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Matchmaker Blues

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Summary: In which God plays matchmaker with his children.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Fred/Illyria-CenteredVampireCowFR1512,3633132,08923 Nov 1023 Nov 10Yes
Disclaimer: Angel and all characters thereof belong to Joss Whedon. Supernatural and all characters associated go to Erik Kirpke and the CW Network.

The first date was the most difficult. Of all things he never would have thought his Father would take an interest in such matters, but considering the duties of the cupids it wasn't too surprising. Castiel was still new to emotion, still handling each new experience like a rabid animal to be kept at arms length for fear of being overwhelmed, but things were progressing. He did not wish to disappoint his Father, and he didn't want to disappoint his betrothed. Not that she was entirely aware of the situation during their first encounter. Dean had given some rather appropriate advice.

Find out what she likes to do, take her someplace nice.

Castiel spent two weeks scanning space-time stream searching for a pocket where their activities would not harm the dictated progression of events. Then he spent another three days gathering the courage to do what needed to be done. At least she wasn't like Chastity. She was an Old One, the very first of His children, and he was of the youngest. Had they been human the age gap alone... Dipping into the memories left behind by his host Castiel identified the subtle quaking in his body center as nervous anticipation. He wrapped his grace into a tight bundle and shifted through realities until he stepped onto the cool carpet with a rustle of wing beats.

She turned slowly, every action taken with the utmost control, and her ice blue eyes flared in surprise as she took in his human appearance before peering past his vessel's form to see his true self. "You are yet young, but your power belies that. Why have you come, Host?" Her head tilted marginally as if by physically changing her perspective all answers would become hers. Once that may have been the case. Castiel had not yet been in existence when she ruled but all knew the legends.

He took comfort in their similar natures, and gazed around the dark room with its various boxes holding the sparse possessions of her shell. "Your vessel was ill-chosen." The angel gazed into her essence and was relieved to see the faint spark of soul. Winifred Burkle.

She blinked. "The shell was not my choice, it serves as well as can be expected." She waited. Infinitely patient and powerful. Old One. Castiel stepped forward and held out his hand. Her shell, and it was a shell and not any kind of proper vessel, was incapable of traversing dimensions with the ease the God-King had once wielded.

"Shall we lay waste?"

Her gaze was old, considering, and Castiel felt like he was standing at attention as Anna barked out orders. The blue tinted woman grasped his hand and stepped up to stare into his eyes. It was to be their first date, one hurdle out of the way.

The Persian army wouldn't last long.

"These are not monsters." The Old One stated in monotone, though he could feel the disappointment in her shell. She sat perched delicately in her seat, wearing the form of the brown haired human woman in a soft blue sundress, and a box of nachos in her lap. Her eyes did not shift from their focus in the center of the area. "Though they are loud and grating."

A monster truck roared out onto the dirt floor and turned around, its massive wheels spinning, and Castiel gave a nod in silent agreement. Why had they come here again? Dean. Dean and his suggestion that a woman who lived for battle would enjoy the mindless destruction of the rally.

Castiel supposed he should have specified that it was a God-King that had not been around for man's rise that enjoyed battle and would likely enjoy bloodshed more. A no-hold-barred wrestling tournament may have been better.

The angel self-consciously tugged at his coat. Absently, he began to snack on the popcorn they'd purchased. Neither of them particularly enjoyed the food but it seemed like the thing to do. They were blending, undercover, and any attention on them would draw both their Father's ire and of Illyria's guide. She did not wish that; emotions were even newer to the Old One than Castiel. Such things had not yet been incorporated into her being when she ruled.

Watching her observe the destruction, and there was a loud cheer from the crowd, Castiel frowned. Her guide was not performing his duties. That much was clear. Perhaps this was the reason he had been sent to her? His gaze traveled to the swiftly cooling meat and cheese covered chips in her lap. The cheese had began to resemble warm plastic. "You purchased the chips."

Unnaturally cold brown eyes turned away from the trucks racing and crushing around the area. "Their scent is pleasing to me." There was a millisecond of uncertainty in her gaze before it was swallowed up by power and self-assurance. "That is all."

Castiel nodded and as the crowd around them gave a particularly excited cheer he took the opportunity to dump what little was left of the popcorn to the ground. She continued to watch him, that glacier composure melted, and suddenly it was as if the spark of soul within her had taken over. She wrapped herself around his arm and leaned into his side. When she spoke her voice was laced with a Texas twang. "There is something appealing about this ritualized destruction, though they not be true monsters."

The two brunettes sat in comfort, basking in the eddies of their mutual power, and the noise level dimmed somewhat as Castiel shaped the energies around them. "I had hoped you would like it."

"Next time, can we go someplace quieter? And hear the Song?"

"As you wish."

The third date involved neither bloodshed nor destruction. Her vessel was incapable of channeling the necessary energies to tunnel through dimensions ever since man's science had siphoned them away. Castiel did it for the both of them. They sat on a crystalline precipice overseeing a frothy lavender sea. Creatures never before seen by mortal eyes swarmed in the waters beneath them as Illyria broke her meal into pieces and let it fall into the lilac abyss. "The shell was inordinately fond of these." She unwrapped another of the Tacos and began dissecting it slowly as if fascinated.

Castiel retrieved a burger from his own bag of foodstuffs he'd acquired before bringing them to this small planet in another reality. The smell of the still-warm beef and ketchup brought a murmur of want from the remaining echos of Jimmy, now nothing more than a shadow of a presence since the angel's first death by fratricide, and he bit into the double cheeseburger with relish. The twin moons above them continued glowing down on them as they contemplated their existence. The Old One finished her analysis of the now scattered ingredients and tilted her head in thought as she watched her companion finish off the sandwich. "We do not require such a primitive sustenance. Why do you partake?"

