A Demon, An Angel, And A God-King Meet In The Afterlife: Chapter 3
Rating, disclaimer, etc. with Chapter 1
Previously: Chapter 2
Anya decided that she liked Castiel, despite getting off on the wrong foot with him. He was an attentive listener, watching her closely and not interrupting. Okay, so it was a little unnerving, but it was also gratifying.
She told him about growing up in Sjornjost, how D'Hoffryn came to her and made her a demon. She recounted some of her better vengeance sprees. When she got to the part when Giles broke her amulet, Castiel cut in.
"I thought you said you chose to be human?"
"Hush, I'm getting there."
Anya told Castiel about the trials of high school, about Xander, and about making friends with Buffy and Giles and Willow and Tara. When she told him about sex, Castiel didn't try to hush her or change the subject, and Anya appreciated that. She told him about fighting monsters, fighting friends, becoming a demon again.
"After all that, you went back to the dark side?" Castiel's tone wasn't accusing, it seemed like he just genuinely wanted to understand.
Anya wondered if angels watched Star Wars in heaven. "Well, that's just it. Xander hurt me, and I wanted to make him hurt too. But I couldn't do the job anymore. Taking vengeance... instead of helping me hurt less, it just made things worse."
"So you decided to become human."
"Actually, I decided to die to undo one of my wishes, but..." The image of Halfrek engulfed in flames flashed before Anya's eyes. "I ended up human instead." She sighed. "Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain."
"Being human is painful," Castiel said, as if he knew.
"Yup."
"It's also brave."
Anya considered that. She thought about the humans she knew, the fighters. "They are."
"I was referring to you," Castiel said, matter-of-factly. "Giving up your power, admitting you were wrong, choosing to be vulnerable... that was brave of you."
Okay, Anya was definitely getting to like this guy. "Thanks Castiel."
"You can call me Cas," he said, very seriously.
Anya smiled at the thought of an angel having a nick-name. "Cas."
Silence fell between them. Anya thought of finishing her story, but every time she opened her mouth all she could think about was that she didn't really know how it ended. She didn't know if her friends were alive, if they had won, if her death had meant anything at all.
Castiel was the one who finally broke the silence.
"The motel room, my, um, 'happy place,' it reminds me of my friends."
"Oh," Anya said. "Are your friends reasonably-priced prostitutes?"
Before Cas could answer, Anya blinked and the motel furnishings were gone, replaced by the towering stone pillars. Illyria sat on the ground, leaning against one of them, her knees hugged to her chest. She wasn't blue anymore.
Death stood before Cas and Anya.
"What happened to her?" Anya asked as she climbed to her feet, Cas standing next to her.
Death shrugged. "We'll find out when the Powers are finished deliberating." He turned to Castiel. "You're next."
Death disappeared with Cas, and the grungy wallpaper vanished. In the centre of the room, a statue of a tentacled, many-eyed monster rose into the sky.
***
Castiel found himself in what looked like the courtroom of The Hague - wood panelling, tall stained glass windows, chandeliers, and a long bench for the judges. He felt that he was ready to face these Powers That Be that Death kept referring to. He had tried his best, made his choices, and he would stand by them. He was not afraid.
One of the judges entered the room, walked across the floor and sat down in front of him. It was Eve. But it couldn't be, she was dead. Dean had killed her.
She seemed to know what he was thinking. "Didn't kill me, Castiel. Just sent me home."
While she was talking, another figure approached the bench and sat down.
"Crowley," Castiel growled.
"Well, if it isn't my old partner," Crowley said in mock surprise. "Guess double-crossing me didn't turn out too well for you."
Castiel's humiliation and anger affected his vessel - he could feel blood rushing to his face, could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
"No. You cannot be here. You cannot judge me."
"Believe me, I don't want to be here, revelling in your downfall." Crowley's words oozed with insincerity. "It's just one of the regrettable duties that comes with ruling Hell."
Castiel was severely shaken. Not only were his worst enemies there to gloat over his fall from grace, but they would be the ones deciding his fate in the afterlife.
He noticed that there was still an empty chair between Eve and Crowley. Castiel's indignation melted away, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he realized, with dread and mortification, that there was only one who could fill it.
Then, Chuck was there. Chuck. Which meant...
"You," Castiel breathed, his voice catching in his throat. "You were there all along."
"Yeah," his Father replied, voice flat, disappointment plain on his face. "Hi Cas."
***
Illyria had known that she was in a weakened state, compared to what she once was. But she had never suspected that she was this weak. Weak enough to allow another soul to share her body. A human soul. And now that Fred had been awakened, Illyria was having trouble putting her back to sleep.
