jimmyhkim21 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jimmyhkim21) wrote2009-12-14 09:12 pm
jimmyhkim21) wrote2009-12-14 09:12 pm
Entry tags:
Apocalypse Reboot
Title: Apocalypse Reboot, Part I
Genre: gen, case-fic, crossover
Pairing: none
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Crossover with characters from Good Omens.
Summary: The Winchesters discover the plural term for the Apocalypse. They are not amused. Neither are Crowley and Aziraphale who must help them stop all of God's creation from becoming undone.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
Aziraphale smothered an exasperated sigh as he watched two tourists browse through his books. The angel had honestly believed that moving his store from London to the calmer waters of Whoppings, a small town outside of Oxford, would guarantee the least amount of foot traffic. And it was from the garish eighties through the puzzling nineties.
All that changed with the Millennium. And the internet. Aziraphale had no idea there were so many websites dedicated to bookstores, and that his ranked one of the highest in all of Britain. Initially, the owner of Words Undiscovered was flattered. However, it hadn’t taken long for his feelings to sour somewhat. Angels, as a rule, didn’t harbor too many negative feelings. And Aziraphale was less passionate than his peers, anyway. But that didn’t stop him from interfering with websites recommending his bookstore, and on occasion, ensuring that the host servers be blitzed with myriad of problems.
The Japanese couple picked through some more shelves before speaking with each other, concluding their soft conversation with a collective shake of their heads. He gave a mental sigh of relief as they left; the tinny music of the bells above the door signaling their departure.
“Oh, well,” Aziraphale said diplomatically and turned the ‘Open’ sign around to ‘Closed’. Never mind that it was only two in the afternoon; since he was the proprietor he was able to enjoy certain perks, including determining when the store is open for business, which he’d prefer to be never, truth be told.
Aziraphale heated up tea, a vice he’d acquired after the little ... big incident regarding the almost-Apocalypse triggered by a youthful Antichrist-in-the-making then living in Tadfield. Aziraphale’s comrade-in-arms, a demon named Crowley, had informed him Adam was happily living in bucolic town, still. Aziraphale dared not ask any questions. He hands still got clammy whenever he thought about Adam and how close the little Antichrist had gotten to bringing forth Armageddon.
His cell rang, which was puzzling since Aziraphale never connected the phone to a service. He just liked having a soothing blue thing around his person. With a slight frown, he opened the cell and said, “Hello?”
“Hello, Angel,” was the melodic answer.
“Oh, it’s you,” Aziraphale said in a wary tone. “What is it now? You want me…”
“We have a problem,” Crowley rushed in breathlessly. “Very bad one, in fact.”
Aziraphale felt his spine stiffen and his invisible wings flutter behind him. “What is it? Has Adam done something?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
The answer was enough for Aziraphale to hurriedly down his tea.
“I just heard the Elliot Book has been found.”
Aziraphale’s wings cramped and nearly clocked his head. “What?’ he whispered, appalled. “Who told you?”
“Not told, exactly,” Crowley hedged. “More like ordered. From Down Below.”
“You don’t mean…”
“Most certainly,” Crowley confirmed. “After He was crammed back into Hell, he’s been itching to stir up as much trouble as possible for humans. Not that I can blame Him, mind you.”
“Crowley, focus!” Aziraphale snapped. “What about the book?”
“I’ve been told to aid in the Glorious Undoing,” Crowley said conspiratorially. “And that an American has gotten his hands on the Stitched Words.”
“But that doesn’t mean he can do anything,” Aziraphale countered lamely. “Especially Americans. Not that I have anything against them, but they hardly understand their own grammar much less ours.”
“Angel, I’m only telling you what I’ve heard, and the orders came from the very top,” Crowley said patiently, though his ‘s’ was becoming more sibilant.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale moaned. “I’ve heard nothing about this at all.”
“That’s because your side is in no way involved with the damned thing,” Crowley said. “It’s one thing to trigger the Armageddon, but to undo all of God’s work? Even some of my compatriots aren’t happy to be completely erased.”
Aziraphale paused to consider that little tidbit of information. “Do we have any room to maneuver?”
"Some,” Crowley hedged, “but not much.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Being undone with the rest of Creation will give me the will power to stomach whatever you have in mind.”
“We have to go over there and find help.” Crowley took a deep breath. “We need the Winchester family.”
“Oh no,” Aziraphale’s dismay was clear even over the airwaves. “Not them! They started the Apocalypse! They let Lucifer free!”
“They also stopped it, Angel,” Crowley argued. “Besides, who else do you know who can deal with the American landscape?”
“I know of one,” Aziraphale offered hesitantly. “An angel named Castiel.”
“Well, call him then. We need all the help we can get.”
“Um, there’s a slight problem,” Aziraphale admitted. “We lost track of him after the Great Shove.”
“The great shove?” Crowley echoed. “Oh, you mean when the Winchesters…”
“Yes.” Aziraphale couldn’t help sounding defensive. “We were in a rush to name the beautiful…”
“About Castiel?”
“Oh, well, he disappeared.”
“Why? Wasn’t he directly involved with trapping my … superior?”
“Yes, and that should have earned him complete forgiveness, even from Zachariah.”
“Forgiveness? Oh dear, what did the child do?” Crowley asked, sly humor insinuating into his tone.
“He … well, he disobeyed some orders and decided to go off on his own, but the young ones are prone to do that, especially when something important as the Apocalypse is concerned.”
“I see,” Crowley said, humor all gone. “Zachariah, there’s a name I never wanted to hear.”
“You’re not alone in your opinion,” Aziraphale agreed. “So, Castiel has disappeared and we have not heard from him since the Great Shove. I’ve heard rumors that Dean Winchester still talks to him on occasion, but I can’t be sure.”
“Then we really have no choice, do we, Angel?”
“No, guess not.” Aziraphale looked woefully at his bookshop. “So, when?”
“Now would be good.”
Before Aziraphale could reply, Crowley materialized right next to him. As usual, he was decked out in the latest fashion, along with a new watch made of materials unknown to the CIA, and which kept time for thirty-seven countries, including the all-important time for Below.
“Ready to take a jaunt in the Colonies?” Crowley asked, looking at Aziraphale’s hopelessly outdated tweed pants and white Oxford that looked like it was boiled three hundred times too many in hot washes.
“I think they stopped calling it the Colonies when they won the Revolutionary War,” Aziraphale replied dryly.
“They cheated, you know.” Crowley countered.
Aziraphale looked puzzled by his companion’s remark. “How?”
“George Washington, the bastard was more devious than Hastur thought. Won the bloody war by beating him at a card game.”
“So, he cheated. Not the entire Continental Army.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale appraisingly. “You are a fan of them?”
“I admire their … tenacity.”
“We do a booming business with them.”
“I’m sure,” Aziraphale snapped, “you do brisk business everywhere, Crowley, but we really need to find the … the Winchesters.”
“Why do you have such a hard time accepting they stopped the Apocalypse?”
“I have a hard time accepting the fact that there was another Apocalypse so soon after Tadfield,” Aziraphale confessed. “You’d think they would’ve learned, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Crowley said. “That’s them being human, which is why I think both you and I have a hard time with all this.”
Aziraphale looked thoughtfully at Crowley. “You surprise me.”
Crowley gave a crooked smile. “Glad to know that I still can after thousands of years.”
“So, do you know where the … the Winchesters are?”
“Roundup, Montana,” Crowley replied promptly.
“Lovely name,” Aziraphale replied weakly.
Roundup, Montana
Dean yawned as he poured a cup of lukewarm coffee. “Why are we here again?”
“Look, the deaths…”
There was no thunder, no flash, nothing to warn the Winchester brothers of the two entities who suddenly appeared in front of them.
Sam’s first reaction was to grab Dean in order to stop him from tackling the intruders.
The smaller, rather inconsequential looking man raised his hands and said, “We come in peace!”
The taller one who looked like a character from a television show about overpaid surgeons said, “Ignore him,” with a roll of his eyes.
Sam snarled out few words and the second man disappeared. The shorter one studied the empty space where his companion had stood only moments before. “Oh, dear.”
“You’re not a demon?” Sam asked, surprised by the man’s continued presence.
