Chapter Text
Castiel’s official queries in Heaven had yielded very few results. Anyone he asked would go quiet when he said the name and quickly turn to walk away from the conversation, tight-lipped and insistent that they knew nothing. The only piece of information any of his fellow angels gave him was from one who pushed him against a wall, frantically glanced in both directions, and hissed for him not to speak that name in front of the archangels as long as he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders.
Very confused and with more questions than ever, Castiel had watched the nameless angel scurry off down the hallway.
The mood in Heaven was as dour as it ever was these days. Recent events had left the angels with a reduced population and a bitter distaste for humanity. They withdrew into their own communities, away from both the Earth and the human souls that resided among them. Heaven’s administration office, where Castiel was currently searching for information, was staffed by a skeleton crew. Very few of them roamed the hallways with a moment to spare to talk to Castiel. He felt bad for taking up their time, since he knew they were completely overwhelmed with paperwork. Mortal souls didn't just process themselves, you know.
He decided to do some snooping in the Hall of Records. As an ethereal higher dimension, Heaven didn’t simply leave doors unlocked. The doors opened for the angels that were allowed to go through, and closed for anyone else. Castiel’s security clearance, or lack thereof, would only allow him to access outdated records on Earth-related matters. Still, that might just be what he was looking for. After all, Aziraphale was both Earth-related and very old.
He lucked out when he found an archived memo from Gabriel to Michael several centuries ago, mentioning Aziraphale’s chosen residence on Earth in a somewhat derisive tone. A bookshop in London. There was no address, but that would be a simple matter of earthly research.
“Got it,” Sam said, hours later. He turned the laptop screen so Castiel and Dean could see. “An antique bookstore in Soho. It matches the time frame on the memo, and it’s been abandoned for decades. I found the address on a list of historical sites.”
Dean grunted affirmatively, then went back to his plate of pizza rolls. Castiel stood up.
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching to grab Sam and Dean’s shoulders. An instant later, they were standing on a crowded London sidewalk with traffic all around them. No one batted an eye at their sudden appearance.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean shrieked in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, lurching away from the angel’s grasp. “Dammit Cas, how many times do I have to tell you, warn me before you do that!”
“Sorry, Dean,” Cas said, not sounding remotely sorry. He had already turned his attention to the boarded-up building on the street corner. It stood out like a sore thumb among the more modern buildings surrounding it, but no one seemed to take note. They simply walked past as though the building was invisible.
“A.Z. Fell and Co.,” Sam read out loud. “Well, the name is a bit of a giveaway, so I’d guess we’re in the right place.”
“We are,” Castiel confirmed. “The building has a definite angelic aura, though it’s a bit faded. An angel definitely lived here, but hasn’t been back in a long time.”
“Should we, uh,” Dean mimed picking the lock.
“It probably won’t be that easy,” Castiel cautioned, still looking up at the building. “I’m certain there are precautions in place against unwanted visitors. It might not be possible to get inside.”
As he walked up to the door, it swung open for him. A bell chimed cheerfully.
“...huh,” said Dean, sharing a glance with Sam. Without further comment, the three carefully made their way into the dark shop.
Castiel had thoughtfully included their usual weapons (and Dean’s pants) when he teleported them to London, so they pulled out their guns just in case. Buildings that invited them inside autonomously rarely held anything friendly.
As could be expected, the main room was filled with dusty bookshelves crammed to the ceiling with old books. Faint streams of sunlight made their way through the boards on the windows, providing barely enough light to see. There were no signs of life.
“Look at these books,” Sam breathed, running a finger along the spines. “Some of them are… incredibly rare.”
Dean grunted indifferently. “Maybe save the looting for later,” he advised. “Remember, we’re looking for the guy who owned this place. He might not be happy you messed with his stuff.”
“Right,” Sam agreed reluctantly, with a wistful glance at the shelves.
The trio wandered through the shop for a time, inspecting things at random and thinking out loud to each other. The back room on the first floor seemed much more lived-in than the flat upstairs, further indicating the presence of an angel with no human needs to attend to. An ancient but immaculate copy of Pride and Prejudice was open on the table next to the armchair, a pair of slippers on the floor next to it, as though whoever lived here had simply stepped out for a moment with every intention of returning.
It felt like invading a dead man’s privacy. Sam and Dean were all too familiar with that feeling.
“What are we looking for?” Sam said, his eyes still fixed on the empty space where someone was meant to be sitting. “I doubt he would have left a forwarding address.”
“Dunno,” Dean said. “Anything… angelic. Something that will point us to where he went. Or at least an idea of what Crowley wants with him.”
“Thanks, that’s helpful,” Sam said dryly. “Do you think Crowley knew about this place?”
“He must have,” Castiel mused. “There’s no way he missed it if he’s been searching for so long, especially if he knew Aziraphale before he disappeared.”
“Then why didn’t he tell us?” Sam asked.
“Because he’s a dick,” Dean growled, as if that answered every question.
“Or because he’s already searched the building and found nothing of importance, and therefore didn’t think it worth mentioning,” Castiel pointed out, more reasonably.
“Then why are we here?” Dean grumbled.
“Because something important to him is not the same thing as something important to us,” Cas said, in the tone of someone explaining something to a child. He and Sam both looked irritated at Dean’s attitude.
Dean sighed heavily, already bored beyond measure. He wandered back into the main shop, irritably bumping the shelves with his foot. All that accomplished was a stirring of dust which made him sneeze.
“Son of a-” his elbow knocked a book off the shelf. As he bent down to pick it up, he noticed something halfway hidden behind the shelf in the corner.
“Guys?” he called. “Check this out.”
Behind the shelf was a small white feather.