Perception

And So It Begins

Zachariah touched down in front of Michael irritably, a scowl on his human face and a snarl on his lion face. The only reason Michael would call him now of all times would be to go to Earth (ugh, how horrible) to possess one of those smelly things God told him to love. If you asked him, they were something only a mother could love. Well, Mary did seem rather fond of her baby daddy's creations.

Then again, she would be pretty blessed biased.

"It's time," said Michael forebodingly. Zachariah thought he was being a bit overdramatic.

Even so, Zachariah nodded his assent (which really wasn't needed, because - hello - archangel) and flew down to Anael, who was tending to the Garden. He refused to call her by her human name. It made her almost as bad as those blessed creations, but not quite as bad as HWSNBN. He was an Abomination Unto Michael.

"It's time," said Zachariah with considerably less foreboding than Michael.

She disappeared for a moment before returning with an unnecessarily lavish key. "Good luck, brother. Zachariah nodded and flew off without another word. Off to Hell he goes.

...

In an undisclosed location in the 49th state, the demon Orias held the hand of the six year old Antichrist. Little Salpsan (Sal, to the mortals) was decked out in a tiny parka and some badass shades. He was a carbon copy of young Bryce Wallace, the unfortunate original, soon to be replaced.

He wasn't sure whether to be offended or grateful for the assignment he was on. He was a Great Marquis of Hell, for someone's sake! He commanded 30 legions of demons! Why was he leading around a small child? Then again, he was the Antichrist. That was reason enough to be gratified.

Either way, here he was, holding hands with a toddler and wearing heavy polyester. Even though it was the highpoint of summer, it was damn cold. But he'd be damned - again - if the Higher Up heard him bitching about this assignment.

"Are you prepared, Salpsan?" asked Orias, glancing down at the small form beside him. Salpsan looked up with angry brown eyes, which he would soften before he took poor Bryce's place.

"Yes," replied the toddler, with a voice not fitting for the Antichrist; the Ultimatum; the End of Life As We Know It; the Finishing Move From Hell, With Love. Too high and childlike.

"Oh! He's so cute! Is he yours?" a woman asked, crouching down and grinning at the little boy. Salpsan glowered at her, but the effect was lost on his chubby features.

Orias will literally explode if one more person called the Antichrist "cute".

...

"Hello, Feathers." Castiel shot up from his position curled up under the covers, scrambling to wipe his nose and hide his red eyes, but when he realized the voice was cocky and British, he relaxed and turned to look at the intruder. "Oh," muttered Crowley, "you look terrible."

Castiel sighed. "Thank you, Crowley. I'll fix myself up for Prom."

The demon gave and all-suffering sigh. "You're voice is so much softer and you understand sarcasm; are you even the same angel?" He perched lightly on the side of Castiel's borrowed bed.

"I don't know." Castiel sniffled and wiped at his eyes again. He gave Crowley an intense stare - something he didn't lose when his Grace and memories were repressed. "Please don't tell Dean; I don't want him to know I was crying."

Eyebrows raised, Crowley conjured a glass of Craig and smiled indulgently at Castiel. "Our little secret, eh? Very well. So I take it the big reveal went down well?"

Castiel shrugged and crossed his legs. "It's just - a lot to take in."

"Well," said Crowley affably, "I'll let you in on a little secret." He shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around Castiel's shoulders. "Before you got amnesia, we weren't actually enemies. I mean, we weren't friends, either, but I don't particularly want to kill you."

Castiel nodded, not looking very surprised. "So you're not here to drag me to Hell?"

Crowley laughed. "How do you think you got into Hell in the first place? Those demons would have devoured you if I hadn't done something. And frankly," he took a sip of his whiskey, then offered some to Castiel, which was promptly refused, "it was quite boring, with Dean in Hell. He's much more entertaining running around with the other mud monkeys."

Castiel nodded, and in a voice much too meek for an Angel of the Lord, said, "I don't know if I want to be an angel again."

"You never stopped being one." And with those words of wisdom, Crowley disappeared with a grin and a leftover bottle of well-aged whiskey.

...

Saying goodbye to Bobby will never be easy, but Dean escaped without getting teary-eyed (as if he would ever admit to that). He let Castiel sit shotgun, which Sam bitched about profusely for the first half hour of the drive. When Cas messed with the radio, Dean tried to protest, but he couldn't bring himself to do so when he saw Castiel soft expression, so he let it be, much to Sam's chagrin (again).

Now that the ketamine began to wear off, Castiel's personality was starting to shine through the drug's effects. He hummed to the music he liked and he spoke more freely than before. It was nice to see him opening up like that. Nothing felt better than seeing a formerly drugged-up and robotic man smile genuinely.

But then the Smashing Pumpkins started blaring through the speakers and Dean glared at the radio. He didn't know what the song was called - Hell, he was surprised he knew the band - but it was hitting a little too close to home. Castiel seemed to sense this, because he glanced at Dean before sliding on of the cassettes in and grinning when Dean smirked.

Personality rocked.