“No, he isn’t,” Dean said slowly. “He’s an angel.”
Sam looked at his brother. “Really?”
“Yeah, so what is he doing with a demon?”
“There’s an Apocalypse?” Aziraphale supplied hopefully.
“You didn’t say Apocalypse,” Dean stuttered loudly. “I couldn’t have heard that right. Sam?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, he did. But he can’t be right.”
“I’m sorry to say there’s an Apo…”
Crowley rematerialized. “That was rude! I didn’t do anything!” He turned to Sam and barked, “And you’re not suppose to have any powers left!”
Sam paled a little and Dean yelled back, “That’s none of your business!”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Everything’s my business, Mr. Winchester: it’s in my job description.”
“What are you?” Sam asked.
“Demon,” Aziraphale answered, “but he’s one of … well, you could consider him to be on our side.”
“Sorry, buddy,” Dean said, glaring at the angel. “I learned the hard way that having angels and demons on my side is about the worst possible news.”
“Yes, I heard about that,” Aziraphale said. “I am so sorry about the mis … miscommunication.”
“Oh, is that what you call when you try to force a person to become an angel condom?" Dean couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he'd tried. "I call it something else.”
“Zachariah was heavy-handed, but we’re not like that,” Aziraphale replied. “And we’re desperate.”
“Desperate enough to seek your help.” Crowley paused then added, “That should tell you something.”
Sam sighed and placed a restraining hand on his brother. “We should hear them out.”
Dean immediately deflated. He crashed onto his bed and said, “Okay, so this Apocalypse?”
Aziraphale looked pleadingly at his companion who gave a frustrated sigh and said, “You’re going to want a drink first."
Dean managed not to give a primal scream of frustration as he digested the information given to him by a demon who looked like a Wall Street type and an angel resembling a bank manager from a Podunk town.
Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t doing as well. “That can’t be true. Why would God do such a thing?”
“He’s ineffable,” Crowley said, giving a sly glance at Aziraphale who seemed clueless about the dig.
“I’m getting a headache,” Dean admitted. “How the fuck can there be three Apocalypses? Apocalypsi? Apocalypse? What the fuck is the plural for the goddamn word anyway?”
“Human beings are busy animals,” Crowley explained. “The truth is all we have to do is sit back and watch you folks go merrily on your way. That’s all it takes most of the time.”
“Then there are others who need something like Lucifer breaking out to be nudged in the right direction,” Sam added sarcastically.
“We can chat about my … Him, or we can stop Creation from completely being undone,” Crowley snapped. “So, what will it be?”
“How is that possible?” Dean asked. “To erase everything?”
“Not erase exactly,” Aziraphale said gently. “It’ll be as if God didn’t get up that day.”
“And this book will do all that,” Sam said. “If its owner knows how to solve the puzzles?”
“Exactly,” Crowley said. “And this American seems to have the ability to do just that.”
“So, what’s the problem? Why can’t you guys just swoop in and stop him?” Dean looked at the two with accusatory eyes.
“Because my … people will do everything to make sure that he’ll succeed.” Crowley sat down next to Dean. “I don’t know why. I mean, I’ll miss sushi, writing up life insurance policies, and home insurance. And code for Microsoft.”
“What he means,” Aziraphale interrupted, “is that he’ll miss this world. And I will, too. Which was why I didn’t sign up for Zachariah’s little gathering. I always thought he was a bit heavy-handed but even I didn’t think he’d go so far.”
“Well, he did.” Dean looked at the angel then Sam. “I, for one, am glad that Michael burned his ass.”
“Unfortunately, someone of Zachariah’s caliber and zeal would’ve been perfect for a job like this,” Aziraphale said. He noticed both Winchester’s dark looks and hurriedly added, “Though he’s much too volatile to be trusted completely.”
"What about the angels then?" Sam asked.
Aziraphale shook his head. "After Detroit, most of us have been called back to our Father. I'm afraid there are few of us left on earth, and we've been told in no uncertain terms to stay away from you."
"So why are you here?" Dean asked.
"Well ... I ... am not sure, to tell the truth," Aziraphale admitted in a strangled voice. "But I can't sit by and watch everything just go poof!"
Dean made a chuffing noise and said, “So, what do you want us to do?”
“Play bait,” Crowley said simply. “Right now, you two are the most hated creatures in Hell. I’m sure the moment you two stick out your heads, all the demons and whatnot will chase you down, leaving a gap in the fence for us to slip in and do what’s necessary.”
“Which is?” Sam asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion. “Sorry, but the thought of you two getting your hands on such a book isn’t what I’d call a fair trade.”
“We aren’t going to do anything with it,” Aziraphale said, shocked. “We have to destroy it, of course.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Dean asked.
“The contents may be powerful, but the book is still as fragile as the day it was put together,” Crowley explained. “Trust me, it’ll burn and burn prettily.
“Blue flames and all. I promise.”
Dean shook his head and swore loudly. “I can’t believe we’re dealing with angels and demons again. I swore we were all done with this shit.”
Sam looked at his brother and said, “I don’t think we have a choice, Dean.”
“Bobby is going to be so pissed,” Dean said.
“Oh, man,” Sam groaned.
“Yeah, think about what he’s going to say when we tell him about all this.”
“Must you?” Crowley asked.
“He’s one of us,” Dean said firmly. “And that’s final.”
“Fine with us,” Aziraphale said hurriedly.
Sam looked at Dean as he reluctantly pulled out his cell.
"Hey, Bobby? Yeah, it's me. I ... um ... we've got a problem..."
Bobby’s face was thunderous, and his fury seemed to radiate right through his body, his wheelchair, and into the small room. In fact, Dean thought if Bobby was capable he’d run right over Crowley and Aziraphale. Then back up just for kicks.
Bobby pointed an accusatory finger at the two creatures and snarled, “Why in hell should I believe you two assholes?”
“Because if you don’t, the downside could be … oh blinking out of existence?” Crowley answered immediately. “Look, what had happened to you was unfortunate,” Crowley made vague hand motions towards Bobby’s wheelchair, “but we’ve got bigger problems now.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes then turned to Dean and asked, “You believe these clowns?”
“Yeah, I had Sam do some research and their story checks out.”
Sam added, “It’s very old lore, but the story is pretty much the same: this Elliot woman heard God’s voice – which is somewhat suspect because she would’ve been driven mad – and put together that book.”
“A book that can undo all of God’s work?” Bobby asked.
“Human vanity, nothing like it,” Crowley said, smiling. “I hate to tell you but this world isn’t the only one God has his eyes on.”
Bobby flinched, it was a slight movement but noticeable.
“We really need your help,” Aziraphale pleaded then amended, “Or at least your friends seem to think so.”
Bobby gave a dark look at the Winchesters before huffing out a sound of frustration. “All right, what do you folks have in mind?”
Crowley explained the plan and earned a wide-eyed disbelieving look from Bobby.
“Are you people nuts?” he hollered, looking around the room. “Oh my God, you’re all serious?”
“Look, Bobby,” Dean said. “We’re not crazy about it either, but there isn’t much we can do. The guy’s got demons for protection and we just don’t have the firepower anymore now Michael’s gone home.
“Wherever home is.”
“Hopefully far, far away from here,” Bobby quipped, wincing as he remembered Michael’s spectacular entry into the world and equally fantastic exit to join his brethren. “Okay, the first thing we need to do is come up with a better plan than to dangle these two idiots in front of the demons like bait.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We have to canvas the guy, find out his likes and dislikes,” Bobby said. “Get him some other way without alerting the demons.”
Crowley hummed then looked at Aziraphale who said, “That sounds brilliant, actually.”
“We could look at his e-trail,” Sam said. “See if we can figure out his routine.”
Crowley smiled and pointed at Aziraphale. “He’s very adept at finding information in the internet.”
Dean scowled and countered, “Sam’s better.”
Aziraphale stiffened noticeably. “I believe I am proficient.”
“Stop the pissing contest: both of you do it,” Bobby grumbled before wheeling over to a stack of books Aziraphale produced to support his argument. “And I’m gonna look through this to make sure you jokers are on the up-and-up.”