The worst of it wasn't the struggle, though, Illyria was winning that. It was that she could feel everything the human was feeling. The loss, the regret - lowly, ungodly things to feel. And the grief. Illyria was no stranger to grief; the air was thick with it when she was with Wesley and his friends. She felt it herself when Wesley was slain. That was the problem. Having these feelings inside of her, Illyria found it difficult to separate them from her own.
As she pushed Fred back into her subconscious, Illyria could not supress the fear that she was becoming human.
Illyria gazed upon the giant statue, her own likeness, the tribute to what she once was, and began to weep.
***
Illyria was crying. And, okay, Anya didn't know her at all, but she could guess that someone who calls herself "the God-King of the Primordium" and who could throw a man twice her size across the room with one hand doesn't cry that often. The Powers That Be, however, they could make her cry.
Anya was dead, and separated from he friends, and everything else she liked about life, except for this Magic-Box-that-wasn't-really-her-Magic-Box. But it was okay, it was okay, she was not going break down, it was okay, because Anya was still here, still somewhere, and probably headed for somewhere better.
She had convinced herself that this whole exercise was about punishing the angel for his uncharacteristic wrong-doings, and rewarding the monsters for their uncharacteristic do-gooding. And she had been pretty confident when she filed Illyria under "monster do-gooder."
Seeing Illyria like this, Anya wasn't so sure anymore. She had to be sure.
Anya steeled herself, and walked up to the crouched, deceptively frail-looking figure.
"Hi," Anya ventured. Illyria didn't seem to notice, so Anya placed a hand gently on her shoulder. Illyria's head snapped up, eyes once again a shocking blue. Anya pulled her hand back as though scalded.
"You dare to lay hands on me?" Illyria accused.
"No!" Anya said hurridly. "No, I was just, um, wondering if... you were... okay?" Anya finished with a weak smile.
"I am decomposing," Illyria answered without hesitation, "becoming human."
"Oh." Anya knew that feeling. Except something about this didn't make sense. "But you're already dead."
"You wish to remind me further of my weakness?"
"No! It's just - if you're already dead, then how could you be turning into something that you weren't when you were alive?"
Illyria pondered this. "Then I've been so damaged from the beginning." She seemed to get lost in thought, but at least she wasn't crying anymore. After a moment she rose to her feet and nodded at Anya. "What you say is sensible. It reassures me. Thank you."
Anya let out the breath that she hadn't realized she was holding.
***
"I searched for you, and you were there all along!" Castiel stormed at God, the shame of his situation forgotten.
God was unmoved by his anger, simply acknowledging. "Yeah, I was."
"I begged for your help!"
"What did you want from me?"
"Some direction, a sign, the smallest indication-"
"I resurected you, Cas," God interrupted, incredulous. "I gave you soldiers who would follow you to their death. I gave you friends you could rely on." A short, cynical laugh escaped his lips, "I gave you the arsenal of Heaven." The volume of his voice rose as he became more adamant. "You had everything you needed, Castiel. What more did you expect me to give you?"
The silence that followed rang in Castiel's ears. His Father was right.
God softened. "I gave you the chance to re-make Heaven."
Cas lowered his gaze, unable to look his father in the eye. "And all I did was disappoint you," he murmured.
"Look, I hate to interrupt this touching family reunion -"
"Shut up, Crowley!" God barked.
Eve interjected, "We do have business to attend to, here."
God nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes trained on the bench in front of him.
Eve regarded Castiel cooly. "What to do with your everlasting... well, what passes for a soul."
Castiel was about to scoff at Eve, and tell her that angels don't have souls. But the Mother of All wasn't ignorant. He was missing something.
He hated admitting it in front of Eve and Crowley, so he focused on God, even though he was refusing to look at Castiel. "I don't understand. I don't have-"
Crowley gasped as though he had been handed a neatly wrapped present.
"Oh... he doesn't know."
***
Illyria realized now that she had been irrational. It was unlike her, but preferable to melting into humanity.
Illyria got to her feet, and started inspecting the walls. "What is this place?" she asked.
"The Magic Box," the demon named Anyanka answered. "It's the shop that I owned when I was - hey!"
Illyria had just punched a hole in the wall.
"This is no simple shop," she concluded, when the wall stitched itself back together before their eyes.
"Oh, you meant literally?" Anyanka continued talking. "I don't know, somewhere meta-"
Illyria strode over to one of the pillars and slammed her shoulder against it, making the structure tremble.
"-physical. What are you doing?" The demon sounded distressed.
"Escaping," Illyria answered. She ran her hands over the pillar, checking for cracks.
