A Demon, An Angel, And A God-King Meet In The Afterlife: Chapter 4
Ratings, disclaimer, etc. with Chapter 1
Previously: Chapter 2, Chapter 3
At some point. Anyanka had realized that her cash register was intact again and, seemingly bored with Illyria, had occupied herself playing with it. Illyria didn't mind, she was busy remembering the songs of the stars. She wouldn't have noticed when Death returned with the angel, and took Anyanka to her trial, except for the fact that it resulted in the room shrinking around her.
The columns of her temple became embedded in walls covered in patterns and colours offensive to the eyes, and her statue filled up half the room. There was a small television set and single bed whose covering matched the wallpaper. The angel named Castiel sat on the edge of the bed. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were unfocused; Illyria guessed that his trial had not gone well either.
Something about the scene was familiar to Illyria. It was like a memory, viewed from the outside. Castiel looked like how Illyria felt after her trial, when Anyanka had roused her from her irrational bout of self-pity. Illyria was struck by the similarities of their situations, and despite the fact that the angel and the vengeance demon ought to have been beneath her notice, she felt a sense of comraderie with them.
Illyria got to her feet and approached Castiel. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and he blinked up at her, surprised.
"Are you okay?"
***
When Cas returned he didn't look Anya in the eye, and she could tell he had been crying. She had guessed that things weren't going to go well for him, and she was sorry that she was right. He really wasn't half bad.
It didn't escape Anya's notice that thus far, The Powers That Be had not been too merciful.
Death touched Anya's arm, and she found herself in the small claims court she had appeared at once, when a supplier had sent her a shippment of rotten newt eyes. The only difference was that this bench sat three judges instead of one.
In the centre sat a scruffy little man with big sad eyes. To his right was a teenaged girl with pale skin and long black hair. To his left was someone who looked an awful lot like a character - what was his name? Badger? - from one of the shows that Xander and Andrew watched together.
All in all, not too scary. Nothing Anya couldn't handle.
"Hi!" Anya said, in what she hoped was an un-threatening manner.
Scruffy's mouth twitched up, bemused. "Hi Anyanka," he answered.
"It's Anya," she said, trying to keep her tone casual and light. "Anya Jenkins. That's my human name, and that's what I'd like you to call me, because I think of myself as human."
"Okay, Anya it is."
"Not that you have to call me that if you don't want to. It's not like I'm in a position to threaten you if you don't." Anya laughed nervously.
"No, it's fine."
"I like humans," Anya added for good measure.
"Oh..." the scruffy man nodded. "Okay."
***
Castiel found it hard to believe that the creature that he had tried to kill as soon as he saw it, and who had subsequently tossed him across the room like a ragdoll, sincerely cared about how he was doing. He made his answer brief. "No."
Illyria didn't move her hand from his shoulder and continued to watch him expectantly. Castiel wondered what she was waiting for.
"You're supposed to tell me what's troubling you," she explained after a minute.
"Oh." Castiel looked at Illyria askance, confused as to why she was doing this. Her gaze was insitant and unsettling. "Um... I'm to be sent to Hell," he told her.
"Death said that we won't know our fates until the tribunal gives it's final decision."
Castiel scoffed. "They made it very clear that my fate was already decided."
Illyria nodded and sat down next to him. "I'm to be cast into the abyss," she shared.
Neither looked at the other as they contemplated their near futures.
"I envy you," Castiel said.
"You are wrong to do so. Existence is preferable to oblivion," Illyria stated with authority.
Castiel imagined what kind of existence was in store for him. "Not where I'm going."
"Hell is weak and lacking in leadership. Were I sent there, I would learn its secrets, build alliances. Then I would kill all who ever challenged me. I would establish my dominion over the entire dimension, and make it a foothold for future conquests."
Castiel stared at Illyria. She was being perfectly serious.
She continued, "You are foolish to overlook such an opportunity." She turned to Castiel. "Have I reassured you?"
Castiel tried to puzzle out how Illyria's words could have been reassuring. He failed. "No."
Illyria seemed perturbed. "After my trial I was greatly distressed. I spoke to Anyanka, and she pointed out the error in my thinking. I was comforted. This ought to have worked."
