Chapter Four #3
Time was simply not a luxury they could afford.
Waiting for the reapers to catch up and learn the new rules everyone lived by was dangerous.
Every misunderstanding could lead to a disaster.
There had already been quite a few mishaps, but luckily, cleaning up after supernatural mistakes was something the Guardians were experts at.
But the potential for war between the realms was still the biggest threat.
Initially, they had tried to set up classes to teach the reapers, but that had been far too regimented for them.
Giving them a list of names and contact information of people they could go to when they had questions hadn’t worked either.
Going out of their way to ask for help wasn’t exactly something the reapers were used to doing, nor were they inclined to trust people they didn’t know.
Instead, a handful of the Guardians had agreed to take small groups of reapers into their homes to give them a steady base while they figured out how to reclaim their lives. Each of those Guardians had a connection to at least one of the reapers, which made things a lot easier.
Castiel had suggested the arrangement as a passive means of guiding them.
No lectures.
No forced lessons.
Just proximity and consistency.
Simply being accessible did more than any list of rules ever could.
When the reapers woke from centuries of cursed sleep, the modern world wasn’t just unfamiliar.
It was a fucking insult. They hadn’t just lost years.
They lost context. Knowledge. Connection.
Customs had changed, alliances had been broken and reforged, power structures had risen and crumbled like sandcastles while they lay trapped in darkness.
Their names had become myths, their lives relegated to stories that had been distorted over time.
Blame had been placed on their shoulders with no chance to defend themselves.
Some of their enemies had turned to dust, while others continued to live on.
And now, they were expected to adjust and conform to a new reality that didn’t make sense to them.
It made them volatile in a way even the most patient Guardian underestimated at first. A simple correction seemed like an accusation.
A harmless joke had been seen as disrespect.
For beings who had once answered to no one, being told to wait, hold their temper, and hide their powers was an affront to their very nature.
Modernizing them was a process, and it wasn’t an easy one.
It was slow work done using trial and error.
But even the simplest error could end in utter disaster.
Small things had to be explained with patience.
Lights without flames. Voices trapped in glass.
Laws written by people who didn’t understand what true justice meant.
It wasn’t about coddling them. It was about getting them through the first phase of reentry without letting their confusion turn into bloodshed. Rather than force the issue, those questions tended to slip out easily over a few drinks or a good meal.
Why were there so many damn laws?
How did a phone work?
Why did mortals record everything?
A reaper could step out of shadow for one careless second and end up immortalized on video, where evidence of magic could be turned into a sensationalized hunt.
The Guardians didn’t have to pry or plan. They just had to be there, close enough to answer when asked. They just had to be patient enough to let the reapers choose to reach out on their own terms. And so far, it seemed to be working.
Naturally, there were a few who still refused to ask for any help.
That included Xara, the reaper who had been nicknamed the Goddess of Pain after her particular expertise in that area.
Since she woke, she’d been busy hunting down every person who had wronged her while she had been trapped in a magical slumber.
In Castiel’s opinion, those who had been foolish enough to steal her personal property while she had been gone deserved what they got.
“No, Xara has been surprisingly chill lately,” Killian reported. “Actually, I think she got rid of most of the people who pissed her off already.”
“So, that’s why she said she deserves a holiday and asked me for spa recommendations,” Seneca winced. “She wouldn’t, like…go around torturing random people, would she?”
Lucifer chuckled. “Only those who deserve it.”
“Good,” she said weakly. Then, she sat up straight, and her eyes widened. “Actually, that’s not good. Really not good. There are a lot of people who could fit in that category around here. Does that mean we have to start sending a cleanup crew wherever she goes?”
Killian stroked a hand down her ponytail. “Don’t worry, mate. She promised to be discreet from now on.”
“That’s…comforting.”
“Since the reapers are doing well now, that should free up some of your time, right?” Lucifer asked with a bright smile.
Castiel froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. He set it down again and just stared at his friend. That was definitely a loaded question.
“Because we have a particular task we need you to handle,” Lucifer began.
“No.”
Ignoring the quick refusal, Lucifer smiled. “Of course, you might be reluctant. After all, it’s something much more dangerous than dealing with Xara.”
Killian shot him a glare. “Cut it out, or he’s going to refuse before we even ask.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “He already refused. When has that ever stopped me from getting my way?”
Castiel heaved out a heavy sigh. “Who are you going to war with now?”
Lucifer threw his head back and let out a wild laugh.
“Stop it,” Killian demanded. “It’s nothing like that. We just wanted you to—”
“Do something you swore you would never do,” Lucifer cut in.
Castiel gritted his teeth as Killian and Lucifer glared at one another as if waging a silent battle to decide who would finally tell him what the fuck was going on.
Seneca let out a nervous laugh. “It’s really not anything bad. We actually wanted to ask you to take over teaching Magical Combat at my university. Not plan a war.”
No, Castiel thought. It wasn’t planning a war.
What they were asking was far worse.