Sam nodded and plunked down on the kitchen chair. Aziraphale did the same on the opposite chair. Dean eyed Crowley with complete distrust, which the demon seemed to enjoy unabashedly.
After a good hour Sam said, “I think I found something.”
“Is it the Sudoku Extreme Face Off in San Francisco?” Aziraphale asked.
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “It looks like he’s going.”
“Oh, he purchased airplane tickets with Expedia months ago,” Aziraphale chimed in happily. “And looks like he’s going to stay at the conference hotel.”
“And that would be…” Sam peered onto his screen. “W hotel, across the street from the modern art museum.”
“They have beautiful collection there,” Aziraphale reminisced, “though I don’t understand any of it.”
Dean looked at the two researchers and chuckled. “Boy, we’re getting geekiness in stereo.”
“Hi-def, also,” Crowley agreed easily.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Bobby asked.
“Road trip,” Dean said.
“Why? We can transport you there,” Aziraphale said.
“Hell, no,” Dean said. “Sorry, every time Castiel did that, I had problems going to the bathroom for an entire week.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “That won’t happen with us.”
Crowley nodded, looking confused by Dean’s accusations. “Whatever that is.”
Dean looked at Sam who was busy staring at his laptop. “The answer is still no. Prune juice gives me gas.”
Crowley winced. “Oh, that.”
“You're unfortunate reaction was because of Castiel's inexperience,” Aziraphale said. “I apologize, Mr. Winchester. Castiel, though passionate about his cause, is still young.”
Crowley pointed at Aziraphale and said, “This one was in Eden. He was one of the angels guarding the gates. Had a flaming sword and everything.”
“Oh, we could definitely use one of those,” Dean said eagerly.
“Sorry, misplaced it,” Aziraphale said.
Dean gaped at the angel. “How could you lose a four-foot long sword on fire?”
“Believe it or not, it’s possible,” Aziraphale said. “So, San Francisco then?”
Crowley looked at the angel and said, “Oh, dear, I forgot. You might find the city a bit rowdy for your tastes.”
Aziraphale looked insulted. “Please, I was in Paris during the late eighteenth century. Remember?”
Crowley blinked. “You were, weren't you?” A coy smirk bloomed on the narrow face. “I remember a certain tavern…”
“You promised me you’d never speak of that again!” The angel wailed, looking fishy-eyed towards the humans in the room.
“Did I? I can’t remember,” Crowley’s smirk grew.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale cautioned.
“Oh, all right,” Crowley surrendered.
“Are we ready now?” Bobby asked. “If you two lovebirds are done, that is.”
Crowley’s smirk tightened as his glance turned cold. He looked at Bobby and cautioned, “Be careful, Mr. Singer. I may call this angel my friend, but that particular term does not apply to you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bobby said, untouched by Crowley’s brazen warning.
Sam picked up his backpack while Dean managed to shove all their meager belongings into a worn duffle bag.
“We should get going,” Sam said. “We’re going to need time to establish our covers before Lee arrives at the con.”
“I can’t believe we’re going undercover in a Sudoku competition,” Dean groused. “Probably surrounded by sugar-hyped, pasty-assed, caffeine addicts from Seattle.”
“I beg your pardon,” Aziraphale said, insulted. “Sudoku is a very challenging game.”
“I rest my case,” Dean said.
Sam shoved his brother out the door before Dean could further damage the shaky truce they got going with Aziraphale and Crowley. Then, out of curiosity, he looked through a window and saw Aziraphale speaking softly but quickly with the demon. Sam knew the hand motions well enough to understand those two were sharing the same argument he and Dean had on many occasions.
Bobby wheeled out of the room. His face spoke of no anger but genuine worry.
“I'm assuming you have questions?” Sam asked.
“Boatloads but now is not the time,” Bobby said. “Have you ever heard of an angel and a demon teaming up?”
“Yes,” Sam answered promptly. “Dean and myself.”
Bobby flushed and shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Yes, it is, Bobby,” Sam countered gently. “Look, whether you like or not, me and Dean – we were demon and angel.”
“Sam,” Dean broke into the conversation. “It was never that black and white. You know that.”
“I do but I also know I was part demon, and in the worst way possible. Lucifer didn’t choose me because I wasn’t capable of doing what he wanted me to do.”
“What are you thinking about?” Dean asked Bobby, not to happy the conversation had turned down this road.
“Why do they think this Lee guy is capable of undoing all of Creation?”
“I was thinking the very same thing,” Sam agreed. “But for now, it’s best if we go along.”
“Then pull a switcheroo?” Dean asked.
“If need be,” Sam said. “If you ask me I think they’re on the up-and up. Just a little scattered.”
“Here they come,” Dean cautioned.
Aziraphale looked a little hot under the collar as he and Crowley exited the motel room. But whatever argument they had was kept private as Bobby laid out a hasty plan to join the con as attendees. After a brief argument between Crowley and Bobby, the group piled into their respective cars.
Dean had just started the engine when suddenly he was facing a wall. “Umm, what just happened?”
Sam turned to his right and found Bobby’s van with its owner looking just as confused. Then he turned to look at the guests who weren’t at all surprised by the sudden change of scene. In fact, Aziraphale looked sheepish; Crowley looked put out.
“I had to,” Aziraphale explained. “We really were strapped for time.”
“If I have to drink one cup of prune juice,” Dean muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna be looking for serious payback.”
“It won’t happen,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sure.”
Dean looked unconvinced but said nothing. Instead, he joined Bobby in order to help the man get out of the van. Sam looked at them with fondness and apprehension as the two bickered amicably.
“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale said to him. “We’ll take care of them.”
Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “They’ve been through so much. They don’t deserve this.”
“Who does?” Aziraphale asked.
Sam’s grin was both honest and painful. “Agreed.”
“And, just so you know, you don’t either,” the angel said softly but with conviction. “You’ve paid your dues, Samuel Winchester. And for sins not wholly your own.”
Sam nodded, unable to say his thanks for the unsolicited kindness.
It took Bobby only few grumpy, pointed remarks for them to obtain guest passes to the convention. Crowley offered to ‘get’ the tickets but the last thing any of them needed was demon activity, since it would send up a flare.
Aziraphale eyed the con goers with good cheer while Crowley looked outright horrified by their dress and manners. He pointed a well-manicured finger at one man and said,
“What is that?”
“Human?” Dean answered, amused by the demon’s reaction.
“No, I mean what are those things he is wearing on his feet?”
Sam peered closely before answering, “Crocs?”
“Those are crocodile shoes?” Crowley blinked. “They don’t look it.”
“No, Crocs are type of sandals,” Aziraphale answered. “Very comfortable.”
“Are you responsible for those atrocities?” Crowley looked at his companion with suitable outrage.
“No, but my team is,” Aziraphale answered proudly.
“And you wonder why you only have Elgar and Liszt,” Crowley grumbled.
Aziraphale looked thoughtful but said nothing. Instead, he studied his packet for the con. Sam did the same while Dean just breezed through his. While flipping through a thick printout something fell out of his folder, managing to float away almost ten feet before Dean caught up to it.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“It’s…” Dean flipped the piece of paper and read the tiny print. “Um … I’ve been invited to a Sudoku Deathmatch?”
“What?” Sam said, eyes widening. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, why are you so excited? I’m not going.”
“You have to,” Sam said. “That’s Lee’s gig. He’s also one of the members running this thing and that’s his table.”
“What’s a table?” Dean asked, then looked at Crowley and snapped, “Think harder.”
Crowley raised both hands to protest the innocence he never had.
“Cons have tables, an area cordoned off for specific events,” Sam explained hurriedly. “Sudoku Extreme does the same thing, and Lee is running the Deathmatch table.”
“How in hell do you have a deathmatch with numbers? What? You miss a square and they pelt you with their Star Trek memorabilia?”
“Nice, Dean,” Sam said, eyeing the people around them. “But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Even if I do go to this thing, if Lee has a demon bodyguard - the goddamn thing's going to gun for my throat the moment it sees me.” Dean looked at his group. “And I gotta tell ya, I don’t like those odds. Not that I’m scared to fight a demon, but we’ve got hundreds of civilians on the loose, and there’s going to be a huge casualty list no matter what I do."