Castiel gawked. He had just experienced an actual, genuine attempt to comfort him.
Illyria cocked her head, studying the angel. "Perhaps you're doing something wrong?"
***
Illyria's attempt to reassure Castiel was unsuccessful, but he thanked her for her efforts, and that was enough to convince Illyria that she, at least, had done everything properly.
Illyria noticed a window on the wall oppisite her statue. The room being metaphysical, she wondered what was on the other side, and rose to investigate.
"Anyanka, she prefers to be called 'Anya,' by the way," the angel mentioned.
Illyria pulled aside the curtain. There was only a blank wall behind it.
Illyria turned to face Castiel and nodded. "I prefer that people address me on their knees, while pledging their eternal devotion," she told Castiel, since he was taking into account people's preferences on such matters.
However, Castiel did not fall to his knees. He just continued to stare at her.
"How did you help save the world?" Castiel asked. "Was it by dying?"
"I fought along side the champions of the human race, to crush the organizational structure of those who seek to proliferate evil."
Castiel nodded vaguely.
"Was death your contribution to the planet's well-being?" Illyria asked. Castiel's question had reminded Illyria of the one other commonality she shared with him and Anya: that it was due to their efforts that humanity continued to thrive. The way tiny beings fought for existence held a certain fascination for Illyria, and she found that she was curious about her companions' stories.
"No," Castiel answered. Illyria waited for him to elaborate, and was disappointed.
Castiel stopped staring at her, his gaze lingering on the statue instead. Every so often his eyes would drift back to Illyria. He looked as though he was working at a puzzle that he only half understood.
Illyria sat on a small table situated underneath the fake window. An anemic potted plant shared the table with her, and she stroked it's leaves. She pitied the thing. Once, her touch would have made it flower, and her whispers would have inspired it to grow higher than such a plant could imagine.
Illyria reminded herself that the plant wasn't real anyways. The only real things in this place were the new god, the Mother, the usurper demon, Anya, Castiel, and herself. And, of course, Death.
***
"So, Anya, my name is Chuck. I'm God."
Anya let a nervous giggle escape. Chuck stared at her.
"Chuck, it's a funny..." Anya started.
Evidently, he did not see the humour in the situation. Badger and Snow White watched Anya curiously.
"Ah... um..." Anya searched for a way to finish the sentence that wasn't insulting, to no avail. So she deflected. "Which god?"
"I'm sorry?" Chuck said, as though he was not used to being asked such questions.
"There's a lot of gods, so saying, 'I'm god,' doesn't mean a whole lot unless you specify which one," Anya said, affecting a casual, curious tone.
"The God of Abraham," he said as though it should have been obvious.
"You're Castiel's god," Anya realized, so of course she said it aloud. Brain-mouth filter, why do you abandon me when I need you most?
"Yes," Chuck said, looking like he was wondering what she was going on about.
"I just saw him," Anya shrugged and gestured to where the exit would have been, if it existed, "and he was looking pretty down," And you did that to him, "and you're his god..." Chuck's eyes narrowed, as though daring her to say what was on her mind. Anya, it's time to shut up. "Okay..." she trailed off.
It was really sinking in how not merciful these Powers That Be were.
Chuck let Anya stand in uncomfortable silence under the stares of the tribunal for a moment before continuing.
He pointed to Badger. "This is Crowley, he's..." Crowley gave him a pointed look, and Chuck rolled his eyes. "King of Hell."
"It's the Hell with Lucifer, in case you were wondering which hell we're talking about." Crowley spoke with a smooth British accent, and a small smile which suggested that he found something amusing.
"Oh, so this is a Judeo-Christian thing?" Anya said, trying to be politely conversational.
"Yeah," Crowley answered.
"I prayed to Freyr back in the day in case you were... never mind." It occured to Anya that the tribunal might find the mention of another belief system threatening. She kicked herself mentally.
Chuck gestured to Snow White. "This is Eve of Purgatory, Mother of All."
"Hi," Anya said meekly, and made a conscious effort to keep her mouth shut.
***
Castiel tried not to look at Illyria. He could feel the echoes of her true form, see it's shadows, it's reflections in the air. She was an ancient, all-consuming power. Like the Leviathan. Her presence reminded Castiel of having those great lurching beasts inside of him, their demand for power, his inability to control them.
