#and i think all in heaven instinctively know and see gabriel here as the messenger

[muzzleroars]

I just realised something, Did the citizens of Heaven even know what was going on when Gabriel slaughtered the council? considering he was way more popular than them, they might have kept his light removal quiet until either he succeded in killing V1 (thus proving that he was still under their control so not a threat) or he dies in hell during the attempt (thus no longer being capable of being a threat). Or would the council have been public with it in order to tarnish his image to the populace?

The thought of being an angel just minding your own business only for Gabriel to suddenly appear waving your boss's severed head before teleporting away without any explanation is kind of funny.

SUCH a good question...honestly both options have their risks and benefits, with the council REALLY putting themselves in a precarious position regardless of gabriel's actions at the end of act ii. if they tell the citizenry, it would likely be as you said with a ton of spin in order to make gabriel seem heretical - they already label him a traitor upon his return from gluttony, and this could be the option that gives them the most control over the narrative. they do risk unrest and dissent in the public due to gabriel's popularity, but it's possible the council had enough control at this point to sway opinion in their favor and the masses would believe their words without question. or at least. maybe they would think they did.

however, i personally think it's equally likely they said nothing about the removal in order to give themselves time to move politically. i think this option ultimately runs a higher risk, since gabriel's death would necessitate explanation, but it does allow them a breathing room to construct their story. because no matter what, i think they're keenly aware that losing gabriel in any capacity has a high potential to make them seem weak or corrupt due to his reputation in heaven. whether they tell them he died, was executed, or fell (all depending on the narrative they want to tell), they lost the archangel gabriel under their rule so SOMETHING will feel off no matter the authority they've managed to build.

what's most important in determining which path they took though imo is how common this practice is - does the council regularly rip light from an angel as punishment, or is this like. highly unethical? i sort of lean toward the latter, that to remove the light from an angel may be under their jurisdiction, but it's considered taboo to actually implement as a punishment given how harsh it is and how...god-like it seems. to end an angel's life without that judgment deriving directly from god himself? it seems power mad and presumptuous especially when done to such a high-ranking angel that has never caused issue for anyone else in heaven. and if they have failed so egregiously, why not simply banish them? cast them out to wander a blighted earth or rot in hell, but to kill an angel? it feels like this could be an overstep in their authority in a sense, so i do tend to favor the idea that the citizens didn't know gabriel's situation.

WHICH YEA....MAKES THE END OF ACT II SOMETHING. but i think there was SOME idea that something strange was happening and it was at least well known that gabriel was being run ragged by the council. he obviously isn't the type to let anything show, but many noted his long absences from heaven and the virtues that accompanied him in hell would tell of how only he stood in the way of the machines - after all, the virtues aren't met before gabriel's defeat in gluttony, so it seems he managed the threat entirely on his own until v1 took him down. but now the machines have made it deeper into hell. and others must have seen gabriel's return from gluttony, battered and broken and covered in blood. and there was no triumph in him then. uneasy whispers must have run through heaven at that time...and i think they were all expecting an explanation from the council to soothe their fears when instead gabriel showed them their heads. as shocking and terrifying as it is, heaven holds still because they see gabriel as the direct opposite of what he was in that messy return from gluttony - he is radiant, he is regal and serene in how he carries himself, yet he is distinctly out of step with everyone else and he makes his own rhythm. he appears not as a crazed demon but as the messenger he always was...and they would do well to listen

[vastiitas]

Meta + being drafted into Overwatch; how did he feel when arriving at the HQ in Switzerland for the first time? Did he feel welcomed, ostracized, none of either?

block-print on newspaper with that grunge splotch texture of imperfect printing: NEW KID ON THE BLOCK, CHIP ON HIS SHOULDER; PLENTY TO PROVE TO THE WARDENS WHO SEE A MANGEY MUTT WHOSE ACTIONS TELL US HE'S ALL LIABILITY AND A LOST CAUSE. HOT-HEADED & MOUTHY, SOME WILD THING TO BE BROKEN IN - COMMANDER REYES, THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?

