This is the second to last fic in this arc, although it can be read as the last since the next one is more of an epilogue really but it will answer a few questions that I won't answer in this one. That said, I should probably warn you all that someone in this little bundle of misfits will not survive. I'll leave you all to guess who.
The inspiring song behind this has been a background element from day one, Ten Thousand Fists by Disturbed (I swear that is not all that I listen too, it just happens to inspire stuff that is not Dean/Cas related).
Disclaimer: I'm still having to write these? Seriously, Kripke has not given me the rights to them, not a single one of them can be found in my drawers, or my bed, and therefore I have to share. If I owned them do you really think that I would be sharing? Regardless, not mine, and they will be given back, nor is the song, but we guessed that.
Ten Thousand Fists.
One more goddamn day when I know what I want
And my want will be considered tonight, consider tonight
Just another day when all that I want
Will mark me as a sinner tonight, I'm a sinner tonight, yeah
They have not had enough time, that is the only thought that can go through Sam's mind as he hears Castiel relaying the news that his unknown friend has brought them, that Michael is brining the Host down upon them. He can barely believe that things have gotten to this point, that his actions and Dean's actions have really brought the world this close to the end.
Sure, he knows that this has been planned since long before he was born and that the angels and demons have unknowingly been working towards the same basic goal for longer than he can possibly comprehend, though this does not stop him from trying, but it is one thing to know that on a mental level, and another to know it emotionally. Emotionally, Sam does not quite accept or acknowledge it just yet.
The bar is in chaos, over the last week or so dozens of hunters have made their way there, camping in their cars when the rooms that Cassidy keeps available filled, cars that spill out into the barren land that surrounds them. Everyone here has played their part, if they have not been planning, then they have been making charms, if not charms then weapons and if none of the above they have been gathering medical supplies and keeping order, so many touchy tempers gathered in one place needing only a single spark after all.
It still does not mean that they are ready.
Sam is painfully aware of that as he fingers the sword leant against his knee under the table, the sword that Dean gave him upon his arrival almost a week ago, a blade that he knows can kill angels, but has been just twisted enough that Sam can use it, demon blood in his veins and all. His brother held it like he thought it felt wrong, the sort of expression on his face that Sam would expect to see if he were holding a live snake rather than a piece of holy steal, but in the hand of the younger Winchester, it seems to fit, it feels natural, like it is a part of him and Bobby tells him that this is a good thing, so Sam takes him at his word and does not ask Dean, does not ask Cas where it came from. He figures that he probably does not want to know anyway.
If one could say that anything good could come out of a war, and Sam is neither naive enough nor stupid enough to think that good can ever come out of fighting and killing, at least, he is not anymore, he would say that his relationship with Dean has been strengthened by it. That they are close again, like they were before Hell, even if Sam is changed, darker, because of the demon blood and Dean is just, well, Dean is not exactly Dean, not like Sam remembered, but he supposes that it was foolish of him to think that Dean could come back unchanged..
His point here, though, is that they are better together now than they have been in a while and that is a good thing. Castiel is as well, he thinks as he hands a charm to protect against angel voices to another hunter, the angel may be a bit broken and he may be strange and given to getting too close to other people and staring at them for too long, but really he is not so bad. The angel has done a lot for them the last year or so and Dean has accepted him into their rather strange little family, treats him like the mildly annoying middle sibling even though all three know that Cas is far older than either of the Winchesters.
So he is closer to Dean and Castiel is a friend now, almost a brother really, and they are gearing up to fight a battle that Sam suspects they cannot win, that he knows they are not even remotely ready for and he silently thinks that if he could go back in time and change the events of the last five years, he would, in a heart beat, if only so that he could prevent Dean from dying and going to Hell, or to warn himself about Ruby.
Wishes will not change anything, so he stays in his seat, hands out charms and listens as each hunter is given an adapted gun and suitable ammunition, a machete or knife issued for when they run out of bullets, and they will run out of bullets.