Worse, Illyria reminded Castiel of himself after his great victory over Raphael, the victory that he had maimed and killed his friends for. Killing all who ever challenged him. Demanding to be praised on bended knee. Throughout everything, a part of Castiel had always insisted that he was doing the right thing, that it was for the greater good. But Illyria's will to power was unvarnished and, Castiel feared, more honest than his own.
And yet, within that vast creature that sought dominion over all she saw, that revelled in conquest, that delighted in supremacy over every living thing, there was something that resembled, or at least aspired to, kindness. Something that fought on the side of good.
Castiel glanced at Illyria. She was caressing a house plant, coaxing it to grow. Though judged unfit for Heaven, Purgatory, or even Hell, Castiel suspected that Illyria might in fact be redeemable. And if she was redeemable, anyone was.
"You said you fought with the champions of human kind," Castiel said. "Why?"
Illyria turned her head to Castiel. Her face was frank and open. Of course it was. She was a god; unlike Castiel, she had no use for secrets or shame. "Their enemies attacked me, left me broken and bleeding. I could not suffer them to live."
Castiel's heart sank. "Is that all?"
Illyria dropped her gaze, and for the first time Castiel saw her expression shuttered. "I fought for my Qwa'ha Xahn."
The words were from a language so ancient that Castiel didn't recognize them. He searched through his memory of known languages, trying to find one that was similar. "For your... watcher?" he guessed.
"My teacher," Illyria corrected. "He fell in battle and my grief drove me to vanquish half the armies of our enemies."
"You loved him?" Castiel asked hopefully.
"Love is a weakness," Illyria responded.
Castiel closed his eyes, pushing away the thoughts that told him that everything he claimed to fight for - free will, peace on earth and in heaven, even Dean - was all a veneer, that really he was like Illyria, covetous of power, and that's why his Father abandoned him, that's why he was condemned.
Illyria's voice cut through the haze of doubts. "I believe I did."
***
Illyria's thoughts had returned to Wesley again. The way he looked at her in his dying moments - looked at Fred, but it was her, Illyria - in a way that even her most devoted servants never had. The way he stirred something within her, a feeling that she knew she would never be able to capture again, and its elusiveness tormented her.
"You're wrong," the angel said.
"I doubt it," Illyria answered, though she was unclear what she was supposed to be wrong about.
"Love isn't a weakness."
"What I've seen of love is that it brings pain, loss, and regret. It is attachment, weighing you down and holding you back." She met Castiel's gaze. "You wish to convince me otherwise."
At last, Castiel told his story. It was about two brothers, demons, and angels. The brothers were destined to be used as weapons in a battle that would destroy the earth. Ultimately, the bond between the brothers prevented them from being used as such, and the plans of Heaven and Hell came to nought.
"What do you mean to prove with this tale?" Illyria asked when he had finished.
He blinked at her. "The love that Sam and Dean had for each other saved the world."
"Yes, it was the angel's weakness."
"No, it was the Winchester's strength."
"It was a flaw in the angel's plan that they ignorantly omitted to account for." Illyria was adamant. "One does not set two people against each other who have a close relationship. To do so is asking for them to question their roles and turn on you. Angels are at a distinct disadvantage, due to their need for vessels, why would they add to that by choosing two brothers for opposing generals?"
Castiel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before answering, "It was destined to be so..."
"Angels are poor strategists," Illyria concluded. "Love was their weakness."
There was no more kindness in Castiel's expression as he regarded Illyria. "Fine." He threw up his hands. "Just... fine."
Illyria was disappointed with the story. "You have yet to tell me of your role in saving the world."
Castiel shrugged and glanced around the room, avoiding Illyria's eyes. "I threw a molotov."
Illyria frowned at him and cocked her head. "I don't know what that means."
Castiel shrugged again, and said nothing.
Illyria slid off the table and approached him. "You are the soldier of a god," she said. "Yet there is a reticense and shame hanging about you that is unbefitting for a warrior."
"My role doesn't matter," Castiel muttered.
Illyria fixed Castiel with her gaze, trying to read him. The regret and anguish clung to him, but didn't tell a story. The angel fidgeted and avoided eye contact.