“I might have something to take care of that,” Bobby said. “It’s a spell, specifically designed to fool human vision. I think it’ll be good enough for us to slip through any demonic security system they got going.”
“Okay, then,” Sam said. “We should go to our rooms. Lee isn’t due to arrive until tomorrow afternoon, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an advance guard coming.”
Aziraphale turned to Crowley and asked, “Why don’t you stay here? If you meet up with anyone you know maybe you can gather some information?”
Crowley straightened his tie. “I was just thinking that. If I see any of my so-called brothers I’ll be able to charm whatever information they’ve got. Trust me, all of them are still mired in the old ways. I think most don’t even know how to work the cell correctly.”
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Aziraphale cautioned. “You’ve been up here way too long and they’re not above playing dirty tricks.”
“Oh, I think I can handle that,” Crowley said, a leisurely smile blooming on his chiseled face.
“Not really,” Aziraphale hissed, looking furtively around them. “We’re talking Azazel's betters. When was the last time you faced someone of that caliber?”
Crowley paused for a moment, then a fleeting look of concern shadowed his face. “I’ll manage, Angel. I always do.”
“Handle this carefully. The humans are leery of us as is. The last thing we need is to feed their paranoia. You know how they can get.”
“You handle the humans, I’ll handle covert operations.” Crowley suddenly looked very pleased. “I’ve always wanted to say those words.”
Aziraphale sighed with weary reservation usually assigned to parents of four-year-olds before joining the mortal members of the team.
Crowley studied his reflection in a hotel mirror, admiring himself and not caring that he looked completely different than the human milieu in the lobby. Studying his packet for the con, Crowley ordered a mocha from the lobby café, all the while surreptitiously studying the foot traffic.
Suddenly his cell rang.
Here we are now, entertain us...
The dapper demon gritted his teeth as he answered with a “hello?”
“Crowley!” growled an inhuman voice. “What are you doing there? You weren’t assigned protective detail.”
Crowley froze. He had never met a demon who knew what ‘protective detail’ meant, much less use a cell. “Um … who am I speaking to?”
“It’s me, Baalberith.”
“Oh,” Crowley froze, eyes wide with genuine fear. “Good afternoon, sir. How are you doing? Good to know someone down there can properly use a cell.”
“It’s me, Crowley,” Baalberith said, sarcasm somehow managing to drip through the threatening tone. “I am always in favor of machinery that can spread our will.”
Crowley had forgotten; Baalberith was one of those who loved to talk, usually to human beings in order to achieve bloody mayhem if not genocide. “Of course.”
“Crowley, why are you there?!”
“I heard something in the grapevine … and I thought I’d come along and see if I can have a jolly or two.”
“You would think such things during a momentous time like this,” Baalberith snapped. “Don’t fuck this up, Crowley. Remember Tadfield?”
“Sir, you know I had nothing to do with that particular mess. In fact, I was trying my best to bring things to head.”
There was a disturbing pause before Baalberith admitted, “Yes, I may have heard something about your contribution, but the entire debacle was a black eye for our side. And now with … Him back in his quarters, things are tense around here.”
“Understood,” Crowley gushed. “Which is why I came. I must say, some of my compatriots are not quite up to snuff with all the modern technology. In fact, I think some of them may never have driven a car.”
“There is that,” Baalberith groused loudly. “They do not credit the demon race. In fact, if I had my way, they’d be in my filing department for eternity.”
Crowley winced but said nothing.
“Since you are there already, I see no harm in letting you stay,” Baalberith said. “Take care you don’t repeat Tadfield in San Francisco.”
“Yes, sir.”
I feel stupid and contagious...
Crowley closed the cell and managed not to pitch it onto the head of the nearest human. Instead, He ordered a vodka and orange juice and then, just out of malice, switched the most expensive bottle of whiskey with apple juice.
He immediately felt better when he heard the outraged cries of three men who ordered the expensive bottle only to discover they didn’t get what they paid for. He walked out of the bar, not paying for his drink because Crowley never did. Well, he did once, but the tab also included a martini he bought for Lauren Bacall who dropped by St. Moritz one winter. She favored him with a cat-like smile and even Crowley felt a little light-headed after that momentous encounter.
He strolled around the lobby and noted three minor league demons who looked so pathetically out of place Crowley actually felt bad for them. But, being a demon himself, he spitefully enjoyed watching hotel security question then escort the possessed humans out of the building. Crowley's mood considerably improved after watching that little display of stupidity. At least he blended in, though without the hideous crocs, the t-shirts with stupid logos, and Heaven forbid (seriously) jeans that fitted in such ill manner that the owners' backsides looked like they were kicked in by Godzilla.
Crowley casually leaned against a marble table as he eavesdropped on two humans discussing the magnificence that was Sudoku Extreme Con. Even with his best effort, it was a mystery to the demon why the humans were so excited to dull their minds to the point their IQ would be equivalent to those belonging to the flatworm.
Shaking his head in wonder, the demon did the tour around the lobby before taking the elevators to the room reserved for him. To his unending annoyance, Aziraphale got him a standard room. The demon sniffed disdainfully before calling his friend.
“Angel, where are you?”
“The room next to you.”
“Oh, be there in a whisper.”
He materialized in front of not only the angel but the humans. Crowley was fully expecting to see sour looks on the mortals but what he got was a chorus of faces looking apoplectic. In fact, Crowley froze for a moment, wondering if his very existence was in danger. After all, the Winchesters were famous for their exorcism prowess, especially the younger one. Sam’s ability to banish demons back to hell just by thinking about it sent shivers through Crowley’s non-existent spine.
“What's wrong?” he asked suspiciously.
“He can’t see,” Bobby snapped.
“Can’t see what exactly?” Crowley studied Dean, Sam, and Bobby. Then he noticed their reflections in the mirror behind them.
Crowley’s eyes widened considerably. “Angel, what did you do?”
Sam had been transformed into a petite Asian female with spotty skin and a pixie haircut. Dean became a tall beanpole kid who looked like he was barely past puberty. And Bobby has become an African American male who possessed the same grumpy countenance, save with more hair.
“I see,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, wondering if the angel was actually aware of the danger he was in. “Well, I must say the disguises are perfect.”
“You call this perfect?” Dean barked.
Crowley nodded eagerly. “You three blend in with the rest of the humans attending this meeting. Even better, no demon would guess you are the Winchesters.
“Would someone like Dean Winchester move about, resembling a walking target in the lunchroom? And Sam - a woman? Please. Everyone knows John's second son's a giant. We, demons, have the same prejudices and shortsightedness as humans. As for Bobby ... well … I mean…”
“Just cough it out.” Bobby sighed and sat back into his wheelchair.
“Sorry to say, nobody is expecting you to join this fight. Not after what it cost you last time.”
Bobby's face morphed from anger to resignation. "Hate to say it but the demon’s right. We can’t go downstairs looking like us. The demons won’t care what their jobs are, they’ll be game to bring down the entire hotel if it means they can kill us.
“Let’s face it, we’re not on anybody’s Christmas card list, demons or angels.”
Dean deflated as he accepted what Bobby was saying. “So, I guess I’m gonna be stuck as a geek for the foreseeable future?”
Sam smirked. “I call it karma.”
Dean glared at his brother. “Pot calling kettle black, bro. From where I’m standing you finally found your inner girl.”
Sam flipped a bird as an answer and said, “So, Aziraphale – how long will this glamour hold?”
“Oh, as long as I want to,” Aziraphale chirped. “You must understand, I’m not very high in rank, but I’ve been around for a long time. And I know a few tricks my brothers are not familiar with.”
Sam gave a deep nod and said, “Fine, let’s go with this. I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can hack into the con’s website and see what they’re up to.”
“Dude, wear a low-cut,” Dean said. “Trust me, you won’t have to hack into anything. All you have to do is lean over little and say ‘please’.”
“I can whip up something,” Crowley said. “Sexy but tasteful.”
Sam looked like he was suffering from constipation but managed to croak out, “Okay.” He then rushed to add, “No high heels, please.”
“Noted,” Crowley said, smiling benignly while ignoring Aziraphale’s alarming looks towards him.