idek where to begin sue ksjldf--

his draft leaves him with feelings of yet a second dispossession. failure to save anybody and coming out alive in an omnic crisis attack left him bloody and raw in one way, but deadlock leaving him for dead was another: knocking the world askew from his understanding of loyalty - that people you thought you built your trust with can and will hurt you. He's reeling and shell-shocked and discombobulated and there's a distinct feeling of stigmata branding his flesh with the name Traitor.

it doesn't escape him that the name gabriel is that of an angel - that he tends to be the messenger of some sort of god. gabriel reyes tells him that this is redemption. gabriel reyes tells him that this is how he gets to keep on living and not just rot out a life-sentence in a supermax prison. cole hasn't touched a bi.ble since he was 10, but it is hard not to look at that open palm and not to see a point of reference, some form of anchor, to see which way might be up. He grips that hand with the sort of desperation of someone being swept away by a riptide.

it doesn't escape him that ultimatums aren't choices, and his instincts are buzzing electric knowing this; that this is not true freedom, that he is leashed and owned, that he is dead to rights (and perhaps deservedly so). your life is forfeit and there is nothing you can do about it (ofc, this perspective changes later; the transformative power of ow doing good, that bw has had the impact that reyes has said it will; this combined with the comradery makes him begin to believe. for the first time, he is seeing that he is capable of doing Good and Right beyond the vitriolic acid spat at him telling him he wasn't otherwise; that even if he's a pain in the ass with his Cowboy Behavior, there is a place for it and it feels... nice and his heart doesn't seem to thunder so tumultuously anymore; he understands what reyes gave him was an opportunity and an out.)

being drafted into overwatch felt monumental. being drafted into overwatch felt like a soft damnation. you are on the cusp of some gate, and you can neither tell it between heaven or hell. he feels displaced, knocked off-balance in a new way he hasn't been before, but free-fall is something cole knows how to do, rolling with the punches as long as you can keep on rolling with them for another day. somebody somewhere can summarize his life just like that. this is how it's always been and perhaps this is how it always will be: so cole cass.idy rolls with the punches.

he tries to be polite, because this is The Big Organization founded by the People who Fought the War, but it's a veneer with its limits. He knows that there are eyes on him and he stares right back; he knows that there are questions upon questions piled back-to-back with all the pointedness of asking why are you here? some kid from a gang? what the hell was reyes thinking? He tells them, Watch Me. They point at his unconventionality, they ask him about the hat, they talk about how he does this and that and this and look at his boots; eventually it all blurs into irrelevant white noise as he falls right back into the Rhythm of Who He Is: Smooth, sly smiles and smirking, snarling, aggressive, non-relenting pressure in the field.

arriving at HQ was-- breathtaking. i don't know much about the geography of switzerland, but i like to think that they definitely flew through those alps. he's a nature boy, he's gonna find that stuff incredible (and distantly, wistfully think about how his mother would have loved this.) i think that there were probably a good handful of people on both sides of this fence of intentions of making him feel welcomed or ostracized, but ultimately people are people and you make friends with those who seem interested in the person in front of them and not their shadow and pay a little miffed mind to the ones who'd like to see you fail.

[thotsonthebible]

Angels and Witches

Jude 1.10

Yet these people slander whatever they do not understand, and the very things they do understand by instinct—as irrational animals do—will destroy them.

Yesterday, I received a newsletter from an author who offered descriptions of a series of cozy mysteries featuring a 'cute' witch as the protagonist.

Why do we tend to think of witches as harmless comedic characters today?  Are there truly 'good witches'?  What about 'white witches'?

Modern society does the same thing with all manner of supernatural beings.  Ghosts are portrayed as nothing more than spirits of those who have died.  And angel figurines, in the form of women with fairy wings, are routinely sold as Christmas ornaments, figurines, or 'guardian angels', and the deceased are often said to have become angels.  Have they?

Have we distanced ourselves so far from reality that we have become completely ignorant of the spiritual world that surrounds us?

Do you think it's possible that the enemy of our souls gains an advantage from diverting our attention from the true nature of those entities and trying to pass them off as harmless Disney characters?