"Escaping? You can do that?"
"If there's a way, I will find it." Illyria reared back to slam herself against the pillar again.
"There is no way." Illyria recognized Death's icy drawl, and spun around to see him standing calmly, his hands clasped in front of him. "So you can save yourself the effort and stop now."
Illyria stalked towards the Reaper. He didn't flinch when she grabbed him by the throat.
"The small gods and the demon intend to cast me into the void, scatter my atoms across the universe, and burn my consciousness out of existence," Illyria snarled.
"They've come to no decisions yet." Death said smoothly.
Illyria tightened her grasp, but Death remained infuriatingly calm.
"You know as well as I what they plan."
Death shrugged.
Illyria felt his vertebrae crumbling under her fingers, and still he remained unmoved. "You will release me, or I will break you."
When Death spoke, it was as if he was addressing an impatient child. "Sit tight, and wait."
He vanished, right out of Illyria's hands.
***
Anya was starting to freak out, and not only because a god-king was pacing around like a caged tiger.
Illyria took a swing at the mammoth statue that was apparently part of her happy place. Cracks spidered out from where her fist connected, then faded. Illyria swung her fist again.
"I kinda think we can trust Death on the 'no escape' situation," Anya mentioned.
"This is destruction for destruction's sake," Illyria said, "but I am robbed of even that small pleasure." She watched the cracks disappear again.
Anya desperately wanted to question Illyria, but was wary of those fists. Even if she couldn't be killed again, Anya was still pretty sure they would hurt. But, Illyria had been forthcoming so far. So Anya decided to go for it.
"Why did they decide to destroy you?" Illyria turned to Anya with a piercing blue gaze, and if Castiel's was unnerving, this was a hundred times worse. Anya started to ramble nervously, "We're here because we did something right, right? Except Cas, he did something wrong, there's things he doesn't want to talk about, and he might as well have a neon sign over his head blinking 'GUILT!' But you and me, we were monsters, but we did good, so we're here. I thought we would be, you know... forgiven."
"You're afraid," Illyria observed.
No duh. "Yeah. I am."
Illyria turned back to her statue, but instead of making another attempt to smash it to bits, she started walking around it, running her fingers gently over its contours.
"Perhaps if I had sought forgiveness they would have found me less threatening."
Anya breathed a sigh of relief. The Powers That Be didn't want Illyria around because she was scary. Anya could actually see their point. "So, don't be threatening. I can do that."
Illyria stepped out from behind the statue. "You want to know what to expect from the tribunal?"
Anya nodded, hoping it was an offer and not just an observation.
"Know thine enemy," Illyria said with an approving nod. "The new god wanted to know how I felt about humans. Speaking well of humanity would ingratiate you with him."
"Oh, that's easy," Anya laughed with relief. "I became human, I'm on their side."
"That is of no consequence," Illyria commented, sitting cross-legged on the ground against the statue.
"What?" Becoming human and fighting with them were among the defining moments of Anya's life. They were definitely of consequence.
"You gave yourself willingly to the demon. It is an inseparable part of you. That is why you are not human here. As you rightly observed, we are nothing in death that we are not in life. And you are a demon."
***
"Should you tell him, or should I?" Crowley asked Eve.
"You tell him. I'm just going to watch."
"You fell in love with a human," Crowley said in a sing-song voice.
Castiel stared in surprise. He loved God's creation, loved his friends, and perhaps one was more special to him than the others. But he was familiar with the concept of being "in love". He never thought it could apply to him.
"That's irrelevant, and you know it," God muttered, apparently to the bench.
"Is that so?" Crowley questioned with a smug grin. "Is it something that normally happens to angels, then? Are there a lot of them flapping around with great cracks through their grace from pining for some hunter's pretty green eyes?"
Castiel knew he was blushing, and he hated it. He shouldn't be ashamed, but that was exactly how Crowley was making him feel.
God sighed and grit his teeth. "Love doesn't-"
"Uh-oh, here comes the speech about The Power Of Love!" Crowley said, feigning intimidation.
"In any case, your grace was weakened," Eve, impatient with her colleagues, took over explaining. "So when you stole the souls of my children," her tone was icy, with a note of condemnation, "their weight was too much. Your grace was mutilated. It wasn't crushed into an actual soul, but it's a lot like one."
Castiel closed his eyes, absorbing this information. He had thought the fallout from his actions couldn't get any worse. But this was fitting. He had killed Rachel and Balthazar and countless other brothers and sisters, he had broken Sam's mind, slaughtered humans, and ultimately let monsters loose on the world he had intended to save. It was only right that some of the damage should be felt by him, personally.