Prologue * Part II
Genre: gen, case-fic, crossover
Pairing: none
Rating: R for language and violence
Warning: Crossover with characters from Good Omens.
Summary: The Winchesters discover the plural term for the Apocalypse. They are not amused. Neither are Crowley and Aziraphale who must help them stop all of God's creation from becoming undone.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
Aziraphale smothered an exasperated sigh as he watched two tourists browse through his books. The angel had honestly believed that moving his store from London to the calmer waters of Whoppings, a small town outside of Oxford, would guarantee the least amount of foot traffic. And it was from the garish eighties through the puzzling nineties.
All that changed with the Millennium. And the internet. Aziraphale had no idea there were so many websites dedicated to bookstores, and that his ranked one of the highest in all of Britain. Initially, the owner of Words Undiscovered was flattered. However, it hadn’t taken long for his feelings to sour somewhat. Angels, as a rule, didn’t harbor too many negative feelings. And Aziraphale was less passionate than his peers, anyway. But that didn’t stop him from interfering with websites recommending his bookstore, and on occasion, ensuring that the host servers be blitzed with myriad of problems.
The Japanese couple picked through some more shelves before speaking with each other, concluding their soft conversation with a collective shake of their heads. He gave a mental sigh of relief as they left; the tinny music of the bells above the door signaling their departure.
“Oh, well,” Aziraphale said diplomatically and turned the ‘Open’ sign around to ‘Closed’. Never mind that it was only two in the afternoon; since he was the proprietor he was able to enjoy certain perks, including determining when the store is open for business, which he’d prefer to be never, truth be told.
Aziraphale heated up tea, a vice he’d acquired after the little ... big incident regarding the almost-Apocalypse triggered by a youthful Antichrist-in-the-making then living in Tadfield. Aziraphale’s comrade-in-arms, a demon named Crowley, had informed him Adam was happily living in bucolic town, still. Aziraphale dared not ask any questions. He hands still got clammy whenever he thought about Adam and how close the little Antichrist had gotten to bringing forth Armageddon.
His cell rang, which was puzzling since Aziraphale never connected the phone to a service. He just liked having a soothing blue thing around his person. With a slight frown, he opened the cell and said, “Hello?”
“Hello, Angel,” was the melodic answer.
“Oh, it’s you,” Aziraphale said in a wary tone. “What is it now? You want me…”
“We have a problem,” Crowley rushed in breathlessly. “Very bad one, in fact.”
Aziraphale felt his spine stiffen and his invisible wings flutter behind him. “What is it? Has Adam done something?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
The answer was enough for Aziraphale to hurriedly down his tea.
“I just heard the Elliot Book has been found.”
Aziraphale’s wings cramped and nearly clocked his head. “What?’ he whispered, appalled. “Who told you?”
“Not told, exactly,” Crowley hedged. “More like ordered. From Down Below.”
“You don’t mean…”
“Most certainly,” Crowley confirmed. “After He was crammed back into Hell, he’s been itching to stir up as much trouble as possible for humans. Not that I can blame Him, mind you.”
“Crowley, focus!” Aziraphale snapped. “What about the book?”
“I’ve been told to aid in the Glorious Undoing,” Crowley said conspiratorially. “And that an American has gotten his hands on the Stitched Words.”
“But that doesn’t mean he can do anything,” Aziraphale countered lamely. “Especially Americans. Not that I have anything against them, but they hardly understand their own grammar much less ours.”
“Angel, I’m only telling you what I’ve heard, and the orders came from the very top,” Crowley said patiently, though his ‘s’ was becoming more sibilant.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale moaned. “I’ve heard nothing about this at all.”
“That’s because your side is in no way involved with the damned thing,” Crowley said. “It’s one thing to trigger the Armageddon, but to undo all of God’s work? Even some of my compatriots aren’t happy to be completely erased.”
Aziraphale paused to consider that little tidbit of information. “Do we have any room to maneuver?”
"Some,” Crowley hedged, “but not much.”
“So, what’s your plan?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Being undone with the rest of Creation will give me the will power to stomach whatever you have in mind.”
“We have to go over there and find help.” Crowley took a deep breath. “We need the Winchester family.”
“Oh no,” Aziraphale’s dismay was clear even over the airwaves. “Not them! They started the Apocalypse! They let Lucifer free!”
“They also stopped it, Angel,” Crowley argued. “Besides, who else do you know who can deal with the American landscape?”
“I know of one,” Aziraphale offered hesitantly. “An angel named Castiel.”
“Well, call him then. We need all the help we can get.”
“Um, there’s a slight problem,” Aziraphale admitted. “We lost track of him after the Great Shove.”
“The great shove?” Crowley echoed. “Oh, you mean when the Winchesters…”
“Yes.” Aziraphale couldn’t help sounding defensive. “We were in a rush to name the beautiful…”
“About Castiel?”
“Oh, well, he disappeared.”
“Why? Wasn’t he directly involved with trapping my … superior?”
“Yes, and that should have earned him complete forgiveness, even from Zachariah.”
“Forgiveness? Oh dear, what did the child do?” Crowley asked, sly humor insinuating into his tone.
“He … well, he disobeyed some orders and decided to go off on his own, but the young ones are prone to do that, especially when something important as the Apocalypse is concerned.”
“I see,” Crowley said, humor all gone. “Zachariah, there’s a name I never wanted to hear.”
“You’re not alone in your opinion,” Aziraphale agreed. “So, Castiel has disappeared and we have not heard from him since the Great Shove. I’ve heard rumors that Dean Winchester still talks to him on occasion, but I can’t be sure.”
“Then we really have no choice, do we, Angel?”
“No, guess not.” Aziraphale looked woefully at his bookshop. “So, when?”
“Now would be good.”
Before Aziraphale could reply, Crowley materialized right next to him. As usual, he was decked out in the latest fashion, along with a new watch made of materials unknown to the CIA, and which kept time for thirty-seven countries, including the all-important time for Below.
“Ready to take a jaunt in the Colonies?” Crowley asked, looking at Aziraphale’s hopelessly outdated tweed pants and white Oxford that looked like it was boiled three hundred times too many in hot washes.
“I think they stopped calling it the Colonies when they won the Revolutionary War,” Aziraphale replied dryly.
“They cheated, you know.” Crowley countered.
Aziraphale looked puzzled by his companion’s remark. “How?”
“George Washington, the bastard was more devious than Hastur thought. Won the bloody war by beating him at a card game.”
“So, he cheated. Not the entire Continental Army.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale appraisingly. “You are a fan of them?”
“I admire their … tenacity.”
“We do a booming business with them.”
“I’m sure,” Aziraphale snapped, “you do brisk business everywhere, Crowley, but we really need to find the … the Winchesters.”
“Why do you have such a hard time accepting they stopped the Apocalypse?”
“I have a hard time accepting the fact that there was another Apocalypse so soon after Tadfield,” Aziraphale confessed. “You’d think they would’ve learned, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Crowley said. “That’s them being human, which is why I think both you and I have a hard time with all this.”
Aziraphale looked thoughtfully at Crowley. “You surprise me.”
Crowley gave a crooked smile. “Glad to know that I still can after thousands of years.”
“So, do you know where the … the Winchesters are?”
“Roundup, Montana,” Crowley replied promptly.
“Lovely name,” Aziraphale replied weakly.
Roundup, Montana
Dean yawned as he poured a cup of lukewarm coffee. “Why are we here again?”
“Look, the deaths…”
There was no thunder, no flash, nothing to warn the Winchester brothers of the two entities who suddenly appeared in front of them.
Sam’s first reaction was to grab Dean in order to stop him from tackling the intruders.
The smaller, rather inconsequential looking man raised his hands and said, “We come in peace!”
The taller one who looked like a character from a television show about overpaid surgeons said, “Ignore him,” with a roll of his eyes.
Sam snarled out few words and the second man disappeared. The shorter one studied the empty space where his companion had stood only moments before. “Oh, dear.”
“You’re not a demon?” Sam asked, surprised by the man’s continued presence.
“No, he isn’t,” Dean said slowly. “He’s an angel.”
Sam looked at his brother. “Really?”
