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There weren't many things that could fill an Archangel with trepidation. Being one of the most powerful entities in the universe led to a certain mixture of confidence, arrogance, and entitlement that only a few could afford to hold onto without being killed by others. Meeting with someone who was indeed more powerful than an Archangel wasn't something that happened very often, and therefore led to said Archangel being completely out of their element.

Raphael gulped as she slowly walked towards the meeting place. The Reaper, who had acted as a messenger, had conveyed to her that his master would meet her here: a nondescript clearing in the middle of a forest somewhere in Siberia. The night was clear: not a single cloud covered the sky, and the stars that were shining on the horizon were bright and uncontested by the human´s city lights. The air was cold and fresh and tasted only a little of the emissions that humanity were constantly producing. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction – black, dark, and somehow brooding.

One of the last places that humanity has yet to destroy, Raphael thought. One could assume that she hated that race with a passion that would rival her fallen brother´s, but it wasn't so: Raphael simply did not care about them.

Once – long, long ago – she had been enthusiastic about this new race that her father had created. Something new, something different – she had been so excited to watch and learn what this species would bring to their universe. But then thousands of her brethren had been killed over a fight between Lucifer and her father, and the humans had been the reason for it.

Rationally, she knew that the humans were not at fault, but emotionally she couldn't help but think that without the human´s existence the Fall would have never happened; their family would still be whole and their father still alive.

Now, when she looked upon Earth and saw the deep gashes that humanity had inflicted upon her, she just felt tired and disgusted. The Apocalypse had been the change to finally end it once and for all, but Castiel and his stupid human pets had ruined everything. Now she was the only one left: Lucifer and Michael were imprisoned in the Cage, and Gabriel had vanished; dead probably. And she couldn't help but resent her brothers for that.

She was the Archangel of Healing. War had never been something that she approved of. But first Lucifer brought bloodshed into their homes, and he was subsequently banished for it. Gabriel abandoned Heaven, leaving her with a broken Michael and a broken Host. She had been the one who brought order back to the Host – gave them assignments, orders, and a purpose – while Michael hid himself in the deepest parts of Heaven to mourn for his lost brother. If she had been a more emotionally inclined, she would have screamed at him that she was still there, she still needed him, but she swallowed it down and continued to convey the illusion to the other ranks that it was still Michael who gave the orders.

And now Michael had left her, too, and Castiel and his renegades fought her at every turn. She had tried so hard to keep Heaven whole over the millennia in the hope that their Father might be still out there and would come back. But this hope had been long since extinguished, and now Heaven was broken. Now she just wanted her brothers back, and she didn't care if it was over the corpse of every human that inhabited earth.

"You wanted to speak with me, Raphael?"

Raphael didn't even flinch, for she had expected the Master of Death. 'Harry' – what an ordinary name. She had asked him once why he chose to be called by that name, when she first met him.

"He is Father´s oldest friend," Michael had told her in serious voice. "You must be really nice to him." A short pause.

"He is nice as well," Michael added as afterthought. Raphael – cowering behind one of the trees in Eden – peered from behind the tree trunk.

"Really?" she asked timidly. Michael just nodded furiously.

"Michael!? Raphael!?" They heard their father´s voice and looked up to see him walking towards them with another being. Whereas their father was light, warmth, and calmness all at once, the other accompanying him was the complete opposite: dark, cold, and wild like a thunderstorm. Raphael continued to hide behind the tree, covering herself with her wings.

"You don´t have to fear me, little one," she heard a soothing voice say. Carefully, she peeked through her wings and saw father´s friend standing in front of her, crouched down so that he was at the same height as she. The hair of the vessel he had chosen was black and his eyes were a mesmerizing green that Raphael had never seen before. Behind those green orbs power whirred around – tamed and yet free.

"What is your name, little one?" he asked her, and a small smile graced his face. It made him look more at peace.

"Raphael," she answered shyly.

"'It Is God Who Heals'?"

She nodded in confirmation.

"My name is Harry," the man said.

"What does it mean?" Raphael asked curiously.

"I don't know," Harry answered her, shrugging. "I forgot."

"Then why is it your name?" Raphael´s name gave her an identity and a purpose. How could Harry live without knowing what his purpose was?

"Because," he started to explain, "it is one of the few things that is still left of me, that survived everything that I have been through in my life. So often I have been broken, reformed, forgotten, and remembered that I sometimes don´t know who I am anymore. That name helps me to remember."

At the time, she hadn't understood what Harry was saying. But now, she did: her name – her purpose – had been one of the few things that had kept her from totally losing herself over the millennia.

"Yes, I did want to speak with you," she answered.

"You know that I cannot interfere in the matters of Heaven?" he pressed on.

"Yes, I know," she said. "But I did not call upon you for that." He kept silent, waiting for her to speak on. "Are you aware that Castiel has allied himself with the current King of Hell Crowley?" Raphael asked and couldn't help but feel disgusted at her fallen brother´s action. He must be truly desperate to lower himself to working with that vermin.