First, let's look at witches.  What does the Bible have to say about them?

'You shall not allow a sorceress [witch] to live.'  —Exodus 22.18

There shall not be found among you anyone who makes his son or daughter pass through the fire, one who uses divination, one who practices witchcraft, or one who interprets omens, or a sorcerer.  —Deuteronomy 18.10

Those are pretty dire warnings, and while these verses are from the Law, it is from the Law that we know God's mind.

In rebuking King Saul for his disobedience, the prophet Samuel spoke these words from the LORD:

'For rebellion is as the sin of divination, and insubordination is as iniquity and idolatry.'  —1 Samuel 15.23

In the condemnation of Manasseh, King of Judah, it is written:

He made his sons pass through the fire in the valley of Ben-hinnom; and he practiced witchcraft, used divination, practiced sorcery, and dealt with mediums and spiritists.  He did much evil in the sight of the LORD, provoking Him to anger.  —2 Chronicles 33.6

It should be noted here that the references to making children 'pass through the fire' is generally understood to mean sacrificing them to the false god Moloch.

In the New Testament, witchcraft and sorcery are listed among various other 'deeds of the flesh' and we are warned:

…just as I have forewarned you, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.  —Galatians 5.21

Nowhere in the Bible is witchcraft, divination, fortune-telling, consulting with spirits, or even 'water-witching' and astrology acceptable.  All dark arts are condemned, for in practicing them, you are seeking help from Satan, the enemy of your soul.

Some of those who pursue witchcraft and other dark arts may try to pass themselves off as 'white witches' or 'good witches', but they know that the source of their power is Satan.  Before I became a Christian, I was deeply involved in the occult arts, and I was fully aware that the source of the power was Satan.

As for 'ghosts', they are not human spirits hanging around the Earth after death; they are evil spirits, demons.  Don't let the enemy sow confusion in your mind!

Let's move on to angels.  When humans die, they do not become angels.  Humans and angels are distinctly different creatures. The Bible tells us that we will be transformed and perfected, not turned into angels.

Beloved, now we are children of God, and it has not appeared as yet what we will be.  We know that when He appears, we will be like Him, because we will see Him just as He is.  —1 John 3.2

Does the Bible ever describe angels?  Most often, we're simply told of the appearance of an angel, not given a description.  However, they are all referred to as men, not women.

Then the woman came and told her husband, saying, 'A man of God came to me and his appearance was like the appearance of the angel of God, very awesome.  And I did not ask him where he came from, nor did he tell me his name.'  —Judges 13.6

There is no doubt that they are warriors.

Then it happened that night that the angel of the LORD went out and struck 185,000 in the camp of the Assyrians.  —2 Kings 19.35

Sometimes, the angel is described as holding a drawn sword.

But God was angry because he was going, and the angel of the LORD took his stand in the way as an adversary against him… When the donkey saw the angel of the LORD standing in the way with his drawn sword in his hand, the donkey turned off from the way and went into the field…  Then the LORD opened the eyes of Balaam, and he saw the angel of the LORD standing in the way with his drawn sword in his hand, and he bowed all the way to the ground.  —Numbers 23.22-23, 31

Then David lifted up his eyes and saw the angel of the LORD standing between heaven and earth, with his drawn sword in his hand stretched out over Jerusalem…  The LORD commanded the angel, and he put his sword back in its sheath.  —1 Chronicles 21.16, 27

Occasionally, we are treated to a detailed description.

I lifted my eyes and looked, and behold, there was a certain man dressed in linen, whose waist was girded with a belt of pure gold of Uphaz.  His body also was like beryl, his face had the appearance of lightning, his eyes were like flaming torches, his arms and feet like the gleam of polished bronze, and the sound of his words like the sound of a tumult.  —Daniel 10.5-6

However, angels are most often mentioned as messengers, and only two are known by name:  Gabriel, who was sent to Zacharias to foretell the birth of his son, John the Baptist (Luke 1.19) and to Mary to inform her that she would give the birth to the Messiah (Luke 1.26-38); and Michael, who is referred to as 'one of the chief princes' (Daniel 10.13), 'the great prince who stands guard over the sons of your people [Israel] (Daniel 12.1), as an archangel (Jude 1.9), and as the chief of those who waged war with Lucifer in heaven (Revelation 12.7-9).