“Yeah, so what is he doing with a demon?”
“There’s an Apocalypse?” Aziraphale supplied hopefully.
“You didn’t say Apocalypse,” Dean stuttered loudly. “I couldn’t have heard that right. Sam?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, he did. But he can’t be right.”
“I’m sorry to say there’s an Apo…”
Crowley rematerialized. “That was rude! I didn’t do anything!” He turned to Sam and barked, “And you’re not suppose to have any powers left!”
Sam paled a little and Dean yelled back, “That’s none of your business!”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Everything’s my business, Mr. Winchester: it’s in my job description.”
“What are you?” Sam asked.
“Demon,” Aziraphale answered, “but he’s one of … well, you could consider him to be on our side.”
“Sorry, buddy,” Dean said, glaring at the angel. “I learned the hard way that having angels and demons on my side is about the worst possible news.”
“Yes, I heard about that,” Aziraphale said. “I am so sorry about the mis … miscommunication.”
“Oh, is that what you call when you try to force a person to become an angel condom?" Dean couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he'd tried. "I call it something else.”
“Zachariah was heavy-handed, but we’re not like that,” Aziraphale replied. “And we’re desperate.”
“Desperate enough to seek your help.” Crowley paused then added, “That should tell you something.”
Sam sighed and placed a restraining hand on his brother. “We should hear them out.”
Dean immediately deflated. He crashed onto his bed and said, “Okay, so this Apocalypse?”
Aziraphale looked pleadingly at his companion who gave a frustrated sigh and said, “You’re going to want a drink first."
Dean managed not to give a primal scream of frustration as he digested the information given to him by a demon who looked like a Wall Street type and an angel resembling a bank manager from a Podunk town.
Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t doing as well. “That can’t be true. Why would God do such a thing?”
“He’s ineffable,” Crowley said, giving a sly glance at Aziraphale who seemed clueless about the dig.
“I’m getting a headache,” Dean admitted. “How the fuck can there be three Apocalypses? Apocalypsi? Apocalypse? What the fuck is the plural for the goddamn word anyway?”
“Human beings are busy animals,” Crowley explained. “The truth is all we have to do is sit back and watch you folks go merrily on your way. That’s all it takes most of the time.”
“Then there are others who need something like Lucifer breaking out to be nudged in the right direction,” Sam added sarcastically.
“We can chat about my … Him, or we can stop Creation from completely being undone,” Crowley snapped. “So, what will it be?”
“How is that possible?” Dean asked. “To erase everything?”
“Not erase exactly,” Aziraphale said gently. “It’ll be as if God didn’t get up that day.”
“And this book will do all that,” Sam said. “If its owner knows how to solve the puzzles?”
“Exactly,” Crowley said. “And this American seems to have the ability to do just that.”
“So, what’s the problem? Why can’t you guys just swoop in and stop him?” Dean looked at the two with accusatory eyes.
“Because my … people will do everything to make sure that he’ll succeed.” Crowley sat down next to Dean. “I don’t know why. I mean, I’ll miss sushi, writing up life insurance policies, and home insurance. And code for Microsoft.”
“What he means,” Aziraphale interrupted, “is that he’ll miss this world. And I will, too. Which was why I didn’t sign up for Zachariah’s little gathering. I always thought he was a bit heavy-handed but even I didn’t think he’d go so far.”
“Well, he did.” Dean looked at the angel then Sam. “I, for one, am glad that Michael burned his ass.”
“Unfortunately, someone of Zachariah’s caliber and zeal would’ve been perfect for a job like this,” Aziraphale said. He noticed both Winchester’s dark looks and hurriedly added, “Though he’s much too volatile to be trusted completely.”
"What about the angels then?" Sam asked.
Aziraphale shook his head. "After Detroit, most of us have been called back to our Father. I'm afraid there are few of us left on earth, and we've been told in no uncertain terms to stay away from you."
"So why are you here?" Dean asked.
"Well ... I ... am not sure, to tell the truth," Aziraphale admitted in a strangled voice. "But I can't sit by and watch everything just go poof!"
Dean made a chuffing noise and said, “So, what do you want us to do?”
“Play bait,” Crowley said simply. “Right now, you two are the most hated creatures in Hell. I’m sure the moment you two stick out your heads, all the demons and whatnot will chase you down, leaving a gap in the fence for us to slip in and do what’s necessary.”
“Which is?” Sam asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion. “Sorry, but the thought of you two getting your hands on such a book isn’t what I’d call a fair trade.”
“We aren’t going to do anything with it,” Aziraphale said, shocked. “We have to destroy it, of course.”
“And how are you going to do that?” Dean asked.
“The contents may be powerful, but the book is still as fragile as the day it was put together,” Crowley explained. “Trust me, it’ll burn and burn prettily.
“Blue flames and all. I promise.”
Dean shook his head and swore loudly. “I can’t believe we’re dealing with angels and demons again. I swore we were all done with this shit.”
Sam looked at his brother and said, “I don’t think we have a choice, Dean.”
“Bobby is going to be so pissed,” Dean said.
“Oh, man,” Sam groaned.
“Yeah, think about what he’s going to say when we tell him about all this.”
“Must you?” Crowley asked.
“He’s one of us,” Dean said firmly. “And that’s final.”
“Fine with us,” Aziraphale said hurriedly.
Sam looked at Dean as he reluctantly pulled out his cell.
"Hey, Bobby? Yeah, it's me. I ... um ... we've got a problem..."
Bobby’s face was thunderous, and his fury seemed to radiate right through his body, his wheelchair, and into the small room. In fact, Dean thought if Bobby was capable he’d run right over Crowley and Aziraphale. Then back up just for kicks.
Bobby pointed an accusatory finger at the two creatures and snarled, “Why in hell should I believe you two assholes?”
“Because if you don’t, the downside could be … oh blinking out of existence?” Crowley answered immediately. “Look, what had happened to you was unfortunate,” Crowley made vague hand motions towards Bobby’s wheelchair, “but we’ve got bigger problems now.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes then turned to Dean and asked, “You believe these clowns?”
“Yeah, I had Sam do some research and their story checks out.”
Sam added, “It’s very old lore, but the story is pretty much the same: this Elliot woman heard God’s voice – which is somewhat suspect because she would’ve been driven mad – and put together that book.”
“A book that can undo all of God’s work?” Bobby asked.
“Human vanity, nothing like it,” Crowley said, smiling. “I hate to tell you but this world isn’t the only one God has his eyes on.”
Bobby flinched, it was a slight movement but noticeable.
“We really need your help,” Aziraphale pleaded then amended, “Or at least your friends seem to think so.”
Bobby gave a dark look at the Winchesters before huffing out a sound of frustration. “All right, what do you folks have in mind?”
Crowley explained the plan and earned a wide-eyed disbelieving look from Bobby.
“Are you people nuts?” he hollered, looking around the room. “Oh my God, you’re all serious?”
“Look, Bobby,” Dean said. “We’re not crazy about it either, but there isn’t much we can do. The guy’s got demons for protection and we just don’t have the firepower anymore now Michael’s gone home.
“Wherever home is.”
“Hopefully far, far away from here,” Bobby quipped, wincing as he remembered Michael’s spectacular entry into the world and equally fantastic exit to join his brethren. “Okay, the first thing we need to do is come up with a better plan than to dangle these two idiots in front of the demons like bait.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“We have to canvas the guy, find out his likes and dislikes,” Bobby said. “Get him some other way without alerting the demons.”
Crowley hummed then looked at Aziraphale who said, “That sounds brilliant, actually.”
“We could look at his e-trail,” Sam said. “See if we can figure out his routine.”
Crowley smiled and pointed at Aziraphale. “He’s very adept at finding information in the internet.”
Dean scowled and countered, “Sam’s better.”
Aziraphale stiffened noticeably. “I believe I am proficient.”
“Stop the pissing contest: both of you do it,” Bobby grumbled before wheeling over to a stack of books Aziraphale produced to support his argument. “And I’m gonna look through this to make sure you jokers are on the up-and-up.”
Sam nodded and plunked down on the kitchen chair. Aziraphale did the same on the opposite chair. Dean eyed Crowley with complete distrust, which the demon seemed to enjoy unabashedly.
