One moment he's a dead man in the middle of the a graveyard. There's a bullet in his chest from the one and only gun that can actually kill him that leaves somewhat of an annoying throb more than anything else and he's been scattered to the vast emptiness of space.
The next moment he's standing in a dim lit room in a form he hadn't actually been in a very long time. He can feel the extension of sings on his back that he hasn't had the pleasure of feeling in so long that it almost makes him want to find a mirror and stare at himself for as long as he desires. But instead he looks around him taking in the surroundings just to be on the safe side should something come up.
He is many things but unprepared is not one of them.
There is a worn couch behind him a few paces that looks well used.
A few side tables that are littered with papers and mugs.
Beyond the couch and to the right is a small hallway in which he can vaguely make out the small kitchenette at the end. Most likely a fridge and a stove with a microwave because everyone has one of those these days.
In front of the couch to his left is a good sized television that had two glasses set on top of the large box shaped electronic that smell of alcoholic residue.
There's a stair case that undoubtedly leads to an upstairs that probably has a bathroom as he notes the lack of one down here and a bedroom or two.
An unused fireplace on the other wall has pictures that he swears he has see before sitting on the mantle of people he swears he knows but cannot place names to.
Smiling to himself at feeling much more alive then he should for being a dead man he knows that he's prepared for anything despite making everything up as he goes.
Its the voice though that has him catching his breath and spinning to look at the room before him.
An office or study would be an apt description for what it is. In the middle of the room clearly serving as its center piece is a large cherry desk that he knows is not out for purchase in any store he knows of. There is a white old school computer on the one side and a bunch of papers scattered across the forefront of it hiding anything that might be the actual desk under a blanket of white and black.
A leather bound chair is turned away from him and he tries to peer over the top of it to see whom is calling his name in such a way.
Who knows him to call his name in such a way.
"You are not a child so do not make me count as if you are one. I said enter."
He moves but only because he wants to and he is curious. Hands deep in his pockets he takes on the air of nonchalant as he steps forward eyes spanning the room as he does. More pictures of people he knows but doesn't remember the names to (is that him on the far left?) and little nic-nacs cover pretty much every open space there is.
Are those lightning rods in the back opposite corners parading as hat racks?
"So are we gonna play a game of guess who? Or are you going to face me? Because I'm curious, and though curiosity killed the cat, I happen to have more then nine lives."
The chair turns around to reveal a scruffy looking man holding open a file folder with his name on it like its some sort of book to read. Although he doesn't look very threatening sporting a bathrobe there's something about the man that sets him off balance for a moment. But in merely takes him a moment to collect himself once more.
"Well champ I don't remember ever meeting you and you look a bit old to be one of my investments so color me yellow and call me curious!"
He sets the folder down gingerly on the desk leaving it open to page he had been reading.
"I go by Chuck nowadays, but I have many many names. Some I approve and others I don't. But I would think you would recognize me son. Why don't you pull up a seat? We have much to talk about."
Almost as if by some switch he knows who the man is and he takes a moment to glare and scowl before smiling. His eyes flash a bright yellow as he hooks a finger over his shoulder.
"Well old man as it seems to be I do have plans. While I'm sure catching up on the good times would have been fun I think I'm gonna scram! Send you a post card?"
He's turning before he even gets a face to face reply. The doors slam shut in front of his face just as he makes it to the edge of the room. Something in the air snaps in tension and he visibly has to refrain from shivering.
"Do not turn your back on me when I speaking to you. Do I make myself clear? In your position you are in no place for such disrespect."
Although his voice is deceivingly calm he is not dumb enough to miss the vast threat within every word. Begrudgingly he clenches his fists before cooling his temper and sashaying back around. Grinning a prize winning smile at the man he had once claimed as Father. His eyes are hard and swirling behind the cool iris's Azazel can see unbending wrath flowing.
"Do I make myself clear?"
Reluctantly the demon nods, "Yes."
"Yes what? Stand straight and face me."
He turns on order straightening his back up like a well groomed soldier does on command. The eyes looking back at him are piercing.
A nod for his proper response and a finger pointing at the seat in front of the desk.
He does as he's told and briefly wonders if he's doing so out of his own will or out of an order to do so. There is no answer to his internal question offered forth so he is left to assume it is a bit of both. Fingers drum along the arm rests of the leather wrapped chair as Chuck stares ahead at his son. Azazel smiles in kind.
"So is that file my detention record because I can make no promises about its accuracy in the mid 1600s. That is still blurry for me now."
For his troubles he gets a ghost of a smile on the mans features before him and he takes it as a winning lotto ticket. Chuck sighs as he leans back in his chair and drums his fingers now on his stomach.
"Azazel. I honestly don't know what to do at this point."
