Of Vessels and Bloodlines

For what man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? even so the things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God.

- Corinthians 2:11

The house was gloomy and dark, the shadows reaching from the corners into the rooms, like the cobwebs that lurked along the cornices and hung limply from the light fittings.

What had once been a living room was now a library, every inch of wall space filled with rough shelving, and books stacked and squeezed in wherever they would fit. More books covered the floor in teetering piles, their cracked and crumbling bindings barely readable, hinting at knowledge that should have been lost long ago.

The fire that flickered on the small hearth hissed occasionally, the rising heat not proof against the raindrops that found their way down the chimney. A single lamp cast a pool of light around the desk, making crevices of the wrinkles in the older man's face, and adding a ruddy glow to the skin of the human vessel that housed the seraphim.

Castiel looked at the contents of the glass he held in his hand. From across the old leather-topped desk, its surface covered by files, papers and books, Bobby watched him sourly, his expression shadowed by the brim of the oil-stained baseball cap that never left his head.

"Ya gonna drink it or are ya composing a poem to it?" he snapped impatiently. At sixty-two, Bobby Singer figured he was entitled to hand out an opinion without worrying about what anyone thought of it. He'd survived enough, had seen enough and his dues were all paid up and then some.

Castiel lifted the glass and took a tentative sip. The liquid, a deep golden brown with hints of red, smelled sharp and acrid. The taste on his tongue was unlike any other, burning hot, foul, yet as he swallowed it quickly, it warmed his throat and stomach, and the aftertaste was quite different, almost appealing.

"What can you tell me about this vessel business, Cas?" Bobby took a mouthful from his own glass and leaned forward, one elbow resting of the edge of the desk.

The angel looked at him, his face expressionless. "You need to write this down. It needs to be known."

"I'm not real good at shorthand." Bobby leaned over and opened the big drawer on the left hand side of the desk, rummaging through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He put the recorder on the desk. "All right if we record it all and I transcribe it later?"

Castiel nodded, looking at the machine. "This may be a long conversation."

"I got plenty of tapes." Bobby refilled his glass, glancing at the window as the wind rose outside, a spatter of raindrops striking the glass.

"You are familiar with the Book of Revelations?" Castiel took another small sip. Bobby rolled his eyes. All he'd been doing, the last six months, had been reading the damned book of Revelations, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Yeah, a bit." The sarcasm was lost on the angel.

"You need to know that the content of Revelations primarily deals with past events, not prophesying the future. John was … rather overwhelmed … at the time."

"Yeah, that comes across. What events happened in the past?"

"Everything up to 19:11. Only the last few chapters actually prophesise the Second Coming."

"Huh." Bobby sat with that for a moment. "Why are we seeing apocalyptic omens straight out of Revelations now then?"

"The entire thing was more of a check list." Castiel shrugged, tipping the glass up and letting another mouthful slip down his throat. It was … growing on him, he thought. "The signs would recur when the seals to the Cage were being broken. It was a fail-safe to ensure that the breaking of the Cage by any other than God's will would not go unnoticed."

"Oh."

"In any case, regarding the bloodlines. In Revelations 12:3. And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads. And his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven, and did cast them to the earth."

He looked over at Bobby, his eyes a little wider than usual. "Lucifer took the form of the dragon, you understand."

"Yeah, kind of figured that out." Bobby sighed. Talking with angels was like watching grass grow. You couldn't hurry 'em up.

"The third of stars were not, actually stars. They were –"

"Angels." Bobby said slowly.

Castiel nodded. "The angels who are called the Fallen. Three thousand, three hundred and thirty three."

"They were Lucifer's followers?" Bobby was aware that he'd lowered his voice. He glanced around the quiet room, chiding himself mentally for spooking. Too many damned superstitions. Too many that were true. His caution was as ingrained as the oil that no number of washes would get out of the creases in his hands.

"Not all of them. About half of that number followed the Morning Star. But the rest were rebellious of God's will for humankind, and they chose to fall, although they did not join with Lucifer in the battle. They settled instead into the lands of men, and married human women."

"So, they were the 'sons of God' … in the Book of Enoch?"

"Yes." Castiel nodded shortly. "Of the Fallen who followed Lucifer only nine survived the battle with Michael and the Host. They were thrown into the pit with their lord, and became arch-demons, their angelic powers were transformed. They are known to you as Belial, Asmodeus, Pythius, Abaddon, Merihem, Astaroth, Belphigor, Baal and Moloch." He took a deep breath. The whiskey was burning pleasantly in his vessel's stomach, a strangely reassuring warmth that made it easier for him to ignore the fact that he was spilling Heaven's secrets.