These things are real, not fantasy.  A very real spiritual realm exists, and we are sometimes afforded a glimpse into it. The inhabitants of that realm are not to be mocked or used as the objects of parlor games.

Neither are 'ghosts' and witches to be feared, for if you are a child of God, the Holy Spirit Who resides in you is far greater than any power of darkness (1 John 4.4).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NOTE: All Scriptures are taken from the New American Standard Bible unless otherwise noted.

[mad-madam-m]

Can you please, please write a full length fic of the extended tags you did for the ‘you didn’t have a trial’ Aziraphale/Crowley piece?

I have enough other stuff to write, so I was going to say no, but 1) this is the second request I’ve gotten for a full(er) fic based on these tags and 2) let’s be real, the amount of prompting I need right now to write a Good Omens fic is approximately zero. So here you go!

“You know, I’ve been meaning toask, what was my trial like?” Aziraphale asked out of the blue after threebottles of wine.

Crowley fumbled his glass and nearlydropped it, and only a minor demonic miracle kept the wine from splattering allover the sofa. “Er, what?”

“My trial. You know.”Aziraphale pointed upward at the bookshop ceiling and then poured them bothsome more wine. “Up there. I mean, you did say they won’t leave us aloneforever, and much as I want you to be wrong about that, I don’tthink you are. If Gabriel or one of the others mentions something to me, Ishouldn’t like to give the game away if I don’t know what they’re talkingabout.”

Crowley’s throat went suddenly dry,and he drank most of his wine in one swallow. “I mean, I could bewrong. It’s been a few weeks. They may be leaving us alone forgood.”

“Crowley, I know you don’tactually believe that,” Aziraphale said in a manner that meant he wouldn’tbe budged on this topic, and then his face softened into concern. “Mydear, what is it? Was it really that awful?”

There was no way to hide it. And he shouldn’t behiding it, but the instinct he had to protect Aziraphale was strong. Theyboth knew how awful the angels could be, but Aziraphale seemed to cling stubbornlyto the idea that there was still good up there, somehow. And Crowleyhated being put in the position to remind him otherwise.

He sighed and pulled off hissunglasses. The least he could do was do this without any barriers betweenthem. “You didn’t have a trial, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him, eyes goingever-so-slightly wider than normal. “What?”

Crowley rubbed the bridge of hisnose and looked down at his wine glass. “There wasn’t a trial. They justtied me up in a chair until the demon got there with the hellfire. And thenthey only untied me to tell me to walk into it. No prosecution, no defense, nonothing.” He cleared his throat and finished off the last of his wine.“It was just an execution.”

He looked back up from the glass toAziraphale, who had gone uncharacteristically still. The disbelief on his facefaded as the words sank in, and he looked…

Shattered. Shattered and hollow andmore than a little betrayed.

Crowley hated himself for puttingthat look on his angel’s face, even if he was only the messenger.

Aziraphale blinked quickly andsmiled, but it was only a faint echo of his usual one. “Oh. Well. I reallyshouldn’t be surprised, all things considered. Gabriel isn’t one to let thingslike facts get in the way of his decisions. And it does make thingsa bit easier on me, I suppose. Not much at all to remember, is there?” Hegestured with his glass. “Thank you for telling me, my dear.”

No, Crowley didn’t hate himself. Hehated Gabriel, and if that bastard of an archangel came within a hundredfeet of Aziraphale, Crowley was going to burn him where he stood. He’d do it now ifhe thought it would wipe the broken look off Aziraphale’s face. He’d yank themall out of Heaven in a heartbeat.

But he’d known Aziraphale too long.Revenge wouldn’t fix anything, and Aziraphale would probably be upset with himfor even trying it.

