Angelica Kills Angels

Chapter 2

CASTIEL

I climbed off of Angela and offered her my hand. She took it with a grin and yanked me back onto the floor. She laughed and stood up walking back over to our bags. I stood up and watched her. She was so beautiful, and I sometimes felt like she didn’t know it. She would do something, something small, like roll her whole head instead of just her eyes, or cock her head to the side and push one hip out to the side when she started telling me off. Her hair was always so shiny and neat, even when she just woke up.

She looked up at me and pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes getting narrow. I almost laughed, she was so funny when she tried to be angry. She stood up, her curved body twisted in an ‘S’ and her arms crossed. Her grey eyes sparkled with mirth as she glared at me.

“Castiel we are going to be late if you don’t shape up! Come on now, angel face, let’s motor.” She said curling a finger at me. I smiled at her and moved to her side. She smiled as I wrapped her in my arms again. She bumped her head into mine and grinned. “Let’s go show the worlds what we’ve got.” She whispered. I nodded and we grabbed our bags. We took hands, our wedding rings touching and sending a jolt of lightning through my chest. She grinned at me and I smiled. Then we both moved to Heaven.

My first impression was stillness. Which was bad. Heaven was never still. It was a veritable hive of activity and energy. Now it was still. Heaven was very much a patchwork quilt of different countries, like the United States. Each country exists as the ruler wishes it, but no two are exactly the same, and the land relies less on whim, as on emotions and memories. They existed in their happiest moments and memories. Sam’s heaven was memories of times he was free, when he was unrestricted, and Dean was when he was with his family. His mother, brother, father. Moments of happiness and joy.

I absentmindedly wondered what Angela’s heaven would be. Then I pushed that thought away, because nothing was moving. In the center of all of heaven, was the citadel. It was the cluster of buildings that surrounded the castle and the garden within. For me, the citadel was always a regal and safe place, because it was my home. I couldn’t describe it to you, because it’s always changing. Stone walls, then wall paper, rugs then suddenly marble or tile.

There was always angels, walking about importantly, with messages and errands to do this or that, see to this event or oversee this battle, check on this priest or someone please find the Cupids and get them to pair up that couple in Chicago. They need to get married. Then there was the constant worry over the apocalypse. Every moment of my entire existence since Lucifer had fallen had been in preparation for the apocalypse. The Holy Wars were a busy time and so was the World Wars, but everything had been shunted aside when it came to preparing for the apocalypse.

So seeing the halls empty, devoid of life, was disturbing, and made fear shoot through my soul. I gripped Angela’s hand tightly and she squeezed back. I took her other hand, our bags sitting beside us, and concentrated. I didn’t like doing his, but making a good impression would be pivotal to the upcoming battle. I needed allies, and I needed Angela’s help. She gasped as her clothing seamlessly melted into a long silk gown with a trailing train. Her hair coiled itself up into a bun and her feet were unshod, leaving her feet bare against whatever she saw as the floor.

I was in my customary clothes, my chainmail under the surcoat of gold with the white cross on my chest. My angel blade was in the scabbard at my side and my helmet was instantly on my head. I too had bare feet, for the ground of the Holy Citadel is blessed, and cannot be walked upon with any form of footwear. With the sound of flight our wings unfurled from our backs, pure white feathers extending out around us. Angela sighed as her wings spread out around her. I never stopped staring at them, the most singular set of wings in all the known worlds. Made from demon magic and stolen grace they were the only pair of mystic wings I knew of. Angela looked at herself and then glared at me, her eyes narrowing, steely and shining in the half light.