After a good hour Sam said, “I think I found something.”
“Is it the Sudoku Extreme Face Off in San Francisco?” Aziraphale asked.
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “It looks like he’s going.”
“Oh, he purchased airplane tickets with Expedia months ago,” Aziraphale chimed in happily. “And looks like he’s going to stay at the conference hotel.”
“And that would be…” Sam peered onto his screen. “W hotel, across the street from the modern art museum.”
“They have beautiful collection there,” Aziraphale reminisced, “though I don’t understand any of it.”
Dean looked at the two researchers and chuckled. “Boy, we’re getting geekiness in stereo.”
“Hi-def, also,” Crowley agreed easily.
“What does that mean, exactly?” Bobby asked.
“Road trip,” Dean said.
“Why? We can transport you there,” Aziraphale said.
“Hell, no,” Dean said. “Sorry, every time Castiel did that, I had problems going to the bathroom for an entire week.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “That won’t happen with us.”
Crowley nodded, looking confused by Dean’s accusations. “Whatever that is.”
Dean looked at Sam who was busy staring at his laptop. “The answer is still no. Prune juice gives me gas.”
Crowley winced. “Oh, that.”
“You're unfortunate reaction was because of Castiel's inexperience,” Aziraphale said. “I apologize, Mr. Winchester. Castiel, though passionate about his cause, is still young.”
Crowley pointed at Aziraphale and said, “This one was in Eden. He was one of the angels guarding the gates. Had a flaming sword and everything.”
“Oh, we could definitely use one of those,” Dean said eagerly.
“Sorry, misplaced it,” Aziraphale said.
Dean gaped at the angel. “How could you lose a four-foot long sword on fire?”
“Believe it or not, it’s possible,” Aziraphale said. “So, San Francisco then?”
Crowley looked at the angel and said, “Oh, dear, I forgot. You might find the city a bit rowdy for your tastes.”
Aziraphale looked insulted. “Please, I was in Paris during the late eighteenth century. Remember?”
Crowley blinked. “You were, weren't you?” A coy smirk bloomed on the narrow face. “I remember a certain tavern…”
“You promised me you’d never speak of that again!” The angel wailed, looking fishy-eyed towards the humans in the room.
“Did I? I can’t remember,” Crowley’s smirk grew.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale cautioned.
“Oh, all right,” Crowley surrendered.
“Are we ready now?” Bobby asked. “If you two lovebirds are done, that is.”
Crowley’s smirk tightened as his glance turned cold. He looked at Bobby and cautioned, “Be careful, Mr. Singer. I may call this angel my friend, but that particular term does not apply to you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bobby said, untouched by Crowley’s brazen warning.
Sam picked up his backpack while Dean managed to shove all their meager belongings into a worn duffle bag.
“We should get going,” Sam said. “We’re going to need time to establish our covers before Lee arrives at the con.”
“I can’t believe we’re going undercover in a Sudoku competition,” Dean groused. “Probably surrounded by sugar-hyped, pasty-assed, caffeine addicts from Seattle.”
“I beg your pardon,” Aziraphale said, insulted. “Sudoku is a very challenging game.”
“I rest my case,” Dean said.
Sam shoved his brother out the door before Dean could further damage the shaky truce they got going with Aziraphale and Crowley. Then, out of curiosity, he looked through a window and saw Aziraphale speaking softly but quickly with the demon. Sam knew the hand motions well enough to understand those two were sharing the same argument he and Dean had on many occasions.
Bobby wheeled out of the room. His face spoke of no anger but genuine worry.
“I'm assuming you have questions?” Sam asked.
“Boatloads but now is not the time,” Bobby said. “Have you ever heard of an angel and a demon teaming up?”
“Yes,” Sam answered promptly. “Dean and myself.”
Bobby flushed and shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Yes, it is, Bobby,” Sam countered gently. “Look, whether you like or not, me and Dean – we were demon and angel.”
“Sam,” Dean broke into the conversation. “It was never that black and white. You know that.”
“I do but I also know I was part demon, and in the worst way possible. Lucifer didn’t choose me because I wasn’t capable of doing what he wanted me to do.”
“What are you thinking about?” Dean asked Bobby, not to happy the conversation had turned down this road.
“Why do they think this Lee guy is capable of undoing all of Creation?”
“I was thinking the very same thing,” Sam agreed. “But for now, it’s best if we go along.”
“Then pull a switcheroo?” Dean asked.
“If need be,” Sam said. “If you ask me I think they’re on the up-and up. Just a little scattered.”
“Here they come,” Dean cautioned.
Aziraphale looked a little hot under the collar as he and Crowley exited the motel room. But whatever argument they had was kept private as Bobby laid out a hasty plan to join the con as attendees. After a brief argument between Crowley and Bobby, the group piled into their respective cars.
Dean had just started the engine when suddenly he was facing a wall. “Umm, what just happened?”
Sam turned to his right and found Bobby’s van with its owner looking just as confused. Then he turned to look at the guests who weren’t at all surprised by the sudden change of scene. In fact, Aziraphale looked sheepish; Crowley looked put out.
“I had to,” Aziraphale explained. “We really were strapped for time.”
“If I have to drink one cup of prune juice,” Dean muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna be looking for serious payback.”
“It won’t happen,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sure.”
Dean looked unconvinced but said nothing. Instead, he joined Bobby in order to help the man get out of the van. Sam looked at them with fondness and apprehension as the two bickered amicably.
“Don’t worry,” Aziraphale said to him. “We’ll take care of them.”
Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “They’ve been through so much. They don’t deserve this.”
“Who does?” Aziraphale asked.
Sam’s grin was both honest and painful. “Agreed.”
“And, just so you know, you don’t either,” the angel said softly but with conviction. “You’ve paid your dues, Samuel Winchester. And for sins not wholly your own.”
Sam nodded, unable to say his thanks for the unsolicited kindness.
It took Bobby only few grumpy, pointed remarks for them to obtain guest passes to the convention. Crowley offered to ‘get’ the tickets but the last thing any of them needed was demon activity, since it would send up a flare.
Aziraphale eyed the con goers with good cheer while Crowley looked outright horrified by their dress and manners. He pointed a well-manicured finger at one man and said,
“What is that?”
“Human?” Dean answered, amused by the demon’s reaction.
“No, I mean what are those things he is wearing on his feet?”
Sam peered closely before answering, “Crocs?”
“Those are crocodile shoes?” Crowley blinked. “They don’t look it.”
“No, Crocs are type of sandals,” Aziraphale answered. “Very comfortable.”
“Are you responsible for those atrocities?” Crowley looked at his companion with suitable outrage.
“No, but my team is,” Aziraphale answered proudly.
“And you wonder why you only have Elgar and Liszt,” Crowley grumbled.
Aziraphale looked thoughtful but said nothing. Instead, he studied his packet for the con. Sam did the same while Dean just breezed through his. While flipping through a thick printout something fell out of his folder, managing to float away almost ten feet before Dean caught up to it.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“It’s…” Dean flipped the piece of paper and read the tiny print. “Um … I’ve been invited to a Sudoku Deathmatch?”
“What?” Sam said, eyes widening. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, why are you so excited? I’m not going.”
“You have to,” Sam said. “That’s Lee’s gig. He’s also one of the members running this thing and that’s his table.”
“What’s a table?” Dean asked, then looked at Crowley and snapped, “Think harder.”
Crowley raised both hands to protest the innocence he never had.
“Cons have tables, an area cordoned off for specific events,” Sam explained hurriedly. “Sudoku Extreme does the same thing, and Lee is running the Deathmatch table.”
“How in hell do you have a deathmatch with numbers? What? You miss a square and they pelt you with their Star Trek memorabilia?”
“Nice, Dean,” Sam said, eyeing the people around them. “But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Even if I do go to this thing, if Lee has a demon bodyguard - the goddamn thing's going to gun for my throat the moment it sees me.” Dean looked at his group. “And I gotta tell ya, I don’t like those odds. Not that I’m scared to fight a demon, but we’ve got hundreds of civilians on the loose, and there’s going to be a huge casualty list no matter what I do."
