head, drinking in the sight of Aziraphale’s defiant, terrified blue eyes. “For now though, your Grace will be enough to keep me hidden.”
The blade plunged down into Aziraphale’s chest and the angel screamed, the white-blue of his Grace ripping itself from his body before Balthazar scooped it into his own, gathering it up with a triumphant laugh as the light died from Aziraphale’s eyes.
Bobby studied the chessboard contemplatively, deciding on his next move with the utmost care. The boys had never been much of a match for him, not even Sam with his Stanford smarts and skills at thinking ahead. But Bobby had more practice, more time in his later years to spend playing nothing but chess, honing his skills and strategies to his heart’s content. Crowley, however, won half the games they played together. A worthy opponent if he said so himself.
He was about to move his knight into place when Crowley looked up at him over his glass of scotch, mouth half open and eyebrows furrowing together. If Bobby didn’t know better he would have said the look was one of pure anguish. Except that Crowley was a demon, surely he couldn’t feel things like that, but apparently he did. Crowley dropped his glass, the thing shattering on the hardwood floor of the kitchen before he dropped his head into his now empty hands, his entire body giving a heaving shudder. “Crowley?” Bobby stood, wondering if the wounds the demon had received from the deavas were acting up.
“We have to go,” Crowley whispered, the sound coming out in a choked sob. “Gotta find the boys.”
“Wha-”
Crowley raised poison-yellow eyes to him, looking more deadly than Bobby had ever seen him, “Some bloody fool is trying to piss me off and they’re doing a right fucking job of it. Pack your bags, Bobby, we’re leaving before the wanker gets a clue as to where I am.”
Bobby swallowed as he skirted into the other room to grab the emergency pre-packed duffle he always had on hand, “And if he does?”
“I’ll tear him limb from limb, what of it?” Crowley snapped before leading the way towards the truck. Bobby started the engine and checked over his shoulder to make sure the weapons supply in the back seat was ready to go. On the passenger side Crowley had curled up into a tight ball, forehead resting against the glass.