"I am," Harry simply stated. "Not his smartest move. Castiel may be older, but Crowley can play him like a fiddle. But Castiel wouldn't be the first angel in recent times to throw their lot in with the demons, would he? Uriel did as well."

Raphael grimaced as she heard that name. What Uriel had done was simply unforgiveable, and his end had been more than deserved.

"So I ask again," Harry continued. "Why have you called me?"

"They plan to open Purgatory and use the souls within," Raphael said, and by the way the atmosphere around them seemed to darken, she could tell that Harry did not take that announcement well.

"How do you know about such plans?" Harry asked.

"In his endless greed, Crowley approached me and offered to take care of Castiel if I were to help him garner the souls of Purgatory."

"And you didn't accept?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Don´t play coy with me, Raphael. Why did you not use that well of power for yourself?"

"I was tempted," Raphael said. "I imagined what I could do with all that power at my disposal. But then I thought about what else lurks in the depths of Purgatory. I am not so arrogant to think of myself as equal to the Leviathans. They would crush me – and with me Heaven, Earth, and Hell. And that is exactly the reason why I´m here, telling you this. The Leviathans cannot be allowed to escape!"

"Something that we can agree on," Harry murmured. "But what will you do when I have taken care of this problem? You know very well that the moment you release Michael and Lucifer from the Cage, I will be allowed to interfere again."

"How does the human saying go? 'Let´s burn that bridge when we have crossed it?'" To be honest Raphael had hoped that the Master of Death simply would take care of the Leviathans and then vanish again, but it seemed as if that hope was in vain. Fortunately, Harry didn't want to pry further.

"The Leviathans are a threat to your father´s creation," Harry said instead. "I think this warrants the re-introduction of one of your wayward brothers." He snapped with his fingers and another figure appeared in the clearing.

"Ugh, Harry," the figure bemoaned. "What does a guy have to do to earn himself some private time around here?" He stopped and starred at Raphael. "Raph?" Suddenly it hit her: a familiar energy-pattern, the way he talked, and the disgusting nickname that she had always hated until there had been no one to call her by it anymore.

"Gabriel?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p' at the end.

"I am truly sorry that I had to disturb your 'private time'," – Raphael could practically hear the air quotes in Harry's voice – "but a rather urgent manner has come to my attention," Harry explained calmly. "Until the time this matter is settled, I ask of both of you to bury any conflicts or resentments you still hold for each other."

Raphael looked at Gabriel. Oh, how often she had imagined this situation and what she would say to the brother that had abandoned her without second thought. But as she looked at him – this broken, tired, and weary shell of what once had been her joyous brother – the words died on her tongue. So she simply nodded. Gabriel did the same.

"What do you need us for?" Gabriel asked.

"Castiel and Crowley cannot be allowed to open a portal to Purgatory," Harry began to explain. "We have to prevent that from happening. Doors into Purgatory can only be opened when the moon is at its fullest."

"That´s in two days," Raphael said. "How will we find them?"

"Let the Host search every corner of the planet," Harry commanded. "The Reapers will do the same." Raphael and Gabriel nodded. "Let´s hope that we can prevent another catastrophe from happening." And with that, Harry dismissed them with a gesture of his hand. Both Archangels vanished.

"You already know where Castiel, Crowley, and Eve are holed up," Death commented as he unveiled himself behind Harry.

Harry smirked at him knowingly. "This offers a perfect opportunity to mend what is broken between Gabriel and Raphael. It will force them to work together and work out their differences in a way that does not involve hiding from each other."

"But why are you waiting until the ritual can commence?" Death asked curiously.

Harry turned around and looked him in the eyes. "Because it presents us with the perfect opportunity to tie up all loose ends," Harry explained. "Everything and everyone of importance will be at one place, and the chance of someone slipping through our gasp will be significantly lower. And I want the Winchesters as far away as possible from the site. They have the tendency to complicate everything and ruin perfectly acceptable plans." He smirked and Death followed him suit as they both thought about the hunter duo.

"Then we will reconvene in two days' time?" Death asked, and Harry nodded.

Eve was strapped to a table. To be honest, it was rather uncomfortable: made of steel, its cold pierced through her body and the sharp angles of it cut deep within her flesh. If she had been human, she would have cried out in pain, but now she just lay there and watched her captors.

Crowley stood behind a wooden desk cluttered with various parchment scrolls, books, and undefinable substances, brewing a nasty-smelling concoction; Castiel, on the other hand, lingered a few meters beside her and watched her with the deep blue eyes of his.

"You must be truly desperate, Castiel," Eve mocked, "to betray those who stood beside you when your own brethren didn't. Do you really think they will ever trust you again?" She tilted her head and flashed him a fake smile. "Was it worth it?" The angel just stared at her, his eyes filling with sadness.