"The rest … God found that the behaviour of the fallen angels who interacted with humanity to be blasphemous against his Will. He sent the Flood to cover the earth seven hundred years later." That, he thought, had been an over-reaction. So many species lost, the good wiped out with the evil. He remembered Gabriel's laughter, watching it.

"But not all of the fallen were killed by the Flood. The Watchers, some call them the Grigori, remained. Seven of the fallen who did not wish humanity ill, but were tasked to teach the knowledge of Heaven. They lived with their children in the wilderness, spreading out across the lands when the water receded. Four other lines of the Watchers survived also."

"What about the rest?" Bobby asked.

"Every other line of the Fallen was destroyed. The Watchers themselves have formed the seven bloodlines that can produce vessels for the seraphim." He looked at his glass, lifting it again. If any of his superiors discovered what he was doing, he would blasted into cosmic dust, he thought unsteadily.

"So the Winchesters are descended from one of these Watchers?"

"From two." The angel sighed inwardly as he felt the warming fire of the liquid stream down over his tongue. He couldn't stop now, uncertain in his mind as to what he was referring to – the imbibing of the whiskey, or the revelations of the secrets of the divine plane. "The Winchester line originated with Araquiel, who taught humanity the signs of the earth – its movements and origins, the track of the eons in the layers of stone, the way the sea had formed the rocks. But the Campbell line originated with Azazel, who taught humans the arts of war, of weapons and death, of ornamentation and deceit."

"Azazel? The Yellow-Eyed Demon? How is that?" Bobby frowned. Nothing in anything he'd read had suggested that an angel could become a demon.

"Azazel became mortal when he fell. Although he lived for hundreds of years, he did eventually die. And when he did, Lucifer claimed him, arguing that he had taught evil to humanity and deserved Hell. Angels have no souls, not even the fallen can acquire a soul. But an angel can be twisted and tortured to darkness, as a soul can, if they are flesh and blood."

Bobby thought about that. It made some of the things he'd been reading about clearer. It also scared the hell out of him. A demon with the powers of an angel? Demons were bad enough when they'd been manufactured from plain ol' humans. He looked up at Castiel, and asked the question that really bothered him.

"Why is Dean the vessel of Michael and Sam the vessel of Lucifer?"

"That is uncertain." Castiel looked away.

"You're a piss-poor liar, Cas." Bobby's eyes narrowed. "You started this; I need to know it all if it's going to be of any use."

"The hybrid of human and angel does not involve what you call genetics. There are no words in the languages of humanity to describe what is passed along by the angel's side. The nephilim, the offspring of the two, are always more powerful than either angel or man. The power of an angel, the soul of a man. But it is possible that because the two lines were involved, Dean has received more … material from Araquiel's line, and Sam … Sam has the coding from Azazel's. We thought it was why he was suitable for Azazel's experiment. Michael talks about the grand envisaged plan, about the lines of Destiny and the weavings of Fate, but I think it was only really possible when they discovered that the brothers were born different, in their makeup, from each other."

"Jesus." Bobby rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes bleak when he looked back to the angel.

"Unfortunately, he cannot help us at this time." Castiel looked at Bobby. "Not all of the Watchers have been helpful to humanity. Some still believe that Lucifer's rising will bring about the end of humankind, leaving the Earth to them."

"That's just great." Bobby glanced down at the empty glass sitting on the table in front of him. He lifted the bottle and poured another couple of inches into it. "Any other factions I should know about?"

Castiel considered the question carefully. "No, I think that is all."

Bobby looked down at the recorder, at the tape spinning slowly around. Another thought occurred to him.

"Cas, the higher ups in Heaven … they must have been planning this for a long time."

Castiel swallowed the last of his whiskey, relishing the fire as it swept down his throat. "Yes. I believe they have."

Bobby shook his head. Bad enough that demonkind had been manipulating humanity, but Heaven as well? "Do we tell them?"

Castiel reached across the table and picked up the bottle, tipping a little more whiskey into his glass. He believed he was acquiring a taste for the liquid. He put the bottle back carefully and looked at Bobby. "Do you think it will help them?"

Bobby thought of the burdens they already carried. Both would be shocked by the knowledge, Sam maybe more so. He already felt too different from everyone else.

"No."