"Silence boy. Meaning that I would have thought you would have learned after your first grounding. Considering you were still meant to be continued punished and I allowed you to do as you wanted I thought that maybe you would have grown a bit more however now I see I was wrong. You have always been been on of my most troublesome kids among your flight group and I can only blame myself for not spanking you more as a fledgling."
He goes silent for a moment and Azazel takes the moment to jump in for himself to simply test his waters.
"If your talking about those special children, Dad, come on! I didn't mean anything by it! It's all fun and games until someone's feelings get hurt so I am sorry.."
Chuck raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms.
"Azazel heed my warning now before you do something that will not benefit you in the slightest. In this file I have everything you have been up to in the last-well since you've been created-and yes that includes the 1600s but we will not even begin to divulge into that mess. You killed Mary Winchester even after I explicitly said she was not to be touched, fed Sam your blood which is beyond disgusting, you took control of their father when that was the only parent they had left for them and while he was not the greatest he was still something, honestly this goes on and on! You have made your way around and have been very busy!"
He shook his head, "Mary was just a bit of bad luck! Wrong place wrong time!"
"She is dead Azazel! I leave you and yours to your own with one order, do not interfere with events to come! Last time I checked feeding an infant your blood and killing his mother is interference!"
Azazel shrugged, "Water under the bridge though? Right? I mean those boys turned out alright! Wouldn't call them okay, not even good, but they're alright!"
Chuck shook his head in exasperation that could have held a touch of fondness under it as well but there was no one looking close enough. The fallen grinned at him brightly.
He flipped through pages among pages shaking his head as he did so. Curiosity killed the cat though as the demon leaned forward to peer into his own file. Leave it to dad to up and leave the carnival but still have records on all the participants.
"First with your stunts as a Grigori which is another thing we won't get into."
He shrugged; all he had was good memories.
"Then you kill all those people and contact your brother when you know he was grounded to his room for what he had done!"
"Planning on leading a demon army to fight alongside the Apocalypse that is not meant to be happening but heck I'll see where it goes from here."
"Honestly some of the things you've gotten into fluster me to the point that I don't know whether to be worried about it or amused by it!"
"Dad there is so much you don't even know!"
That turned the table. Chuck looked up quickly his eyes blazing. Azazel grinned but there was no humor behind it. Maybe he should have kept it together.
"Humor me then son! We are going to have lots of time to spend together from here on out! Tell me what it is that you think I should know!"
"I do have plans though-"
"Oh yes and those plans include all that follows; You will give me your sword, not your blade Azazel, but your sword as a Grigori. You will release your ties to the demons and your special children and return their souls to me. In fact all the souls in your possession I want them back. Your arsenal of weapons you travel with will be given over. You will return to your room where you will stay until further notice. The only reason you will step a single foot outside of that door is to run errands for me or to freshen up. There will be no talking to the outside world, no use of your powers, no alcohol, no communications-if you get bored we can always talk son there is much to catch up on-no tricks, no summoning, no leaving unless I tell you so, and no weapons."
Chuck smiled at him this time with a bright grin of his own that just goes to show that certain traits can be passed down from parent to child. He raised a hand and waved his fingers. However, Azazel was too awestruck to move at the moment as he simply sat there mouth agape staring at his father in trepidation.
He's not a saint and he won't act like one nor say he is but that's a bit much.
"Azazel we can do this the easy way or the hard way; Souls and Weapons. Now."
Reluctantly he threw himself up from his seat and leaned over the table throwing his hand out to meet his fathers in the middle pouting because of the unfairness. Chuck merely raised an eyebrow but made no move to comment as a light began to glow in the midst of their hands. Orbs traveled from the fallen 'grounded' angel's palm into the hand of the Father.
More then he had thought there would be, clearly.
Reaching for assorted places on his body he pulled an array of weapons free.
An M22, and an M23.
6 throwing knives.
4 short blades.
7 ninja stars.
2 unused cartridges of machine gun bullets.
An angel blade.
And an angel dagger.
Chuck raised an eyebrow at the pile of growing weapons on his desk. Not even he had thought that there would be this much-where did he hide it all?
And last but not least one Grigori Sword. Taking it all in for a moment at all the fun toys he had just lost Azazel pouted petulantly. Chuck swept them into a box that he placed on a cabinet next to his desk.
"You will get these back when you are ungrounded."
Chuck gave him that look that all parents seem to have in their own arsenals.
"When I have decided its been long enough! Go to your room."
He didn't get much of a choice in the matter as his father waved a hand at him sending him along anyway. Chuck closed the file with a shake of his head and opened the filing cabinet next to him to put it away.
For all of their sakes they would just leave the topic of the 1600s alone.
So! Just a new thing I'm doing!
Where do angels, fallen or not, go when they die? They go to their dad's house of course! Chuck may have left heaven but that does not mean he hasn't been keeping tabs on the Angels.
So who should be next? Anyone at all!