"If saving this world means they will hate me for the rest of their lives, then so be it," he said, but the way he cast down his eyes betrayed that it was nothing but empty sentiment.

"So brave," Eve purred. "So selfless!" She paused for a moment. "Is that what you tell yourself when your guilt is gnawing at your Grace?"

"I had no choice!" Castiel pressed out between clenched teeth. Inwardly, Eve giggled with glee; she played the angel like a puppet.

"If you say so," she taunted.

"Feathers," Crowley interrupted. "Would you please stop flirting with the Mother of All? It´s unbecoming of you. How about you take care of that angel that's currently traipsing around at the edge of my wards?" He lifted an eyebrow at the angel and tilted his head in the direction of the angel. With a short nod towards the demon, Castiel vanished.

"When will you stab him in the back?" Eve asked curiously. "The binding is only for one, no matter what you have told Castiel to stay in line."

"A true gentleman does not kiss and tell," Crowley replied haughtily.

"Good," Eve shot back. "For you haven´t been one for quite a few centuries."

"I still won´t tell you," Crowley said evenly. "And now be quiet. The ritual you devised is rather complicated in its preparation."

"Castiel was more fun," Eve pouted but fell silent when Crowley failed to react to her. Only a few more hours.

A thundering crash shot through the night as the two angel blades clashed with each other, lightening lit up the night.

"You would have struck me down?" Balthazar asked stunned as he applied more pressure against Castiel, forcing the other angel to take a step back.

"That you are here only means that you, too, have betrayed me," Castiel answered and stepped aside. Bereft of his counter-pressure, Balthazar stumbled forward and would have been skewed on Castiel´s sword if he hadn't spun sideward. It was like slow-motion; Balthazar could clearly see the blade´s edge sweep over his face; could feel the chilling breeze of air that indicated how close the blade was to his face. With much effort, he spread his wings and flew out of Castiel´s reach.

"Betrayed?! I have done nothing to betray you!" he screamed at his former comrade. "What you and Crowley attempt to do is utter madness! Purgatory was closed off from the three dimension for a reason and you want to open it – allow its habitants to come to Earth – only for a bid for power!" Blade raised, he pushed himself forward, straight towards Castiel´s heart. The seraph saw the move coming and blocked it with his blade, but he hadn't calculated with Balthazar´s momentum which sent both angels tumbling backwards.

The next few moments were nothing but a blur of swords clashing against each other. Castiel was fast and agile; his attacks seeming to come out of nowhere. Before one strike was finished, he was already moving on to the next, a storm of deathly efficiency. Balthazar more than matched up with his longer fighting experience: knowing of the futileness of blocking each attack, he spun around Castiel, evading each and every one of his opponent's attacks while trying to land his own. It was a dance of death and beauty with no predictable outcome.

Balthazar saw his chance when Castiel ended one of his attacks far too soon, leaving his right side open for an attack. He thrust his blade upwards, aiming for Castiel´s ribcage. If he got the angle right, he would even hit Castiel's vessel´s heart.

Castiel´s eyes widened. He tried to evade the attack. Balthazar´s blade pierced his skin. Castiel dashed back. The blade continued his way upwards. When Castiel came to a halt a few metres away from Balthazar, a wide gash adorned his side. It shone blue, but red blood spilt out of it. Castiel tried to heal it with his grace. It shone brighter and the blood flow stopped, but the gash would not close.

"I helped you!" Balthazar cried out. "I came back just for you!" He soared forwards in an attempt to strike the other angel, but Castiel noticed and took flight. He appeared on the other side of the field.

"Please, Cas," Balthazar implored. "We are friends! There was no one in the garrison closer than us. I beg you: let go off this folly! It will only lead you to your own damnation!"

"I can´t," Castiel said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is my only chance at fixing everything. If you were my friend, you would know that."

"I am your friend," Balthazar shouted desperately. "That´s why I am doing this." He raced forward, his sword held high. The battle continued to rage. Castiel was weakened. His motions were sluggish, but he made up for it with the strength his utter desperation granted him. Like a cornered animal, he lashed out against everything that Balthazar could throw at him.

Suddenly, one of Castiel´s thrusts completely missed its target, making the angel lose his balance. Balthazar was ready – his blade already pointed at Castiel´s heart – when he locked gaze with Castiel. The angel´s deep-blue eyes were filled with desperation, sadness, and resignation. It broke Balthazar´s heart and made him hesitate for only a split second – and that would be his undoing.

Balthazar could only feel the pain spreading from his chest. He looked at the sword protruding from his body and then to Castiel, whose hand still clutched the blade´s hilt.

Balthazar fell to the ground. Castiel moved with him, never averting his gaze.

"It was for you," he whispered. "For Dean, for Sam, for Bobby." Balthazar tried to say something, but the only thing coming from his mouth was a wave of blood. Then his grace exploded and the world sunk into whiteness.