"And now I'm here," he whispered.
"And now," Crowley said, kicking back in his chair and putting his feet up on the bench, a wicked smirk spreading across his face, "you come to me."
***
Illyria cast her gaze around the holding cell, imagining the spaces between the columns filled with her army, thousands upon thousands of loyal and adoring soldiers, eager to give their lives to her in battle.
In reality the only other being there was the vengeance demon, sitting on some stairs that belonged to her shop, her eyes flitting towards Illyria every so often, wary and curious.
She pulled Illyria out of her reverie with a question. "You're not scared?"
Anyanka was a lowly creature, but she had seen reality clearly when Illyria had not, so Illyria decided it was no disgrace to humour her with an answer.
"A true ruler does not succumb to fear."
"So you're scared but you don't let it get to you."
Illyria was vexed that she had admitted fear without realizing it. "You get to the heart of matters, Anyanka. Initially I appreciated it. Now it irritates me."
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
Illyria sensed that Anyanka was slowly becoming less intimidated by her presence. It should have bothered her more than it did. But Illyria knew it didn't matter anymore, because soon, nothing would matter.
"Regret is beneath me as well, and yet I cannot help but regret that I have come to such an end."
Merciful silence stretched between them, and Illyria let herself sink back into her own thoughts, until Anyanka's voice sounded softly.
"How did you die?"
Illyria thought back to her last weary hours, every fight that proceeded them, the loss of Wesley wearing her down, taking something intangible from her. She thought back to when her powers were diminished, how her shell had been too weak to contain her. She thought back to finding her kingdom turned to dust.
"Slowly."
***
Anya's thoughts kept returning to the revelations that The Powers That Be were not as benevolent as she hoped, and that after everything she sacrificed - her powers and her life - to the universe, Anya Jenkins was still the demon Anyanka.
Anya needed distraction. The fact that Illyria was the most depressing creature that Anya had ever encountered wasn't helping. Anya supposed that this was partly her fault, since her attempts at conversation hadn't been the most up-beat. Well, that was about to change.
"This place, with the pillars and the statue, it makes you happy?" Anya asked, injecting some brightness into her voice.
"It reminds me of my home, my kingdom," Illyria answered in a tone that could almost be described as wistful. "This sculpture is a miniature of my true form."
"Miniature?" Anya craned her neck, trying to see the top of the statue. "Really?"
"In those days, the stars sung my praises and the planets danced for my pleasure."
"Huh." Anya noticed that Illyria hadn't actually answered the question. "So it makes you happy?"
Illyria gazed at the ceiling as though it wasn't there. "More than anything could."
In spite of her answer, Illyria's demeanor really didn't fit any definition of "happy" that Anya was familiar with. Anya sighed. It looked like she was just going to be stuck with an emo god-king.
***
"And don't think it'll be eternal queuing for you."
Crowley was speaking, but his voice barely registered with Castiel as he stared grimly ahead. His trial had been non-stop mortification, but this, this was the worst. The prospect of being handed to an enemy that he had once lorded over, who he had gotten the better of. Who he knew would inflict such suffering on him as to make the trial seem like a reprieve, who would find a way to pollute every good thing that Castiel still held in his heart, just to torture him.
He knew it had been his tragic flaw, but Castiel still had some pride.
Crowley went on, "I've got some traditionalists on my roster would just kill to revive some of the classic techniques."
"Destroy me," Castiel said, fixing God with his gaze, willing his Father to look at him. "Cast me into oblivion like the brothers and sisters I killed!" he implored. Castiel refused to let himself fall to his knees and beg, not in front of Eve, not in front of Crowley. But he would plead with his eyes if only his Father would look at him. "I'm still an angel, despite what they say! Let me die like one!"
"That's not going to happen, Cas," Eve cooed. "Crowley and me, we've agreed you belong in Hell."
"You can torture me in heaven!" Castiel raised his voice against the tears building in his eyes. "Just don't-"
"Your daddy can't help you," Crowley cut in sharply. "It's majority rule here."
"Then why did you bring me here?" Castiel demanded, raging now, the sense of shame and betrayal and panic giving rise to anger. "Why this show? The holding cell, the courtroom, tribunal-"
"Because I had to hear what you have to say for yourself!" God looked Castiel in the eye, his expression fierce.
"I'm sorry!" Castiel answered without hesitation, without thought. He realized he was shouting, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought you left me." He felt tears, hot on his face, but he didn't care. It didn't matter anymore that Eve and Crowley were there. All Castiel wanted was to speak to his Father. "I thought I could do better than you. I was proud and selfish and wrong. And I'm sorry."