Crowley cast about for an idea,something that would help. “Why don’t we go see a movie? It’sFriday. There’s loads of new ones.”

Aziraphale laughed, although itwasn’t so much of a laugh as a sharp exhale through a smile that was breakingapart. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling much for a movie.”

“Concert?” Crowley suggested.“I think there’s one you’d really love.”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Opera? They’re doing Carmentonight.” Somebody somewhere would be doing Carmen tonight; Crowleycould find a way to get them there. “Or Hamlet?”

Fuck, he would sit through a hundred performancesof Hamlet if it just meant Aziraphale would smile like normal again.

Aziraphale’s smile trembled, and hestood up from his chair and joined Crowley on the couch. “I think,”he said very softly, “I would just like you to sit with me for abit.”

It was both the simplest thing to doand the hardest thing to do. Crowley switched his glass to his other hand so hecould put his arm on the back of the couch, behind Aziraphale. “Of course,angel.”

Aziraphale shifted closer, andCrowley took the invitation to drop his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Hisangel let out a shuddering sigh and leaned fully against him, resting his headon Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley held him close and pretendedhe didn’t hear it when Aziraphale sniffled. He did, however, mentally catalogall the ways he knew to kill an angel because he would only get the chance touse one of them on Gabriel and he had to pick the best one. Mightas well get started on deciding now, so when the time came, he would be ready.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat together,quiet but for Aziraphale’s shaky breaths. It had to have been awhile, becauseCrowley had finished going through every way he knew of to completely andutterly destroy Gabriel, and had moved on through Uriel and Sandalphon and was workingon Michael just for the hell of it (Michael hadn’t been there, but Michael wasa wanker of the highest order and Crowley would dearly love toshove them into a pillar of fire) when Aziraphale sat up and patted Crowley’sshoulder.

“I’m afraid I’ve made quite amess of your shirt,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Crowley saidquickly. He could not give less of a shit about his shirt. “It’llclean.”

The smile Aziraphale gave him wasstill small, but much closer to his usual one, and the knot of anxiety inCrowley’s chest finally began to loosen. “Well, thank you very much, mydear.”

“Of course.” Crowleyrubbed his thumb along Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Whatever you need.”

It scared him sometimes, the depthwith which he meant that. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale evenunderstood the true lengths to which he’d go.

Then again, Aziraphale had threatenednever to talk to him again and Crowley’s immediate response had been to stoptime, so maybe he did.

Aziraphale stared at the floor ofthe bookshop, looking not quite as shattered as he had before but stillimpossibly sad. Crowley was torn between wrapping him in a blanket andgetting a head start on his revenge plans.

He compromised on attempting morecomfort. “You’re better than all of them, you know. Bunch ofself-righteous, hypocritical—”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley.”

“What? I’m not wrong. I’ma demon, I can spot self-righteous hypocrisy from several miles away. They’reawful, angel. You aren’t. You’re what they should be.”

Aziraphale did not look at him, butCrowley saw the corner of his lips turn up. “Will you be irritated if Isay that’s very kind of you?”

“Only if you say it loudly,”Crowley muttered. He still had something of a reputation to uphold.

“Hm. Then I shall say this nextpart very quietly.” Aziraphale sat up a little straighter and linked hishands in his lap. “You are my oldest and dearest friend, and your opinionmatters more to me than anyone else’s. It always has, even when I was toofrightened to admit it.”

Crowley gaped at him and scrambledto find a coherent thought, as his entire conscious mind was hung up on oldestand dearest friend. “Hang on, I’m supposed to be the one saying thingsto make you feel better.”

Aziraphale turned to him, and nowhis smile was much closer to normal. “Interesting. It seems like saying nicethings to you helps immensely. I’ll have to do it some more.”

The very air in the bookshop had tobe consecrated. That was the only explanation for why his cheeks were suddenly burning.“You do not.”

“Oh, I really think I do.”Aziraphale patted his knee. “In fact, I think I need to doit.”

The sly look in his eyes told Crowleythat the word choice had absolutely been deliberate. He groaned and dropped hishead back on the couch. “Just keep it quiet, will you?”