The whiteness was infinite. No matter where Balthazar looked, there was nothing but white, white and more white. Balthazar somehow felt wrong, but he couldn't decide why. It wasn't tangible, and every time he tried to name it, it fled his mind.

Balthazar tried to stand up. He didn't make it far before pain shot through his whole body and he fell to the ground again. The pain in his muscles, the throbbing headache, the ache in his joints – it was excruciating. And suddenly he knew what was wrong: he felt human. They were human ailments. He shouldn't feel them. Why would he feel human?

"Because only humans can enter the in-between," a voice answered his question. Balthazar twisted his neck to look for the source of the voice only to find the Master of Death standing there.

"So," Balthazar began awkwardly. "Cassie really killed me?"

"He did," Harry confirmed. "My condolences." Balthazar stared at him and blinked. And again. Did the Master of Death really just make a joke?

"Usually the humans who come here are…distraught," the Master of Death explained. "A few words of sympathy often do wonders to their composure."

"I just got killed by my best friend because I wanted to prevent him from going through with the worst decision in the history of ever," Balthazar ranted. "'A few words of sympathy' doesn't quite cut it! I thought we had a deal! The weapons in exchange for your protection!"

"In case you didn't notice, you are not dead," Harry replied drily. "Otherwise, you would have ceased to exist." He took a few steps forward. "And now I will send you back."

"Great," Balthazar said with as much sarcasm as possible. "I can't wait to read Cassie the riot act."

"You won´t go back as angel," the Master of Death said. "You will see."

"What!? Wait, wait, wait…." Balthazar panicked. But it was too late: the last thing he experienced was the feeling of falling.

In Cologne, Germany, Melanie and Bernhard Walter were laying in each other´s arms, crying. The doctors had just confirmed that Melanie was pregnant, even though they had declared her barren only a few years ago after a severe infection. They called it a medical peculiarity, a one-in-thousand chance. Melanie thought of all the long hours she had spent in church or simply at home, praying to God and begging him for a child, and couldn't help but think that it was a wonder. She touched her still-flat stomach, imagining the little life that was growing within, and vowed to herself that her little wonder-child would always be loved and cherished, no matter what.

Somehow, Dean had always imagined that summoning Death would be a bit more…complicated and disgusting than simply drawing some obscure symbols on the ground and then wishing really hard that said entity would appear.

Of course – according to Sammy – it wasn't just wishing; it was the strength and purity of the intent that had to be broadcasted that mattered. His brother had continued to explain it further, using all kinds of professional terms, but for Dean it was nothing more wishing that Death would appear in Bobby´s living room.

It said a lot about their lives that they tried to summon something that the majority of beings in this universe tried their whole lives to escape from.

"So now what?" Dean asked. "We just stay around and wish for Death to appear?"

"For the hundredth time, it isn´t 'wishing'," Sam said and sent him bitchface number 24: 'I know that you know that I know that you just said/did something to grate on my nerves'.

"I know, I know," Dean said. "It's 'broadcasting your intent'."

"If you two would stop bitching at each other, we could actually achieve something for once," Bobby cut into their banter with a glare. Dean and Sam both sobered up immediately. Over the last few days, they had desperately searched for the place where Cas and Crowley were hiding. But even with the help of Bobby´s hunter network, they weren't enough to cover the whole US, and if the two were in another country, then they could just as easily give up right now. So in a last ditch effort, they had come up with the idea to ask Death. Dean would have preferred to summon Death´s master, for he wasn't nearly as creepy as his subordinate, but only Gabriel knew how and the Archangel had deserted them.

"I can´t believe what I´m going to say now," Dean started, "but I think I prefer the rituals where you actually have to mix some really weird stuff, because they at least smoke and do shit so that you know that they work." He stared at the lines they had drawn on the floor. No, definitely no weird glowing or smoke.

"I´m kinda disappointed that Death´s summoning is such a huge let-down," Dean added, impervious to the glares Sammy and Bobby were sending him. "I thought we had to – I dunno – sacrifice virgins or use the blood of some monster we've never heard of." Dean was so deep in thought that he didn't notice how Sam and Bobby´s jaw dropped as Death simply walked in behind Dean with a bemused expression on his face.

"Why are you staring at me as if…he is right behind me, isn't he?"

"Indeed I am," Death said and Dean (which he would later adamantly deny) yelped as he jumped forward.

"Don´t get used to it that I heed your every summon. I am not your personal servant," he continued and eyed them with a stare that made every one of the three hardened hunters gulp in trepidation. "But alas you constantly seem to be in the middle of every chaos that seems to occur on this little speck of dirt." Death stared at them with his unnerving black eyes as if he could look down into their very soul, which – Dean thought – was highly probable.

"We just wanted to ask you a question," Sam said cautiously.

"Is that so," Death replied with raised eyebrow. "And what would that question be?"

"Do you know where Crowley and Castiel are hiding?" Dean asked without much tact.