All the anger melted out of God's eyes, leaving only disappointment and sadness. "So am I."
Chapter 4
Previously: Chapter 2
Anya decided that she liked Castiel, despite getting off on the wrong foot with him. He was an attentive listener, watching her closely and not interrupting. Okay, so it was a little unnerving, but it was also gratifying.
She told him about growing up in Sjornjost, how D'Hoffryn came to her and made her a demon. She recounted some of her better vengeance sprees. When she got to the part when Giles broke her amulet, Castiel cut in.
"I thought you said you chose to be human?"
"Hush, I'm getting there."
Anya told Castiel about the trials of high school, about Xander, and about making friends with Buffy and Giles and Willow and Tara. When she told him about sex, Castiel didn't try to hush her or change the subject, and Anya appreciated that. She told him about fighting monsters, fighting friends, becoming a demon again.
"After all that, you went back to the dark side?" Castiel's tone wasn't accusing, it seemed like he just genuinely wanted to understand.
Anya wondered if angels watched Star Wars in heaven. "Well, that's just it. Xander hurt me, and I wanted to make him hurt too. But I couldn't do the job anymore. Taking vengeance... instead of helping me hurt less, it just made things worse."
"So you decided to become human."
"Actually, I decided to die to undo one of my wishes, but..." The image of Halfrek engulfed in flames flashed before Anya's eyes. "I ended up human instead." She sighed. "Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain."
"Being human is painful," Castiel said, as if he knew.
"Yup."
"It's also brave."
Anya considered that. She thought about the humans she knew, the fighters. "They are."
"I was referring to you," Castiel said, matter-of-factly. "Giving up your power, admitting you were wrong, choosing to be vulnerable... that was brave of you."
Okay, Anya was definitely getting to like this guy. "Thanks Castiel."
"You can call me Cas," he said, very seriously.
Anya smiled at the thought of an angel having a nick-name. "Cas."
Silence fell between them. Anya thought of finishing her story, but every time she opened her mouth all she could think about was that she didn't really know how it ended. She didn't know if her friends were alive, if they had won, if her death had meant anything at all.
Castiel was the one who finally broke the silence.
"The motel room, my, um, 'happy place,' it reminds me of my friends."
"Oh," Anya said. "Are your friends reasonably-priced prostitutes?"
Before Cas could answer, Anya blinked and the motel furnishings were gone, replaced by the towering stone pillars. Illyria sat on the ground, leaning against one of them, her knees hugged to her chest. She wasn't blue anymore.
Death stood before Cas and Anya.
"What happened to her?" Anya asked as she climbed to her feet, Cas standing next to her.
Death shrugged. "We'll find out when the Powers are finished deliberating." He turned to Castiel. "You're next."
Death disappeared with Cas, and the grungy wallpaper vanished. In the centre of the room, a statue of a tentacled, many-eyed monster rose into the sky.
***
Castiel found himself in what looked like the courtroom of The Hague - wood panelling, tall stained glass windows, chandeliers, and a long bench for the judges. He felt that he was ready to face these Powers That Be that Death kept referring to. He had tried his best, made his choices, and he would stand by them. He was not afraid.
One of the judges entered the room, walked across the floor and sat down in front of him. It was Eve. But it couldn't be, she was dead. Dean had killed her.
She seemed to know what he was thinking. "Didn't kill me, Castiel. Just sent me home."
While she was talking, another figure approached the bench and sat down.
"Crowley," Castiel growled.
"Well, if it isn't my old partner," Crowley said in mock surprise. "Guess double-crossing me didn't turn out too well for you."
Castiel's humiliation and anger affected his vessel - he could feel blood rushing to his face, could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
"No. You cannot be here. You cannot judge me."
"Believe me, I don't want to be here, revelling in your downfall." Crowley's words oozed with insincerity. "It's just one of the regrettable duties that comes with ruling Hell."
Castiel was severely shaken. Not only were his worst enemies there to gloat over his fall from grace, but they would be the ones deciding his fate in the afterlife.
He noticed that there was still an empty chair between Eve and Crowley. Castiel's indignation melted away, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he realized, with dread and mortification, that there was only one who could fill it.
Then, Chuck was there. Chuck. Which meant...
"You," Castiel breathed, his voice catching in his throat. "You were there all along."
"Yeah," his Father replied, voice flat, disappointment plain on his face. "Hi Cas."
***
Illyria had known that she was in a weakened state, compared to what she once was. But she had never suspected that she was this weak. Weak enough to allow another soul to share her body. A human soul. And now that Fred had been awakened, Illyria was having trouble putting her back to sleep.
