She Talks to Angels | {BOOK 2}

107|Superman Goes to the Dark Side

So- they already suspected.

"Where's Crowley?" Bobby demanded.

"Up yours," Redd hissed again, screaming as Bobby continued torturing him.

And the worse part was Dean and Eleanor, trying so hard to be loyal, with every instinct telling them otherwise.

Dean and Eleanor stood back with Sam, Dean holding her the best he could, accommodating her stomach. 

"I don't know where Crowley is!" Redd insisted.

"Are you sure about that?" Bobby growled. "Cause we can twist again all the way to next summer."

To prove his point, he twisted the knife still lodged in the demon's leg once more.

"Oh, God!" the demon screamed. "I never even met him! I don't deal with Crowley direct."

"Well who do you deal with?"

"The dispatcher. A demon named Ellsworth."

⁘

If there was a demon counterpart to Bobby Singer, Ellsworth would be it. These demons would lead the Winchesters to Crowley, and Crowley would tear their hearts out.

I appeared in Ellsworth's house, smiting the other two demons in front of his desk.

"Oh, hell," Ellsworth swore.

He attempted to leave his host, but I forced the smoke back in and smote him, too.

I had no choice. I did it to protect the boys and Eleanor. Or to protect myself. I- I don't know anymore.

When Sam, Dean and Bobby got to the house, they cleared every room.

"Demons get tipped and bugged out?" Dean asked.

"Maybe they run from us now," Sam suggested. "I mean, that would be a nice though, right?"

"Yeah, if that's what happened," Bobby pointed out.

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

Hiding... Lying... Sweeping away evidence. And my motives used to be so pure. After supposedly "saving" Sam, I finally returned to Heaven. Of course, there isn't one Heaven. Each soul generates its own paradise. I favored the eternal Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953.

⁘

"You're alive," Rachel greeted me.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Castiel, we saw Lucifer destroy you."

"Well, I'm back."

"But Lucifer? Michael?"

"They're gone."

"It was God, wasn't it?"

"No, it was the Winchesters. They brought down the apocalypse."

"But you beat the Archangels, Castiel," Rachel pressed. "God brought you back. He chose you, Cass... to lead us."

"No," I shook my head. "No one leads us anymore. We're all free to make our own choices and to choose our own fates."

"What does God want?"

"God wants you to have freedom."

"But what does he want us to do with it?"

If I had known then what I know now... I might have said... "It's simple. Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it." Those first weeks back in Heaven were surprisingly difficult. Explaining freedom to angels is a bit like teaching poetry to fish. And then there was Raphael...