"I have recently acquired the knowledge of their whereabouts," Death answered. "And I will even tell you where they are."

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked. It wasn't that he wasn't glad that Death would give the answer to them, but if experience had taught him anything, it was that nobody parts with knowledge without wanting something in return. And if someone did, it was only because they had some ulterior motive, which had the annoying habit of later being revealed as something that could – and probably even wanted to – kill them.

So sue him for not instantly trusting in Death´s sudden altruism.

"Let´s call it a safety measure," Death drawled. "My master does not want you to be anywhere near the ritual because of your annoying habit of destroying more powerful beings' plans. But unlike him, I think that your presence may be exactly what we need."

"That's something I´d have never expected to hear from you," Bobby snorted. "The pathetic humans busting another Apocalypse."

"You would go against the orders of your master?" Sam asked and Dean had to nod in agreement. He couldn't imagine that Death – powerful being that he was – would go against his own, even more powerful, master.

"It wasn't an order," Death drawled. "More…a piece of advice. Let us be frank: my master is rather confident that everything will be resolved in a manner that will be of advantage for him. I am not. There are too many – what do you humans call them? – Wildcards that are not predictable. My master may be powerful, but he is not immune against deceit, cunning, and backstabbing. As much as it pains me to admit it, you are my Wildcard." Silence followed Death´s admission.

"So we are useful and you need us!" Dean whistled, ignoring the warning glances Sam and Bobby shot him. Death just looked at him with that expressionless face of his.

"So where do we have to go?" Bobby asked before Dean could say something which would get him killed. Death simply gave them the location and vanished, but not before handing out a grave warning about what would happen if they failed.

"We need every weapon we can get our hands on," Bobby said after a while. "And we have to read up on every ritual that could help us."

Dean nodded in agreement. Even he could recognize that the odds were stacked against them: demons, angels, and monsters would all stand against them. They would have to take them out in order to succeed and prevent Castiel and Crowley from gaining access to Purgatory.

"What do we do with Cas?" Sam asked. Tiredness washed over Dean as if a dam within had broken. He was so tired of working against those he held dear. First Sammy, when he consented to be Lucifer´s vessel, and now against the only angel that had believed in humanity – had believed inDean, even when he was at his lowest.

"We do what we do with everything that tries to off humans," he answered.

"But Dean…" Sam tried to interrupt but Dean just gestured with his hand for him to stop and he fell silent.

"Not now, Sammy," he snapped and instantly felt sorry for it. But he couldn't have anyone trying to change his mind. He mustn't think of the Cas that didn't get his pop-culture references, or hadn't any concept of privacy. He mustn't remember the one time when he went to a brothel with him – a 'den of iniquity' – only for Cas to make the prostitute cry. Instead, he had to think of the Castiel that was the millennia-old angel without any human qualities. The angel who worked with a demon in order to gain power that could not be controlled. He was their friend no longer – only an enemy amongst many.

"Let´s get this show on the road," Dean said with the brightest smile he could manage. He didn't believe for even a second that he was able to fool either Bobby or Sammy; he couldn't even fool himself. But sacrifices had to be made. It only hurt that it had to be his kinship with Cas.

When Eve had created the ritual, she obviously hadn't expected to be chained to an operating table while it was conducted, if the hateful glares she sent Crowley's way were any indication. Not that Crowley cared about whether or not Eve was comfortable.

"Is everything ready?" Crowley asked his co-conspirator, the angel Castiel. If Crowley had been religious, he would have thanked God every day that He had sent the naïve little seraph his way. But alas, he was a demon, the embodiment of depravity and evil, so he wasn't really someone who prayed.

Nevertheless, the sentiment stood: Castiel was one of the best things that had happened to him since he ascended to kinghood. Not only had he been able to break up the so called 'Team Free Will', which was now bereft one of their most powerful members, but the angel was also so easily manipulated that Crowley sometimes double-checked that the seraph wasn't some kind of genius that only projected this picture of absolute guilelessness in order to make him lower his defense. But one look in those deep-blue eyes and every doubt was set aside, for no-one could fake that much confusion, regret, and pain. Not that Crowley cared; it would make getting rid of the angel even easier.

"Everything is in place," Castiel answered.

"Then the only thing left is to wait," Crowley said. That was why he preferred witchcraft over rituals. Mix a hexbag and voila – ready to be used against an unsuspecting opponent who didn't even know that they were in Crowley´s way. Rituals, on the contrary, had to be carried out at certain times, like Equinox, and often required ingredients that were rather complicated to acquire, unlike their hexbag counterparts. That was the reason why he only used them when there was no other way.