The worst of it wasn't the struggle, though, Illyria was winning that. It was that she could feel everything the human was feeling. The loss, the regret - lowly, ungodly things to feel. And the grief. Illyria was no stranger to grief; the air was thick with it when she was with Wesley and his friends. She felt it herself when Wesley was slain. That was the problem. Having these feelings inside of her, Illyria found it difficult to separate them from her own.
As she pushed Fred back into her subconscious, Illyria could not supress the fear that she was becoming human.
Illyria gazed upon the giant statue, her own likeness, the tribute to what she once was, and began to weep.
***
Illyria was crying. And, okay, Anya didn't know her at all, but she could guess that someone who calls herself "the God-King of the Primordium" and who could throw a man twice her size across the room with one hand doesn't cry that often. The Powers That Be, however, they could make her cry.
Anya was dead, and separated from he friends, and everything else she liked about life, except for this Magic-Box-that-wasn't-really-her-Magic-Box. But it was okay, it was okay, she was not going break down, it was okay, because Anya was still here, still somewhere, and probably headed for somewhere better.
She had convinced herself that this whole exercise was about punishing the angel for his uncharacteristic wrong-doings, and rewarding the monsters for their uncharacteristic do-gooding. And she had been pretty confident when she filed Illyria under "monster do-gooder."
Seeing Illyria like this, Anya wasn't so sure anymore. She had to be sure.
Anya steeled herself, and walked up to the crouched, deceptively frail-looking figure.
"Hi," Anya ventured. Illyria didn't seem to notice, so Anya placed a hand gently on her shoulder. Illyria's head snapped up, eyes once again a shocking blue. Anya pulled her hand back as though scalded.
"You dare to lay hands on me?" Illyria accused.
"No!" Anya said hurridly. "No, I was just, um, wondering if... you were... okay?" Anya finished with a weak smile.
"I am decomposing," Illyria answered without hesitation, "becoming human."
"Oh." Anya knew that feeling. Except something about this didn't make sense. "But you're already dead."
"You wish to remind me further of my weakness?"
"No! It's just - if you're already dead, then how could you be turning into something that you weren't when you were alive?"
Illyria pondered this. "Then I've been so damaged from the beginning." She seemed to get lost in thought, but at least she wasn't crying anymore. After a moment she rose to her feet and nodded at Anya. "What you say is sensible. It reassures me. Thank you."
Anya let out the breath that she hadn't realized she was holding.
***
"I searched for you, and you were there all along!" Castiel stormed at God, the shame of his situation forgotten.
God was unmoved by his anger, simply acknowledging. "Yeah, I was."
"I begged for your help!"
"What did you want from me?"
"Some direction, a sign, the smallest indication-"
"I resurected you, Cas," God interrupted, incredulous. "I gave you soldiers who would follow you to their death. I gave you friends you could rely on." A short, cynical laugh escaped his lips, "I gave you the arsenal of Heaven." The volume of his voice rose as he became more adamant. "You had everything you needed, Castiel. What more did you expect me to give you?"
The silence that followed rang in Castiel's ears. His Father was right.
God softened. "I gave you the chance to re-make Heaven."
Cas lowered his gaze, unable to look his father in the eye. "And all I did was disappoint you," he murmured.
"Look, I hate to interrupt this touching family reunion -"
"Shut up, Crowley!" God barked.
Eve interjected, "We do have business to attend to, here."
God nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes trained on the bench in front of him.
Eve regarded Castiel cooly. "What to do with your everlasting... well, what passes for a soul."
Castiel was about to scoff at Eve, and tell her that angels don't have souls. But the Mother of All wasn't ignorant. He was missing something.
He hated admitting it in front of Eve and Crowley, so he focused on God, even though he was refusing to look at Castiel. "I don't understand. I don't have-"
Crowley gasped as though he had been handed a neatly wrapped present.
"Oh... he doesn't know."
***
Illyria realized now that she had been irrational. It was unlike her, but preferable to melting into humanity.
Illyria got to her feet, and started inspecting the walls. "What is this place?" she asked.
"The Magic Box," the demon named Anyanka answered. "It's the shop that I owned when I was - hey!"
Illyria had just punched a hole in the wall.
"This is no simple shop," she concluded, when the wall stitched itself back together before their eyes.
"Oh, you meant literally?" Anyanka continued talking. "I don't know, somewhere meta-"
Illyria strode over to one of the pillars and slammed her shoulder against it, making the structure tremble.
"-physical. What are you doing?" The demon sounded distressed.
"Escaping," Illyria answered. She ran her hands over the pillar, checking for cracks.
"Escaping? You can do that?"
"If there's a way, I will find it." Illyria reared back to slam herself against the pillar again.