"Why?" Illyria asked.
Castiel closed his eyes and took a breath. "Because whatever I did right, I cancelled out by..." Castiel paused to find the right words. "... indulging my pride; seeking more power than I could reasonably command; lying to, betraying, injuring and killing my friends..." He pressed his lips together briefly and cast his eyes upwards to the vaulted ceiling. "... being petty and vindictive in victory, and," he took another breath, "in the process of my downfall, letting the Leviathan loose on the world." Castiel looked Illyria in the eye. "Be satisfied with my answer and please, stop asking."
Illyria nodded. Castiel's guilt prevented him from taking credit for his past acheivements. It made the kind of sense that she had come to expect from lesser beings.
Illyria sat next to Castiel. "I knew Leviathans," she said. "They were unnecessarily belligerent."
Castiel's eyes fluttered closed and he burried his face in his hands.
***
"I have a theory about you," Eve said. There was a confidence and worldliness about her that was incongruous with her young face. It put Anya on edge. "That vengeance, the demon, is who you are. It defines you."
Anya listened to Eve, her eyes locked on her like a deer in headlights. "I know I'm a demon here, but-"
"Yes, you are," Eve cut in. "And you see, Heaven and Hell are for humans. But the monsters come to me."
"I'm not a monster!" Anya exclaimed, frustration at being interrupted adding to the stress of the situation. "I was one for a long, long time, and even after I lost my powers I didn't really think of myself as a human like the others, but I am human! I was born a human and I died like one!"
Eve watched Anya carefully. "Then how is it that you were a demon for so long?"
"I... I chose it," Anya squeaked out, knowing it didn't sound good.
"Ah," Anya's gaze snapped over to Crowley. "See, most people have to go through a stint in Hell before they decide to spend their existance torturing others." Crowley's eyes narrowed. "But then, D'Hoffryn did always have a knack for recruitment."
Anya felt a nasty weight in the pit of her stomach. This was not turning out well. "You know D'Hoffryn?" Anya asked.
Crowley nodded. "We were office rivals back in the day." He cast a sideways glance at Eve. "Told you she was one of ours," he said with a smirk.
"Then you should know that I gave it up!" The distilled desperation flowing through Anya's veins was unlike anything she had felt before. "I was ready to die-"
"Lots of people in Hell couldn't live with themselves either." Crowley shrugged dismissively.
"No! I repented!"
"You killed," Chuck spoke with a patient, measured tone, "a lot of people, Anya."
Anya felt tears building in her eyes as she looked at Chuck. "I know."
"For over a thousand years."
"I know." She sniffed. "I changed. I fought for people. I fought for good. And I died!"
"You killed a few Bringers," Chuck acknowledged.
"But the fight was for the world!" Anya felt herself starting to hyperventilate. "I thought that meant something!" No one said anything. "Tell me it meant something!"
Chuck leaned back in his chair, regarding Anya cooly. "Why'd you fight? What's your motivation?"
Anya shrugged. "It was the Apocalypse."
"Which you've run away from before," Chuck leaned forward over the bench, intent on Anya's answer. "Why did you fight?"
Anya thought back to the hours before her death. "It's what we do. It's our world and it's worth saving."
"And who's 'we'?"
"Humans." Anya paused, thinking of the ones who taught her what it means to be human. "My friends," she said, more surely this time. She imagined them in Sunnydale: Buffy, Giles, Willow, Dawn, Spike, Andrew. And stupid Xander. Fighting on without her. "I wasn't going to leave my friends." Anya didn't know if it was the right answer. She felt that she should say something grander about human kind, and good, and principles and things like that. But it was the most honest answer she had.
Anya felt tears sliding down her cheeks as significant looks passed between Chuck, Eve and Crowley.
"Right," Chuck said, "I think that's everything we need to know to make our decision."
Anya felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. It was over and she still didn't know what was going to happen to her.
Death appeared at Anya's side, and raised a hand to take her back. Then, something occured to her.
"Wait!" Death's hand froze mid-air, and the three Powers stared at her. "How did it end? The fight in Sunnydale, how did it end?"
"Does it matter?" Chuck asked. "Your friends all die eventually."
They had to answer her, she couldn't leave without knowing. "It matters to me."