"I am already bored," Eve commented from where she was strapped down on the table. Crowley didn't believe for a second that this was really what occupied her mind. Eve belonged on the top of the current power structures; only behind God, Death, and its Master; and on equal footing with the Archangels. At one point in time, she had nearly eradicated the whole creation and nearly replaced it with her own creatures. There was no way that she wouldn't try to escape, and Crowley had gone to great lengths to prevent just that from happening. He had used long-forgotten spells and symbols to craft the chains which held Eve, and he had done the same to the whole building so that Eve´s power was greatly restricted. And yet, he couldn't help but think that it was too easy. But he was too close to his goal to give up simply because Eve didn't behave like he expected her to. He would not fail.

"That is hardly my problem, dear," he drawled. "Count sheep; I´ve heard it works wonders on young children´s minds. Considering your habit of using young girls as vessels, it may help you as well." He grinned at her.

"That is exactly why I like you more than the angel," Eve grinned back. "You at least know how to make a decent conversation. I remember that when I will annihilate you." Her grin sharpened and made her appear as if she were a predator eying a pitiful prey. If Crowley were human, a shiver would have run down his spine.

"We will see," he simply said. "We will see."

The air was charged with energy. It made the hair on Castiel´s back stand up and let shudders run down his spine. Crowley stood right in front of him, reciting the ancient words of the ritual. Eve looked at them with something akin to amusement. It made Castiel uncomfortable. He didn't know much about the emotional state of Eve, but shouldn't she be more fearful, seeing that he and Crowley would soon possess the power to utterly destroy her? Shouldn't she be filled with wrath for them at using a ritual she had devised and was now unable to use by herself? Eve´s behavior worried Castiel, but he couldn't have the ancient being disrupting his concentration, so he banished every thought of the Mother of All to the back of his mind.

They were halfway through the ritual when the door burst open. Castiel didn't have to turn around to know who had entered; he could sense it. Gabriel, Dean and Sam Winchester, Bobby, and...Raphael? Castiel´s whole body went cold as if a bucket of iced water had been dumped over him. They couldn't stand against such overwhelming odds.

But his worries were for naught. Without even interrupting his chant Crowley snapped his fingers, and from everywhere demons descended upon the intruders. Some were using vessels whereas others attacked as incorporeal black smoke. They were only a small challenge for the three hunters and nothing but cannon fodder against the two powerful archangels who smote them like they were nothing but annoying specks of dust. But for every demon killed, two others would take its place, and soon the Winchesters and their allies were driven back as the legions of Hell sprung at them from every direction.

Crowley finished with his part of the ritual and Castiel began to chant his part of the words without missing a beat. He didn't know the language – rather precarious for an angel who knew every other language that had ever existed – but the words were embedded in power. Eve must have spent millennia trying to achieve this result.

While he spoke, Castiel mentally prepared himself for what was yet to come. His words were a summoning; intended to force the Master of Death to appear before them. One false intonation, one forgotten word and the power at his fingertips would turn against him and annihilate him. And so he continued.

Raphael could feel the demon dissolving as his divine power rushed over him. She could sense the power that Crowley and Castiel had summoned, and now it swirled around them like a dome of invisible energy.

We can´t interrupt them, she heard Gabriel´s voice in her mind. If we stop them now, the energy would be set free and none of us knows how much of Earth will be destroyed if that happens. Raphael send him a mental nod as sign that she understood him. Every ritual had a point of no return, a point at which interrupting the process would have more disastrous consequences than letting the ritual play out. Though Raphael couldn't help but think that a mostly destroyed earth was still preferable to the Leviathans being released, she knew her companions would argue against that point.

What shall we do instead? Raphael asked as she plunged her sword into the body of the next demon who was unfortunate enough to come too close to her. His whole body went rigid and red lightning seemed to shoot under his vessel´s skin.

That part I haven´t thought about yet, Gabriel sent with an underlying feeling of embarrassment. I just wanted to pass on the observation.

"Gabriel, we have to get closer to Cas and Crowley!" Dean shouted over the fighting noises. He, his brother, and the old hunter stood back to back, splattered with blood, and the corpses of the demons they had killed lay at their feet. Obviously they weren´t as incompetent as Raphael had assumed at first glance.

When they had met at the entrance to the building – even the two archangels couldn't just fly in because of how tight the web of enochian sigils all over the building was – the three humans weren´t really enthused about Raphael's being there. They seemed to bear a grudge for her attempting to fulfil her father´s prophecy. But a few words of Gabriel – who pointed out their lack of allies meant they weren´t really in a position to be picky – made sure that no one would attack each other while they tried to stop Castiel and Crowley´s madness.

"Wow, Deano," Gabriel shot back, "your skill of observation is truly astounding!" He smote another demon. "Never would I have come to that conclusion without your help." Dean glared at Raphael´s brother, but he soon had to defend himself against another demon. They continued to fight against the demonic hordes which never lessened in the strength of their assault. Not until another being joined the fight on the archangel-human-side.

"Disgusting abomination," Death murmured and destroyed the demons with one swipe of his hand.