"There is no way." Illyria recognized Death's icy drawl, and spun around to see him standing calmly, his hands clasped in front of him. "So you can save yourself the effort and stop now."
Illyria stalked towards the Reaper. He didn't flinch when she grabbed him by the throat.
"The small gods and the demon intend to cast me into the void, scatter my atoms across the universe, and burn my consciousness out of existence," Illyria snarled.
"They've come to no decisions yet." Death said smoothly.
Illyria tightened her grasp, but Death remained infuriatingly calm.
"You know as well as I what they plan."
Death shrugged.
Illyria felt his vertebrae crumbling under her fingers, and still he remained unmoved. "You will release me, or I will break you."
When Death spoke, it was as if he was addressing an impatient child. "Sit tight, and wait."
He vanished, right out of Illyria's hands.
***
Anya was starting to freak out, and not only because a god-king was pacing around like a caged tiger.
Illyria took a swing at the mammoth statue that was apparently part of her happy place. Cracks spidered out from where her fist connected, then faded. Illyria swung her fist again.
"I kinda think we can trust Death on the 'no escape' situation," Anya mentioned.
"This is destruction for destruction's sake," Illyria said, "but I am robbed of even that small pleasure." She watched the cracks disappear again.
Anya desperately wanted to question Illyria, but was wary of those fists. Even if she couldn't be killed again, Anya was still pretty sure they would hurt. But, Illyria had been forthcoming so far. So Anya decided to go for it.
"Why did they decide to destroy you?" Illyria turned to Anya with a piercing blue gaze, and if Castiel's was unnerving, this was a hundred times worse. Anya started to ramble nervously, "We're here because we did something right, right? Except Cas, he did something wrong, there's things he doesn't want to talk about, and he might as well have a neon sign over his head blinking 'GUILT!' But you and me, we were monsters, but we did good, so we're here. I thought we would be, you know... forgiven."
"You're afraid," Illyria observed.
No duh. "Yeah. I am."
Illyria turned back to her statue, but instead of making another attempt to smash it to bits, she started walking around it, running her fingers gently over its contours.
"Perhaps if I had sought forgiveness they would have found me less threatening."
Anya breathed a sigh of relief. The Powers That Be didn't want Illyria around because she was scary. Anya could actually see their point. "So, don't be threatening. I can do that."
Illyria stepped out from behind the statue. "You want to know what to expect from the tribunal?"
Anya nodded, hoping it was an offer and not just an observation.
"Know thine enemy," Illyria said with an approving nod. "The new god wanted to know how I felt about humans. Speaking well of humanity would ingratiate you with him."
"Oh, that's easy," Anya laughed with relief. "I became human, I'm on their side."
"That is of no consequence," Illyria commented, sitting cross-legged on the ground against the statue.
"What?" Becoming human and fighting with them were among the defining moments of Anya's life. They were definitely of consequence.
"You gave yourself willingly to the demon. It is an inseparable part of you. That is why you are not human here. As you rightly observed, we are nothing in death that we are not in life. And you are a demon."
***
"Should you tell him, or should I?" Crowley asked Eve.
"You tell him. I'm just going to watch."
"You fell in love with a human," Crowley said in a sing-song voice.
Castiel stared in surprise. He loved God's creation, loved his friends, and perhaps one was more special to him than the others. But he was familiar with the concept of being "in love". He never thought it could apply to him.
"That's irrelevant, and you know it," God muttered, apparently to the bench.
"Is that so?" Crowley questioned with a smug grin. "Is it something that normally happens to angels, then? Are there a lot of them flapping around with great cracks through their grace from pining for some hunter's pretty green eyes?"
Castiel knew he was blushing, and he hated it. He shouldn't be ashamed, but that was exactly how Crowley was making him feel.
God sighed and grit his teeth. "Love doesn't-"
"Uh-oh, here comes the speech about The Power Of Love!" Crowley said, feigning intimidation.
"In any case, your grace was weakened," Eve, impatient with her colleagues, took over explaining. "So when you stole the souls of my children," her tone was icy, with a note of condemnation, "their weight was too much. Your grace was mutilated. It wasn't crushed into an actual soul, but it's a lot like one."
Castiel closed his eyes, absorbing this information. He had thought the fallout from his actions couldn't get any worse. But this was fitting. He had killed Rachel and Balthazar and countless other brothers and sisters, he had broken Sam's mind, slaughtered humans, and ultimately let monsters loose on the world he had intended to save. It was only right that some of the damage should be felt by him, personally.
"And now I'm here," he whispered.