Chuck considered this, then nodded. "Your friends won."
Chapter 5
Previously: Chapter 2, Chapter 3
At some point. Anyanka had realized that her cash register was intact again and, seemingly bored with Illyria, had occupied herself playing with it. Illyria didn't mind, she was busy remembering the songs of the stars. She wouldn't have noticed when Death returned with the angel, and took Anyanka to her trial, except for the fact that it resulted in the room shrinking around her.
The columns of her temple became embedded in walls covered in patterns and colours offensive to the eyes, and her statue filled up half the room. There was a small television set and single bed whose covering matched the wallpaper. The angel named Castiel sat on the edge of the bed. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were unfocused; Illyria guessed that his trial had not gone well either.
Something about the scene was familiar to Illyria. It was like a memory, viewed from the outside. Castiel looked like how Illyria felt after her trial, when Anyanka had roused her from her irrational bout of self-pity. Illyria was struck by the similarities of their situations, and despite the fact that the angel and the vengeance demon ought to have been beneath her notice, she felt a sense of comraderie with them.
Illyria got to her feet and approached Castiel. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and he blinked up at her, surprised.
"Are you okay?"
***
When Cas returned he didn't look Anya in the eye, and she could tell he had been crying. She had guessed that things weren't going to go well for him, and she was sorry that she was right. He really wasn't half bad.
It didn't escape Anya's notice that thus far, The Powers That Be had not been too merciful.
Death touched Anya's arm, and she found herself in the small claims court she had appeared at once, when a supplier had sent her a shippment of rotten newt eyes. The only difference was that this bench sat three judges instead of one.
In the centre sat a scruffy little man with big sad eyes. To his right was a teenaged girl with pale skin and long black hair. To his left was someone who looked an awful lot like a character - what was his name? Badger? - from one of the shows that Xander and Andrew watched together.
All in all, not too scary. Nothing Anya couldn't handle.
"Hi!" Anya said, in what she hoped was an un-threatening manner.
Scruffy's mouth twitched up, bemused. "Hi Anyanka," he answered.
"It's Anya," she said, trying to keep her tone casual and light. "Anya Jenkins. That's my human name, and that's what I'd like you to call me, because I think of myself as human."
"Okay, Anya it is."
"Not that you have to call me that if you don't want to. It's not like I'm in a position to threaten you if you don't." Anya laughed nervously.
"No, it's fine."
"I like humans," Anya added for good measure.
"Oh..." the scruffy man nodded. "Okay."
***
Castiel found it hard to believe that the creature that he had tried to kill as soon as he saw it, and who had subsequently tossed him across the room like a ragdoll, sincerely cared about how he was doing. He made his answer brief. "No."
Illyria didn't move her hand from his shoulder and continued to watch him expectantly. Castiel wondered what she was waiting for.
"You're supposed to tell me what's troubling you," she explained after a minute.
"Oh." Castiel looked at Illyria askance, confused as to why she was doing this. Her gaze was insitant and unsettling. "Um... I'm to be sent to Hell," he told her.
"Death said that we won't know our fates until the tribunal gives it's final decision."
Castiel scoffed. "They made it very clear that my fate was already decided."
Illyria nodded and sat down next to him. "I'm to be cast into the abyss," she shared.
Neither looked at the other as they contemplated their near futures.
"I envy you," Castiel said.
"You are wrong to do so. Existence is preferable to oblivion," Illyria stated with authority.
Castiel imagined what kind of existence was in store for him. "Not where I'm going."
"Hell is weak and lacking in leadership. Were I sent there, I would learn its secrets, build alliances. Then I would kill all who ever challenged me. I would establish my dominion over the entire dimension, and make it a foothold for future conquests."
Castiel stared at Illyria. She was being perfectly serious.
She continued, "You are foolish to overlook such an opportunity." She turned to Castiel. "Have I reassured you?"
Castiel tried to puzzle out how Illyria's words could have been reassuring. He failed. "No."
Illyria seemed perturbed. "After my trial I was greatly distressed. I spoke to Anyanka, and she pointed out the error in my thinking. I was comforted. This ought to have worked."
Castiel gawked. He had just experienced an actual, genuine attempt to comfort him.