“As a mouse,” Aziraphalepromised, but he was practically glowing with the prospect.

The sight of it loosened the knot inCrowley’s chest the rest of the way.

He groaned again, but it was onlyfor effect. He had meant what he’d said, after all.

Whatever his angel needed.

[iwantthedean]

Angel Among Us (Finale)

Sequel to The Demon’s Pet.

Part Ten: Choice

Word Count: 2385

Pairing: MoC!DeanxOFC

Summary: Dean and Zephaniah’s story continues as he fights against The Mark of Cain taking hold, and she avoids waging war with Heaven.

Warnings: Language, character death. Canon-typical violence. 

Masterlist

A/N: Another series down! This is the finale for Angels Among Us, but there will be another installment to this story! Thank you to everyone who has followed the first two installments; I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this story is very near and dear to my heart. Your support means the world! 

In the hours since he had left the bunker, Dean had considered returning a handful of times. He knew that if he did return, it would be Zephaniah’s undoing. He could not let himself be the death of her, so, despite the urge to stay close to her, Dean left the picture on her pillow and left with the Impala.

His plan was sketchy at best. The way Dean figured it, he was the only being with The Mark on Earth anymore. No one could kill him; he would come back as a demon again. As freeing as that experience had been, it had carried a lot of awful things with it as well. His only option was to go to some place where no one could find him, and where he could no longer harm anyone, be it directly or indirectly. He was going to need some help with that.

Dean drove to a bar several hours outside of Lebanon. He set up the spell to summon Death on the trunk of the Impala, then went inside to wait.

 Zephaniah brought the picture to Sam as soon as she could move herself from the spot in Dean’s room where she had been frozen for several minutes as she tried to process that Dean had left them in the time they needed him the most.

“Where could he possibly have gone?” Zephaniah demanded. “We are about to be in the middle of a war with Heaven, and he bails!”

Sam set the picture on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “When are you going to realize that everything Dean does – okay, most things Dean does, is because he thinks it’s what’s best for you? He has done the same for me since he was four years old, Zeph. Dean take a burden on himself and he won’t unshoulder it until he’s the one who has taken care of it. My guess is, he’s off trying to do exactly what you did when you lied and told him you weren’t safe for him, or went off to Israel.”

Zephaniah’s shoulders slumped. “Why now, Sam? Why now, when we need him more than ever to just be with us?”

Sam shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. All I know is that we have to be ready for this, with or without him, so when he does come back – and I know he will, he always does – we’re still standing.”

Zephaniah nodded. She picked up the picture and turned away from Sam, intent on taking the picture back to Dean’s room. Before she could get more than a few steps away, the walls of the bunker began to shake. The floor beneath her feet was still, so Zephaniah knew it wasn’t an earthquake. She shoved the picture in her pocket and, turning a deaf ear to Sam’s yells for her to come back, ran to Dean’s room for the Dies Irae.

She was going to need it.

The bartender refilled Dean’s drink and asked if he was sure the person he was waiting on was going to show.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t,” Dean shrugged. “He always does.”

“Not this time.”

Dean turned towards the voice sitting next to him; it was familiar but he couldn’t place it until he laid eyes on the vessel sitting next to him.

“Gabriel?”

With a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, everyone else in the bar disappeared. “Long time no see, Dean. How’s tricks?”

“I might ask you the same damn thing,” Dean retorted. “And as much as I’m absolutely ecstatic about this little reunion, I’m waiting on someone. So you’ll have to forgive me if I take a raincheck.”

Gabriel tossed an empty peanut shell over the counter. “Right, Death. Not coming.”

“Excuse me?”

“Death is not coming to meet you today,” Gabriel said.

Dean raised his brow. “Any particular reason why?”

Gabriel turned on his barstool to face Dean. “Because today is not your day to die. It’s not your day to run away, either. I know what’s going on with Zephaniah and Nathaniel and the war that’s coming. Do you really think that extracting yourself from the equation will stop it?”

“I do, actually. Isn’t that what this war is about? Zephaniah refusing to help them stop me?”