"I would have thought that you would be more successful in your endeavour to stop the ritual," he said as he stared at them with fathomless eyes. "But alas, I am here, so I may do it by myself instead. Please do, at least, attempt to not die. Somehow my master seems to have taken a liking to all of you, and he would be slightly annoyed at me should you die while under my care." With that Death turned around and strode forward. Raphael and Gabriel were the fastest to recover from the shock and followed the ancient being. It wasn't the weirdest thing they had experienced over the course of their existence by far.

Some demons tried to attack them again, but they were destroyed by Death before they even had the chance to reach them. The humans looked impressed by that feat, and Raphael had to suppress the rather human urge to roll her eyes. Smiting those few demons was nothing against the unrivalled deeds performed during the Morning War, where demons were killed by the thousands. But to a human mind, what Death was doing surely must look impressive.

Only a few meters separated them from the ritual circle in which Crowley and Castiel stood.

"That isn´t the ritual to open a portal to Purgatory," Death said, and for the first time since Raphael knew the being, he looked truly worried, a deep frown marring his face. He wasn't even finished with his sentence when a sudden flash illuminated the whole room in a white glow. When Raphael looked at the circle again, her eyes widened in surprise.

Within its confinements stood the Master of Death.

"Stop it!" Death hissed and turned his whole might against the magical barriers that separated him from his master. Raphael and Gabriel followed suit while the humans just stood there and watched the whole scene with anxiety. But even though three of the most powerful beings of the universe threw their powers at the barrier, it would not budge.

Raphael knew that neither Castiel nor Crowley were powerful enough to erect such a barrier. She pause for a moment and felt for the power that held them at bay. It was somehow familiar, like something she had seen many millennia ago, but blurred by the passing of time since then. Raphael concentrated harder, searching for the right memory, the right answer.

It feels like father, she suddenly realised, but not quite. It was somehow muted and tainted: her father´s bright power buried under a layer of darkness, mutated to something abominable.

How could that be? Raphael asked herself as she continued to tear down the barrier with her angelic powers. Her father hadn´t been seen since he cast down Lucifer into Hell, and she didn't believe for a second that he would return and help Castiel and Crowley in their bid for power in this way. So she continued and hoped that everything would be answered.

The summoning took Harry by surprise. There were only a few entities in the universe that knew how to summon him – Chuck, Death, Gabriel and, to his chagrin, Eve – but none but one of them could do it by force like it was done now. And Chuck had the courtesy to not even try it, for he knew that Harry could do the same to him in return. But before he could contemplate further, his surroundings vanished and Harry appeared in a dungeon-like room.

Castiel and Crowley were there with him, and all three of them were encompassed by a vortex of power that swirled around them. It was tainted – coloured in hues of black and leaving the taste of ash in his mouth – like they had taken something pure and twisted it until it became the abomination it was now. But under the layers of taint and dirt, Harry could sense the familiar light magic that was so telling for everything that Chuck did. How did Castiel and Crowley attain a piece of Chuck's power?

Eve, Harry thought as his gaze fell upon the Mother of All who was strapped on the table not far away from where the ritual commenced. She had held onto the power the apple had given her all this time in the hopes of...doing what exactly? Harry was trapped, he knew that. He and Chuck were on equal standing, unable to overpower each other. He couldn't just bulldoze his way out of this current predicament.

"What are you doing?" he asked instead. He had miscalculated. He had thought that Castiel and Crowley were after the souls banished in Purgatory to enhance their strengths in pursuit of their own agendas. While certainly not something he would approve of, it nevertheless wasn't something that would have required his intervention. The universe had its own way of regaining balance after something major happened. But Harry would have never thought that somehow he was involved in their scheme. He should have listened when Death warned him of becoming complacent.

"What is necessary for the prevention of another Apocalypse," Castiel answered, his voice filled with remorse and regret. "Even if it means resorting to immoral means." Crowley didn't answer. He obviously was too assured of himself and his impeding success that he wouldn't even bother with Harry.

The power continued to grow, a true crescendo of colours only visible to the non-humans in the room. Behind the barrier, Harry noticed Gabriel, Raphael, Death, and the Winchesters with Bobby – all powerless to stop what was happening. Eve watched the whole thing, a gleam in her eyes that made even Harry shudder. For someone who probably wouldn't survive whatever Crowley and Castiel had planned, she certainly didn't look even a little bit afraid.

But Harry had no time to further contemplate the state of Eve´s mind. Tendrils of power surged forward and latched onto him. One flick of his hand and it disintegrated, only to be replaced by two others. More and more tendrils tried to wrap themselves around him, wanting to force him into submission. But Harry would not crave. He was Death, the Destroyer, Vanquisher of Worlds, the End of All, and no upstart demon and disgraced seraph would make him bow. They may have caged him, but they would not chain him.

Harry´s power exploded, destroying the power that would have him enslaved, a vortex of darkness that was nothing like the vile blackness that was the demons. A booming sound echoed through the room and the air was charged with electricity. Crowley´s and Castiel's eyes widened. They obviously hadn´t expected him to be able to resist their ritual. But the barrier around them still stood impenetrable and firm.