"And now," Crowley said, kicking back in his chair and putting his feet up on the bench, a wicked smirk spreading across his face, "you come to me."
***
Illyria cast her gaze around the holding cell, imagining the spaces between the columns filled with her army, thousands upon thousands of loyal and adoring soldiers, eager to give their lives to her in battle.
In reality the only other being there was the vengeance demon, sitting on some stairs that belonged to her shop, her eyes flitting towards Illyria every so often, wary and curious.
She pulled Illyria out of her reverie with a question. "You're not scared?"
Anyanka was a lowly creature, but she had seen reality clearly when Illyria had not, so Illyria decided it was no disgrace to humour her with an answer.
"A true ruler does not succumb to fear."
"So you're scared but you don't let it get to you."
Illyria was vexed that she had admitted fear without realizing it. "You get to the heart of matters, Anyanka. Initially I appreciated it. Now it irritates me."
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
Illyria sensed that Anyanka was slowly becoming less intimidated by her presence. It should have bothered her more than it did. But Illyria knew it didn't matter anymore, because soon, nothing would matter.
"Regret is beneath me as well, and yet I cannot help but regret that I have come to such an end."
Merciful silence stretched between them, and Illyria let herself sink back into her own thoughts, until Anyanka's voice sounded softly.
"How did you die?"
Illyria thought back to her last weary hours, every fight that proceeded them, the loss of Wesley wearing her down, taking something intangible from her. She thought back to when her powers were diminished, how her shell had been too weak to contain her. She thought back to finding her kingdom turned to dust.
"Slowly."
***
Anya's thoughts kept returning to the revelations that The Powers That Be were not as benevolent as she hoped, and that after everything she sacrificed - her powers and her life - to the universe, Anya Jenkins was still the demon Anyanka.
Anya needed distraction. The fact that Illyria was the most depressing creature that Anya had ever encountered wasn't helping. Anya supposed that this was partly her fault, since her attempts at conversation hadn't been the most up-beat. Well, that was about to change.
"This place, with the pillars and the statue, it makes you happy?" Anya asked, injecting some brightness into her voice.
"It reminds me of my home, my kingdom," Illyria answered in a tone that could almost be described as wistful. "This sculpture is a miniature of my true form."
"Miniature?" Anya craned her neck, trying to see the top of the statue. "Really?"
"In those days, the stars sung my praises and the planets danced for my pleasure."
"Huh." Anya noticed that Illyria hadn't actually answered the question. "So it makes you happy?"
Illyria gazed at the ceiling as though it wasn't there. "More than anything could."
In spite of her answer, Illyria's demeanor really didn't fit any definition of "happy" that Anya was familiar with. Anya sighed. It looked like she was just going to be stuck with an emo god-king.
***
"And don't think it'll be eternal queuing for you."
Crowley was speaking, but his voice barely registered with Castiel as he stared grimly ahead. His trial had been non-stop mortification, but this, this was the worst. The prospect of being handed to an enemy that he had once lorded over, who he had gotten the better of. Who he knew would inflict such suffering on him as to make the trial seem like a reprieve, who would find a way to pollute every good thing that Castiel still held in his heart, just to torture him.
He knew it had been his tragic flaw, but Castiel still had some pride.
Crowley went on, "I've got some traditionalists on my roster would just kill to revive some of the classic techniques."
"Destroy me," Castiel said, fixing God with his gaze, willing his Father to look at him. "Cast me into oblivion like the brothers and sisters I killed!" he implored. Castiel refused to let himself fall to his knees and beg, not in front of Eve, not in front of Crowley. But he would plead with his eyes if only his Father would look at him. "I'm still an angel, despite what they say! Let me die like one!"
"That's not going to happen, Cas," Eve cooed. "Crowley and me, we've agreed you belong in Hell."
"You can torture me in heaven!" Castiel raised his voice against the tears building in his eyes. "Just don't-"
"Your daddy can't help you," Crowley cut in sharply. "It's majority rule here."
"Then why did you bring me here?" Castiel demanded, raging now, the sense of shame and betrayal and panic giving rise to anger. "Why this show? The holding cell, the courtroom, tribunal-"
"Because I had to hear what you have to say for yourself!" God looked Castiel in the eye, his expression fierce.
"I'm sorry!" Castiel answered without hesitation, without thought. He realized he was shouting, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought you left me." He felt tears, hot on his face, but he didn't care. It didn't matter anymore that Eve and Crowley were there. All Castiel wanted was to speak to his Father. "I thought I could do better than you. I was proud and selfish and wrong. And I'm sorry."
All the anger melted out of God's eyes, leaving only disappointment and sadness. "So am I."
Chapter 4