Gabriel snorted. “If only it were that simple. Zephaniah killed three angels. She goes against the natural order of things at nearly every turn. I’m not saying I don’t agree with her for the most part, don’t get me wrong.”

“Then what are you saying?” Dean pressed.

Gabriel looked him directly in the eye. “I’m saying that this war isn’t just about you anymore. Nathaniel is a peacekeeper, and Zephaniah does not keep the peace. He wants to stop her. The only way to do that, is to take her down.”

“But if she’s killed, everyone around her dies, too.”

“That’s a risk Nathaniel is willing to take, for the greater good.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “My brothers have good intentions, but they’re idiots in the way they go about things. Dad’s not around to keep them in control, so they take matters into their own hands.”

Dean finished off his drink. “You’re saying I should go back.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “I’m strongly encouraging it. We’ve got to account for free will here.”

Dean shook his head and let out a small chuckle. “So why you, Gabe? Why the trickster?”

“I wasn’t always a trickster,” Gabriel reminded. “I was once the Messenger of the Lord. This is important enough, Dean, I’ve been called to that again.”

“And what’s the message? Don’t give up?”

“Yeah, don’t give up,” Gabriel said, “because if you give up, Zephaniah is done for. She’s right when she tells you that the two of you aren’t soulmates – you’re something more than that. When God saw that the chain of human events would eventually lead to this, you were already in the plan. He knew that you would need someone to fight next to you, and that it needed to be someone more than Sam. It was then that he created Zephaniah.”

Dean’s brow fell into a quizzical expression. “She was made for me?”

“She was made for you. The pull between the two of you is not only The Mark. Yes, The Darkness wants Zephaniah’s soul, but the connection between the two of you was made the day you rescued her from that warehouse. You can walk away from Sam – you can, and you have. You’ve left him on his own, thinking it was what was better for him. Zephaniah on the other hand – you will always go back to her.”

Dean thought on all of that for a few moments before sliding off the barstool. “Thanks, Gabriel. Let’s just hope she believes me when she hears all of this.”

Gabriel gave him a single nod, calling Dean back before he reached the door. “I would hurry if I were you.”

The archangel didn’t have to go into detail for Dean to read the meaning in the statement. Dean hurried out to the Impala, fishtailing out of the parking lot and speeding down the highway towards the bunker.

 Castiel, Rowena, and Crowley had joined Sam by the time Zephaniah returned with her knife. They stood in a close circle, watching as the warding on the bunkers walls glowed before plaster and brick began to fall, breaking the sigils. Their glow faded out, and the door of the bunker fell with a loud thud.

A group of ten angels entered the bunker, and Zephaniah assumed that the one leading the group was Nathaniel. Her countenance portrayed strength and courage, but her heartbeat and rapid breath betrayed her.

“You can still give this up, Zephaniah. Your chance has not entirely passed. Heaven is still willing to take on your acceptance of the mission to stop The Darkness from being released,” Nathaniel told her.

Zephaniah shook her head. “When I told Josiah I would not betray Dean the first time I was dragged to Heaven about this matter, I meant it. That answer was not a rash decision, an initial reply while I thought things over. My answer is the same.”

“In that case,” Nathaniel began, his angel blade slipping into his hand, “you put the fate of your life into our hands.”

“So be it.”

There was a moment of calm before Nathaniel struck out at her, as there always was before a fight like this began. The angels accompanying Nathaniel spread out to take on her cohorts, leaving their leader to deal with the true problem.

She was able to dodge most of Nathaniel’s strikes. The ones he was able to land were painful but not fatal. Zephaniah couldn’t get close enough to him to use the Dies Irae, and her frustration with that fact was quickly turning to anger. True to form, her anger spurred her on and she was able to land one solid gash to Nathaniel’s arm.

“Not bad,” the angel chuckled, “for a human.”

He lunged at her again, and Zephaniah narrowly evaded the attack. Her instinct told her she needed help, but a quick glance around the room told her that the rest of those on her side were dealing with saving their own lives at the moment.