"Did you truly think that your crazy scheme would work?" Harry hissed venomously. "That you could chain me? Me?!"

"No, I didn't," Crowley answered without a hint of panic in his voice. "Who would be so foolish to presume to be able to chain you? But," he continued, "that doesn't mean that the ritual will not work." He gave Harry a predatory smile. "Because, unlike some other people, I observe."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked. "And why would you think that this will work in the end?"

"If you won´t submit then I will turn this ritual against Death," Crowley stated. "And he won´t be able to fight it off."

"Why would I care?" Harry asked, trying to sound nonchalant, his posture straight and unbroken. "I created him. I could do so again."

"You could," Crowley admitted. "But he wouldn't be the Death you know. He wouldn't have the same experiences or the same character. No matter how perfectly you recreate him, there will always be something missing. Maybe a joke of yours he wouldn't understand. A slightly different intonation of words. A gesture that would lose its meaning.

"If there is one universal truth about immortals, then it is the fact that you all crave companionship. God is gone. Death is the only thing you have left of those who truly understand what it is like. You could escape. You probably should. But you won´t. Eternity is an awfully long time to spend alone." The demon smirked at him, his eyes turning red and completely devoid of any emotions.

Oh, how Harry hated the demon in this moment. Because everything he said rang true. Death was his creation – his only one – and he wouldn't allow anyone to destroy him, least of all some abomination from Hell. He couldn't lose the being that had stood by his side since nearly the beginning of everything and had weathered every storm together with him. Chuck was also his companion, true, but Death was different. Harry had created him, had taught him, and had given him a purpose. Chuck was his equal, but Death was his. And for the first time in his eternal life, Harry learned firsthand why Lily Potter had not stepped aside on the fateful night that Halloween 1981.

"There is no need to resort to threats," Harry said, defeated, and he hated the victorious gleam that entered the demon´s eyes. How empowered he must feel, to have the Master of Death bowing to his demands.

This time when the tendrils emerged, Harry did not fight them. He allowed them to wrap themselves around his power – his core – where they settled like parasites, sapping away all his might. But Crowley was a fool if he believed that Harry would not try to spoil his plans as far as he could. He looked at Death. The old man stared back at him and, as if he could somehow predict what Harry was about to do, he nodded. Without hesitation, Harry pushed forward all his powers that the tendrils had not latched onto.

The barrier surrounding them was weakened by the power it had given up in order to form the tendrils and so it shattered when – like a powerful lance – Harry´s power thrust against it. Harry could feel his strength slowly weakening as unbearable pain began to crawl up his legs and arms until it felt as if his whole body had been set aflame. It wasn't much, but it was enough to significantly weaken Harry. And he gave the power all to Death. The being would was the only one he trusted to not abuse it. And he would need it in the future.

The power abated; the ritual ended. The Master of Death was bound. No one moved.

"It didn't work," Castiel was the first one to break the silence. "I don´t feel it." And from his expression, neither did Crowley.

"You stupid, ignorant fools," a female voice crowed from behind. Harry turned around and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw Eve standing there, bereft of any chains.

"The ritual wasn't to bind the Master of Death to you." She strode forwards until she stood in front of Harry. Her fingers curled around his chin and she lifted his head up, forcing Harry to look into her eyes.

"It was to bind him to me," she continued, and the smile that appeared on her face was full of viciousness and malice. "Welcome to my brave new world. We will have so much fun together."

AN: That concludes the second arc. Now onwards to explanations:

Some reviewers mentioned it, so I'll make it clear: The Ritual has nothing to do with Chuck! Eve ate the Apple from the Tree of Knowledge. Within these Apple was contained some of the power and knowledge of Chuck which at first Eve used to create her 'children'. When Harry imprisoned her in Purgatory Eve used this power and knowledge to device a ritual that would bind the MoD to her as part of her revenge. Due to the fact that Eve still had some sort of connection to her children, pieces of the Ritual could be found within the Alpha's mind, thus Crowley and Castiel's hunt for them.

Eve's ritual would not have worked if Harry had resisted it as it was described above. Eve is not God and the power and knowledge she gained from the Apple was only a small piece of what either Harry or God possessed. But Harry willingly allowed the ritual to happen in order to safe Death from annihilation, hence it worked.

I needed the Ritual to work in order to set up the storyline for the next arc and in my opinion this was the right balance between making Harry neither too weak or too strong.

Updates: I have not written down a single word for the next part of the story. I will continue it, of course, but I don't know when you'll will be able to read the next part. Last time I needed 4 months to write Arc II and my beta-reader needed another 4 months to correct it. So maybe – if you're really, really lucky – the next part will be published this year. But it will probably be in late spring 2016. Sorry!

Nevertheless I want to thank all of you who have followed, favoured and reviewed this story. You made it possible that this story became this long!