Illyria cocked her head, studying the angel. "Perhaps you're doing something wrong?"
***
Illyria's attempt to reassure Castiel was unsuccessful, but he thanked her for her efforts, and that was enough to convince Illyria that she, at least, had done everything properly.
Illyria noticed a window on the wall oppisite her statue. The room being metaphysical, she wondered what was on the other side, and rose to investigate.
"Anyanka, she prefers to be called 'Anya,' by the way," the angel mentioned.
Illyria pulled aside the curtain. There was only a blank wall behind it.
Illyria turned to face Castiel and nodded. "I prefer that people address me on their knees, while pledging their eternal devotion," she told Castiel, since he was taking into account people's preferences on such matters.
However, Castiel did not fall to his knees. He just continued to stare at her.
"How did you help save the world?" Castiel asked. "Was it by dying?"
"I fought along side the champions of the human race, to crush the organizational structure of those who seek to proliferate evil."
Castiel nodded vaguely.
"Was death your contribution to the planet's well-being?" Illyria asked. Castiel's question had reminded Illyria of the one other commonality she shared with him and Anya: that it was due to their efforts that humanity continued to thrive. The way tiny beings fought for existence held a certain fascination for Illyria, and she found that she was curious about her companions' stories.
"No," Castiel answered. Illyria waited for him to elaborate, and was disappointed.
Castiel stopped staring at her, his gaze lingering on the statue instead. Every so often his eyes would drift back to Illyria. He looked as though he was working at a puzzle that he only half understood.
Illyria sat on a small table situated underneath the fake window. An anemic potted plant shared the table with her, and she stroked it's leaves. She pitied the thing. Once, her touch would have made it flower, and her whispers would have inspired it to grow higher than such a plant could imagine.
Illyria reminded herself that the plant wasn't real anyways. The only real things in this place were the new god, the Mother, the usurper demon, Anya, Castiel, and herself. And, of course, Death.
***
"So, Anya, my name is Chuck. I'm God."
Anya let a nervous giggle escape. Chuck stared at her.
"Chuck, it's a funny..." Anya started.
Evidently, he did not see the humour in the situation. Badger and Snow White watched Anya curiously.
"Ah... um..." Anya searched for a way to finish the sentence that wasn't insulting, to no avail. So she deflected. "Which god?"
"I'm sorry?" Chuck said, as though he was not used to being asked such questions.
"There's a lot of gods, so saying, 'I'm god,' doesn't mean a whole lot unless you specify which one," Anya said, affecting a casual, curious tone.
"The God of Abraham," he said as though it should have been obvious.
"You're Castiel's god," Anya realized, so of course she said it aloud. Brain-mouth filter, why do you abandon me when I need you most?
"Yes," Chuck said, looking like he was wondering what she was going on about.
"I just saw him," Anya shrugged and gestured to where the exit would have been, if it existed, "and he was looking pretty down," And you did that to him, "and you're his god..." Chuck's eyes narrowed, as though daring her to say what was on her mind. Anya, it's time to shut up. "Okay..." she trailed off.
It was really sinking in how not merciful these Powers That Be were.
Chuck let Anya stand in uncomfortable silence under the stares of the tribunal for a moment before continuing.
He pointed to Badger. "This is Crowley, he's..." Crowley gave him a pointed look, and Chuck rolled his eyes. "King of Hell."
"It's the Hell with Lucifer, in case you were wondering which hell we're talking about." Crowley spoke with a smooth British accent, and a small smile which suggested that he found something amusing.
"Oh, so this is a Judeo-Christian thing?" Anya said, trying to be politely conversational.
"Yeah," Crowley answered.
"I prayed to Freyr back in the day in case you were... never mind." It occured to Anya that the tribunal might find the mention of another belief system threatening. She kicked herself mentally.
Chuck gestured to Snow White. "This is Eve of Purgatory, Mother of All."
"Hi," Anya said meekly, and made a conscious effort to keep her mouth shut.
***
Castiel tried not to look at Illyria. He could feel the echoes of her true form, see it's shadows, it's reflections in the air. She was an ancient, all-consuming power. Like the Leviathan. Her presence reminded Castiel of having those great lurching beasts inside of him, their demand for power, his inability to control them.