"My vessel was exceptionally obsessed with these. I have found there is some pleasure gained in following the baser impulses." Castiel explained. "Also, I have witnessed my charge-" at her look of confusion in those blue within blue eyes he rephrased his words. "I have witnessed my guide derive great enjoyment from burgers and pastries."

Illyria nodded and sweep the mutilated Taco over the cliff and to the teeming creatures. She plucked another from the bag and unwrapped it, holding it in curiosity as red spicy juices leaked between her fingers. "I feel... fragments, sparks, of the Shell. I had thought to explore those feelings, the feelings our Father possesses and made into them, but my guide was unwilling." She bit into the taco and Castiel smiled at the surprised pleasure skittering across her blue tinted features.

She was an Old One, of the First Generation born without remorse. There had been nothing in the time-before-time, for time was a human concept, but the Will of the Father. His children served and worshiped as they devised appropriate fighting for the favored position. Then a small section of Creation was set aside; Paradise. For every paradise there had to be something to represent its opposite, the place that served as its measure and definition, the punishment for disobedience.

Watching her methodically work her way through the taco Castiel found it a simple matter to equate his diminished elder sister for God's Chosen King, the God-King, the Shaper-of-Things who had existed across multiple dimensions and realities at once and had molded the worlds into the unforgiving places they needed to be for when Adam and Eve broke with their creators will. He could see her many limbed form tearing into the earth and creating inhospitable caverns. He could see her directing armies of nightmares as they gave birth to creatures that would one day become legends.

But that was long ago, before her own court and brothers rose against her and locked her within a single realm, deep within the earth she helped to shape, and yet even now she remained a formidable if weakened warrior.

"This is not unpleasant." She licked the juice off of her fingers and came to crouch beside him, her reddish leather armor a contrast to his gray. "Perhaps, we shall explore the other pleasures associated with these shapes?"

There it was. The forwardness reminiscent of the Chastity Incident. Though he did not feel nearly as nervous as he had with the mortal woman when she leaned closer to him, eyes reflecting the light of the moons. What would Dean do? "I am not experienced in these matters, though I know of the basic premise." His head tilted to match the angle of hers. "Might we explore together?"

In response she tipped forward, cool lips warming against his as ancient power poured forth from her into him. Castiel swallowed it down, marveling at the knowledge and sheer certainty of her purpose carried within it, and pushed back. She swallowed him up, his experience and Faith, and molded her form closer to his own as they engaged in a sacred rite long forgotten by any of his generation.

Angel practically jumped out of his skin when Illyria dropped from the sky. She landed with a hard thud, and yet the ground did not crack from the force of it. He would think more about that blatant disregard for physics after they dealt with the forces of Wolfram and Hart. Rain was pouring in buckets. The perfect setting for a last stand. "Illyria?"

Her head tilted to the side. "I killed all mine." She paused. "Wesley is dead. As is his opponent."

Angel was surprised by the regret in her voice but before he could think much on it there was a shout and when he peered with vampire enhanced sight he could see Gunn heading toward them. He raised his axe in triumph, but also pain. He was injured. Heavily. Angel expected it: one mortal against a whole office full of vampires? It had taken over half a dozen potentials to kill one, or so he heard.

Illyria opened her mouth to say something, probably demeaning, but froze and looked upward. Worried, Angel glanced into the darkened sky and saw nothing though he could hear the ground shaking footfalls of an approaching army. "Illyria, this is not the time to get introspective!"

She simply continued to watch the skies. "He is coming."

Spike stiffened beside the wall. "Who's coming, Blue?"

She smiled then, but it was not kind. It promised pain and retribution. "My betrothed." Before Angel could get over the sudden chill that had nothing to do with his lack of pulse or the onslaught of rain, she continued. "And he has brought his own army."

"Uh, 'Lyri. This beau of yours, he's gonna help. Right?" Spike asked as he began shifting his gaze between the injured Gunn, the alleyway entrance, and the sky. "He's not gonna be upset that you're ah...?"

The look Illyria gave him was puzzled. "I am allied with you. He is allied with me. These bonds go beyond power and position. We are... family." As her last word was swallowed up in the patter of rain on concrete Angel could just make out the invading army. They had giants and dragons. Shit.

Well, he had always wanted to slay a dragon. Might was well go out with a bang. The vampire raised his sword and prepared to meet the enemy.

He was not prepared for the sudden rush in raw power that sent goosebumps along his undead flesh nor the deafening rustle of what sounded like a thousand birds.

They were not alone in the alley.

All around them wearing light armor were men and women. All with blue eyes, some darker and some light, but all carried that assurance and power he'd come to associate with the Old One that had fallen into their laps. Instinctively Angel knew he wouldn't last five minutes against them. If he was lucky, he would last one.

"Eldest." A male strode forth from the throng. "Illyria, my betrothed. Your enemies are our enemies. Your allies our allies. We stand with you, to the last." The two then embraced. Illyria came away with a silver, gleaming sword in her hands.

"They killed Wesley."

"Muriel shall take care of it." A woman with blonde, red-streaked hair vanished. The man in the gray armor and the leather duster placed his hand by Gunn's cheek, to the man's confusion, and light burst forth. "Shall we?"

When the former lawyer blinked and touched his newly healed wound, Angel suddenly felt a lot better about everything.

A/N- This ficlet was originally part of a larger fan fiction hosted on As it was not a Buffy-Centric fic I haven't posted the whole thing here. If you would like to read about a world where Shawn Spencer is God and Micheal the Archangel is a laid back police henchman you can go to:

The End

You have reached the end of "Matchmaker Blues". This story is complete.

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