Zephaniah had to do something. Changing her grip on the knife, she ran at Nathaniel, tackling him to the ground. It was clear that the wound from the Dies Irae was draining his power, little by little, and Zephaniah could see that they were becoming more and more evenly matched as the blood continued to drip from Nathaniel’s arm.

She had the blade in her hand poised over the angel’s heart when her attention was momentarily stolen by the man coming down the stairs, running towards her and calling her name.

“Dean,” Zephaniah breathed, unable to control the smile tugging at her lips.

Her distraction would be her downfall. Nathaniel took advantage of her divided attentions and shoved his angel blade into her side. Her eyes went wide as she fell away, gripping the site of the new wound, and the world around them began to quake like never before.

Seeing that the majority of the other angels had been overtaken, Nathaniel ordered those remaining to retreat with him. Zephaniah was nearly dead anyway; their job here was done.

The pain began to fade and fingers of cold crept over Zephaniah’s entire body. She gurgled and coughed as blood welled up from her belly and dribbled out of her mouth.

“Zeph, look at me,” Dean said, rushing to her side and pulled her into a sitting position. “Hey, look at me. You’re going to be all right.”

“It’s over now,” Zephaniah said between struggling breaths. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

More bricks and plaster fell from the ceiling. Lamps crashed from tables and books tumbled off of shelves. No one could stand anymore, as the ground beneath them tossed and turned.

“I’m the one who couldn’t save you,” Dean said. “I’m so sorry. This is on me. It’s all on me.”

“You can’t stay here. You have to go,” Zephaniah ordered him. She was beginning to gasp for breaths between words, and the rafters from the ceiling were cracking apart, preparing to come down on them any second.

“I won’t leave you,” Dean promised, kissing her forehead and pushing the hair out of her face.

Zephaniah glanced at his arm and saw it – The Mark of Cain. The thing that had gotten them here today. She could let them all die, let Heaven win, or she could sacrifice herself to save them all.

It took the last of the energy Zephaniah had to reach out and grip Dean’s arm, her hand firm over The Mark.

“Yes,” she said.

Dean frowned, and Zephaniah knew he didn’t understand what was happening. That was all for the best, she decided, as reality began to fade, and Zephaniah slipped away into nothingness.

 By some sort of miracle, the bunker was restored nearly the same moment that Zephaniah had uttered her last word. Dean still wished he could have made out what she was saying, that he could have made some sense of that last moment with her.

Her body was laid out on his bed now. He had sat by her for hours, waiting for it all to be a horrible nightmare. No matter how hard Dean prayed, how long he waited, Zephaniah did not stir.

The argument with Sam and Castiel over burying her or burning her was perhaps the most intense Dean had had with his brother and best friend. He refused to give her a hunter’s funeral; burning her body meant that there was no bringing her back. Perhaps he would further damn himself in the process, but Dean knew that he could not go on without Zephaniah.

He returned to his room, prepared to carry her outside of the bunker where they had all agreed Zephaniah would be buried, but she was gone. Her limp body was no longer weighing on his mattress.

Panicked, Dean spun around to alert Sam and Castiel, but the very being of his concern stopped him in his tracks.

“Hello, Dean.”

Zephaniah’s smile was hers. Her voice was hers, and her hair and her body. The clothes were her own, the way she did her makeup. Dean’s heart relaxed, until his mind could process the two things Zephaniah now possessed that had not belonged to her before.

Reaching for that familiar spot on his arm, Dean realized The Mark was gone. It was now situated comfortably just below Zephaniah’s collar bone, given away by the low-cut shirt she was wearing.

Yes.

Dean replayed the moment just before Zephaniah died in his mind. Her grip on his arm, right where The Mark had been, and her last word.

Yes.

Zephaniah had said yes to The Mark, and then she had died – only for as long as The Mark would allow. She had come back, but the Zephaniah standing in front of Dean now was not the Zephaniah he knew. No, this was a new Zephaniah, one with The Mark of Cain burned into her chest and eyes Dean didn’t recognize staring back at him.

Those demonic, black eyes.