Worse, Illyria reminded Castiel of himself after his great victory over Raphael, the victory that he had maimed and killed his friends for. Killing all who ever challenged him. Demanding to be praised on bended knee. Throughout everything, a part of Castiel had always insisted that he was doing the right thing, that it was for the greater good. But Illyria's will to power was unvarnished and, Castiel feared, more honest than his own.
And yet, within that vast creature that sought dominion over all she saw, that revelled in conquest, that delighted in supremacy over every living thing, there was something that resembled, or at least aspired to, kindness. Something that fought on the side of good.
Castiel glanced at Illyria. She was caressing a house plant, coaxing it to grow. Though judged unfit for Heaven, Purgatory, or even Hell, Castiel suspected that Illyria might in fact be redeemable. And if she was redeemable, anyone was.
"You said you fought with the champions of human kind," Castiel said. "Why?"
Illyria turned her head to Castiel. Her face was frank and open. Of course it was. She was a god; unlike Castiel, she had no use for secrets or shame. "Their enemies attacked me, left me broken and bleeding. I could not suffer them to live."
Castiel's heart sank. "Is that all?"
Illyria dropped her gaze, and for the first time Castiel saw her expression shuttered. "I fought for my Qwa'ha Xahn."
The words were from a language so ancient that Castiel didn't recognize them. He searched through his memory of known languages, trying to find one that was similar. "For your... watcher?" he guessed.
"My teacher," Illyria corrected. "He fell in battle and my grief drove me to vanquish half the armies of our enemies."
"You loved him?" Castiel asked hopefully.
"Love is a weakness," Illyria responded.
Castiel closed his eyes, pushing away the thoughts that told him that everything he claimed to fight for - free will, peace on earth and in heaven, even Dean - was all a veneer, that really he was like Illyria, covetous of power, and that's why his Father abandoned him, that's why he was condemned.
Illyria's voice cut through the haze of doubts. "I believe I did."
***
Illyria's thoughts had returned to Wesley again. The way he looked at her in his dying moments - looked at Fred, but it was her, Illyria - in a way that even her most devoted servants never had. The way he stirred something within her, a feeling that she knew she would never be able to capture again, and its elusiveness tormented her.
"You're wrong," the angel said.
"I doubt it," Illyria answered, though she was unclear what she was supposed to be wrong about.
"Love isn't a weakness."
"What I've seen of love is that it brings pain, loss, and regret. It is attachment, weighing you down and holding you back." She met Castiel's gaze. "You wish to convince me otherwise."
At last, Castiel told his story. It was about two brothers, demons, and angels. The brothers were destined to be used as weapons in a battle that would destroy the earth. Ultimately, the bond between the brothers prevented them from being used as such, and the plans of Heaven and Hell came to nought.
"What do you mean to prove with this tale?" Illyria asked when he had finished.
He blinked at her. "The love that Sam and Dean had for each other saved the world."
"Yes, it was the angel's weakness."
"No, it was the Winchester's strength."
"It was a flaw in the angel's plan that they ignorantly omitted to account for." Illyria was adamant. "One does not set two people against each other who have a close relationship. To do so is asking for them to question their roles and turn on you. Angels are at a distinct disadvantage, due to their need for vessels, why would they add to that by choosing two brothers for opposing generals?"
Castiel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before answering, "It was destined to be so..."
"Angels are poor strategists," Illyria concluded. "Love was their weakness."
There was no more kindness in Castiel's expression as he regarded Illyria. "Fine." He threw up his hands. "Just... fine."
Illyria was disappointed with the story. "You have yet to tell me of your role in saving the world."
Castiel shrugged and glanced around the room, avoiding Illyria's eyes. "I threw a molotov."
Illyria frowned at him and cocked her head. "I don't know what that means."
Castiel shrugged again, and said nothing.
Illyria slid off the table and approached him. "You are the soldier of a god," she said. "Yet there is a reticense and shame hanging about you that is unbefitting for a warrior."
"My role doesn't matter," Castiel muttered.
Illyria fixed Castiel with her gaze, trying to read him. The regret and anguish clung to him, but didn't tell a story. The angel fidgeted and avoided eye contact.
"Why?" Illyria asked.