“I might have something to take care of that,” Bobby said. “It’s a spell, specifically designed to fool human vision. I think it’ll be good enough for us to slip through any demonic security system they got going.”
“Okay, then,” Sam said. “We should go to our rooms. Lee isn’t due to arrive until tomorrow afternoon, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an advance guard coming.”
Aziraphale turned to Crowley and asked, “Why don’t you stay here? If you meet up with anyone you know maybe you can gather some information?”
Crowley straightened his tie. “I was just thinking that. If I see any of my so-called brothers I’ll be able to charm whatever information they’ve got. Trust me, all of them are still mired in the old ways. I think most don’t even know how to work the cell correctly.”
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Aziraphale cautioned. “You’ve been up here way too long and they’re not above playing dirty tricks.”
“Oh, I think I can handle that,” Crowley said, a leisurely smile blooming on his chiseled face.
“Not really,” Aziraphale hissed, looking furtively around them. “We’re talking Azazel's betters. When was the last time you faced someone of that caliber?”
Crowley paused for a moment, then a fleeting look of concern shadowed his face. “I’ll manage, Angel. I always do.”
“Handle this carefully. The humans are leery of us as is. The last thing we need is to feed their paranoia. You know how they can get.”
“You handle the humans, I’ll handle covert operations.” Crowley suddenly looked very pleased. “I’ve always wanted to say those words.”
Aziraphale sighed with weary reservation usually assigned to parents of four-year-olds before joining the mortal members of the team.
Crowley studied his reflection in a hotel mirror, admiring himself and not caring that he looked completely different than the human milieu in the lobby. Studying his packet for the con, Crowley ordered a mocha from the lobby café, all the while surreptitiously studying the foot traffic.
Suddenly his cell rang.
Here we are now, entertain us...
The dapper demon gritted his teeth as he answered with a “hello?”
“Crowley!” growled an inhuman voice. “What are you doing there? You weren’t assigned protective detail.”
Crowley froze. He had never met a demon who knew what ‘protective detail’ meant, much less use a cell. “Um … who am I speaking to?”
“It’s me, Baalberith.”
“Oh,” Crowley froze, eyes wide with genuine fear. “Good afternoon, sir. How are you doing? Good to know someone down there can properly use a cell.”
“It’s me, Crowley,” Baalberith said, sarcasm somehow managing to drip through the threatening tone. “I am always in favor of machinery that can spread our will.”
Crowley had forgotten; Baalberith was one of those who loved to talk, usually to human beings in order to achieve bloody mayhem if not genocide. “Of course.”
“Crowley, why are you there?!”
“I heard something in the grapevine … and I thought I’d come along and see if I can have a jolly or two.”
“You would think such things during a momentous time like this,” Baalberith snapped. “Don’t fuck this up, Crowley. Remember Tadfield?”
“Sir, you know I had nothing to do with that particular mess. In fact, I was trying my best to bring things to head.”
There was a disturbing pause before Baalberith admitted, “Yes, I may have heard something about your contribution, but the entire debacle was a black eye for our side. And now with … Him back in his quarters, things are tense around here.”
“Understood,” Crowley gushed. “Which is why I came. I must say, some of my compatriots are not quite up to snuff with all the modern technology. In fact, I think some of them may never have driven a car.”
“There is that,” Baalberith groused loudly. “They do not credit the demon race. In fact, if I had my way, they’d be in my filing department for eternity.”
Crowley winced but said nothing.
“Since you are there already, I see no harm in letting you stay,” Baalberith said. “Take care you don’t repeat Tadfield in San Francisco.”
“Yes, sir.”
I feel stupid and contagious...
Crowley closed the cell and managed not to pitch it onto the head of the nearest human. Instead, He ordered a vodka and orange juice and then, just out of malice, switched the most expensive bottle of whiskey with apple juice.
He immediately felt better when he heard the outraged cries of three men who ordered the expensive bottle only to discover they didn’t get what they paid for. He walked out of the bar, not paying for his drink because Crowley never did. Well, he did once, but the tab also included a martini he bought for Lauren Bacall who dropped by St. Moritz one winter. She favored him with a cat-like smile and even Crowley felt a little light-headed after that momentous encounter.
He strolled around the lobby and noted three minor league demons who looked so pathetically out of place Crowley actually felt bad for them. But, being a demon himself, he spitefully enjoyed watching hotel security question then escort the possessed humans out of the building. Crowley's mood considerably improved after watching that little display of stupidity. At least he blended in, though without the hideous crocs, the t-shirts with stupid logos, and Heaven forbid (seriously) jeans that fitted in such ill manner that the owners' backsides looked like they were kicked in by Godzilla.
Crowley casually leaned against a marble table as he eavesdropped on two humans discussing the magnificence that was Sudoku Extreme Con. Even with his best effort, it was a mystery to the demon why the humans were so excited to dull their minds to the point their IQ would be equivalent to those belonging to the flatworm.
Shaking his head in wonder, the demon did the tour around the lobby before taking the elevators to the room reserved for him. To his unending annoyance, Aziraphale got him a standard room. The demon sniffed disdainfully before calling his friend.
“Angel, where are you?”
“The room next to you.”
“Oh, be there in a whisper.”
He materialized in front of not only the angel but the humans. Crowley was fully expecting to see sour looks on the mortals but what he got was a chorus of faces looking apoplectic. In fact, Crowley froze for a moment, wondering if his very existence was in danger. After all, the Winchesters were famous for their exorcism prowess, especially the younger one. Sam’s ability to banish demons back to hell just by thinking about it sent shivers through Crowley’s non-existent spine.
“What's wrong?” he asked suspiciously.
“He can’t see,” Bobby snapped.
“Can’t see what exactly?” Crowley studied Dean, Sam, and Bobby. Then he noticed their reflections in the mirror behind them.
Crowley’s eyes widened considerably. “Angel, what did you do?”
Sam had been transformed into a petite Asian female with spotty skin and a pixie haircut. Dean became a tall beanpole kid who looked like he was barely past puberty. And Bobby has become an African American male who possessed the same grumpy countenance, save with more hair.
“I see,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, wondering if the angel was actually aware of the danger he was in. “Well, I must say the disguises are perfect.”
“You call this perfect?” Dean barked.
Crowley nodded eagerly. “You three blend in with the rest of the humans attending this meeting. Even better, no demon would guess you are the Winchesters.
“Would someone like Dean Winchester move about, resembling a walking target in the lunchroom? And Sam - a woman? Please. Everyone knows John's second son's a giant. We, demons, have the same prejudices and shortsightedness as humans. As for Bobby ... well … I mean…”
“Just cough it out.” Bobby sighed and sat back into his wheelchair.
“Sorry to say, nobody is expecting you to join this fight. Not after what it cost you last time.”
Bobby's face morphed from anger to resignation. "Hate to say it but the demon’s right. We can’t go downstairs looking like us. The demons won’t care what their jobs are, they’ll be game to bring down the entire hotel if it means they can kill us.
“Let’s face it, we’re not on anybody’s Christmas card list, demons or angels.”
Dean deflated as he accepted what Bobby was saying. “So, I guess I’m gonna be stuck as a geek for the foreseeable future?”
Sam smirked. “I call it karma.”
Dean glared at his brother. “Pot calling kettle black, bro. From where I’m standing you finally found your inner girl.”
Sam flipped a bird as an answer and said, “So, Aziraphale – how long will this glamour hold?”
“Oh, as long as I want to,” Aziraphale chirped. “You must understand, I’m not very high in rank, but I’ve been around for a long time. And I know a few tricks my brothers are not familiar with.”
Sam gave a deep nod and said, “Fine, let’s go with this. I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can hack into the con’s website and see what they’re up to.”
“Dude, wear a low-cut,” Dean said. “Trust me, you won’t have to hack into anything. All you have to do is lean over little and say ‘please’.”
“I can whip up something,” Crowley said. “Sexy but tasteful.”
Sam looked like he was suffering from constipation but managed to croak out, “Okay.” He then rushed to add, “No high heels, please.”
“Noted,” Crowley said, smiling benignly while ignoring Aziraphale’s alarming looks towards him.
Prologue * Part II