Castiel closed his eyes and took a breath. "Because whatever I did right, I cancelled out by..." Castiel paused to find the right words. "... indulging my pride; seeking more power than I could reasonably command; lying to, betraying, injuring and killing my friends..." He pressed his lips together briefly and cast his eyes upwards to the vaulted ceiling. "... being petty and vindictive in victory, and," he took another breath, "in the process of my downfall, letting the Leviathan loose on the world." Castiel looked Illyria in the eye. "Be satisfied with my answer and please, stop asking."
Illyria nodded. Castiel's guilt prevented him from taking credit for his past acheivements. It made the kind of sense that she had come to expect from lesser beings.
Illyria sat next to Castiel. "I knew Leviathans," she said. "They were unnecessarily belligerent."
Castiel's eyes fluttered closed and he burried his face in his hands.
***
"I have a theory about you," Eve said. There was a confidence and worldliness about her that was incongruous with her young face. It put Anya on edge. "That vengeance, the demon, is who you are. It defines you."
Anya listened to Eve, her eyes locked on her like a deer in headlights. "I know I'm a demon here, but-"
"Yes, you are," Eve cut in. "And you see, Heaven and Hell are for humans. But the monsters come to me."
"I'm not a monster!" Anya exclaimed, frustration at being interrupted adding to the stress of the situation. "I was one for a long, long time, and even after I lost my powers I didn't really think of myself as a human like the others, but I am human! I was born a human and I died like one!"
Eve watched Anya carefully. "Then how is it that you were a demon for so long?"
"I... I chose it," Anya squeaked out, knowing it didn't sound good.
"Ah," Anya's gaze snapped over to Crowley. "See, most people have to go through a stint in Hell before they decide to spend their existance torturing others." Crowley's eyes narrowed. "But then, D'Hoffryn did always have a knack for recruitment."
Anya felt a nasty weight in the pit of her stomach. This was not turning out well. "You know D'Hoffryn?" Anya asked.
Crowley nodded. "We were office rivals back in the day." He cast a sideways glance at Eve. "Told you she was one of ours," he said with a smirk.
"Then you should know that I gave it up!" The distilled desperation flowing through Anya's veins was unlike anything she had felt before. "I was ready to die-"
"Lots of people in Hell couldn't live with themselves either." Crowley shrugged dismissively.
"No! I repented!"
"You killed," Chuck spoke with a patient, measured tone, "a lot of people, Anya."
Anya felt tears building in her eyes as she looked at Chuck. "I know."
"For over a thousand years."
"I know." She sniffed. "I changed. I fought for people. I fought for good. And I died!"
"You killed a few Bringers," Chuck acknowledged.
"But the fight was for the world!" Anya felt herself starting to hyperventilate. "I thought that meant something!" No one said anything. "Tell me it meant something!"
Chuck leaned back in his chair, regarding Anya cooly. "Why'd you fight? What's your motivation?"
Anya shrugged. "It was the Apocalypse."
"Which you've run away from before," Chuck leaned forward over the bench, intent on Anya's answer. "Why did you fight?"
Anya thought back to the hours before her death. "It's what we do. It's our world and it's worth saving."
"And who's 'we'?"
"Humans." Anya paused, thinking of the ones who taught her what it means to be human. "My friends," she said, more surely this time. She imagined them in Sunnydale: Buffy, Giles, Willow, Dawn, Spike, Andrew. And stupid Xander. Fighting on without her. "I wasn't going to leave my friends." Anya didn't know if it was the right answer. She felt that she should say something grander about human kind, and good, and principles and things like that. But it was the most honest answer she had.
Anya felt tears sliding down her cheeks as significant looks passed between Chuck, Eve and Crowley.
"Right," Chuck said, "I think that's everything we need to know to make our decision."
Anya felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. It was over and she still didn't know what was going to happen to her.
Death appeared at Anya's side, and raised a hand to take her back. Then, something occured to her.
"Wait!" Death's hand froze mid-air, and the three Powers stared at her. "How did it end? The fight in Sunnydale, how did it end?"
"Does it matter?" Chuck asked. "Your friends all die eventually."
They had to answer her, she couldn't leave without knowing. "It matters to me."
Chuck considered this, then nodded. "Your friends won."
Chapter 5