By the time every hunter is armed and charmed, the sun is just beginning to rise.
People are dozing in corners, catching what sleep they can before the angels reach them, Castiel has told them that even though angels seem to move instantly, it will still take a while to gather up Michael's forces and move them here. It will still take time for the archangels to plan and Raphael to hide his forces among Michael's.
Sam would be the first to admit, right now, that he is terrified. Normally he would talk to Dean, try to find reassurance in the false bravado that his brother is given towards exhibiting, was given towards exhibiting, these days, since Hell really, he has been tending more towards pessimism and while Sam supposes that is perfectly healthy in it's own way, it is not what he needs right now. Besides which, Dean is standing with Bobby, Cas and another hunter, one Sam thinks is called Rufus, at a table with a map spread in front of them.
They are talking tactics, a plan to survive and that is definitely not what Sam needs right now, so he goes looking for another, one he knows will need a bit of comfort, a bit of solidarity. He goes looking for Cassidy.
Cassidy looks around the room, the angels will be here soon, soon enough that the hunters are beginning to say their goodbyes to any family they may have in the world, the soft murmurs of voices as they talk to each other or on cell phones is almost hypnotic and she loses herself to it as she wanders the bar.
The barrel of her gun is cool where it has been shoved down the back of her jeans, spare ammo clinks in the pocket of her leather jacket and her t-shirt, though loose, feels too tight. Her long blonde hair has been braided to keep it out of her face and the iron charm to protect against the voice and sight of angels lies heavy against the delicate skin of her throat. She fingers it nervously as she finds the person she has been looking for. Her brother.
Peter is cleaning his shot gun, he is focussed, far more so than she has seen him since Daniel died and she sits next to him, stilling his hand by covering it with one of her own. Her brother stares at her and for a long moment it is almost like he does not see her, not really, and then he is Peter again, for however long it may last. He sets the weapon aside and covers her hand with his other.
For the longest time, all they have had is each other, in a way it makes them a lot like the Winchester brothers, and it scares her to think that she may be about to lose him, whether to the sword of an angel or the all consuming need for revenge that drives her brother in the same way that it drives so many hunters and she cannot comprehend a life lived in so much unending hate.
She tells him to be careful, wants him back at the bar and in the kitchen to help her when this is all over and the world is as safe as it can be all things considered. The words sound hollow, even to her own ears, and his answering smile is sad as he shakes his head. He does not need to use words to tell her that even if he survives he will not be returning, she knew it would be the case, even when she made the offer, this place holds far too many memories for him, memories of a love that, deep down, she knows he will never allow himself to feel again.
So she puts her arms around him, holds him like she will never be able to again whether they both survive or not. She feels him look up as another shadow falls on the table, hears him tell someone to take care of her and she turns, sees Sam standing nearby as Peter lets her go, picks up the shot gun and rises. He pauses beside Sam for a moment as the youngest remaining Winchester assures him that he will watch over Cassidy, shakes his hand, and then leaves them alone.
Cassidy looks up at him, even when she gets to her feet he towers above her, and tries to shrug off her brother's words. Sam is having none of it, insists that she stay close to him when they get out there and she knows that she will. She also knows that even though her brother has asked Sam to watch over her, when this is over, if they both survive, Sam will leave, he will not stay, is not obliged to and as nice as it has been to have him around, to travel with him and get to know him, to begin to trust him, when this is over he will be gone.
She will be alone.
Cassidy does not know if she fears that or the angels more. Still, the gun at the small of her back and the heavy machete at her hip are a small comfort, an indication that she will not go down without a fight and while her weapons are no where near as impressive as the swords that are strapped to the hips of both Winchesters or the dark wood bow that is held loosely in Castiel's left hand, they are enough.
When Sam goes over to his brother, friend and surrogate father, Cassidy follows, discomforted by the fact that she feels at a loss in her own bar, her own home, except that she figures that these men understand it, and she needs to know the game plan, so she sticks close to Sam, has a feeling that the tall man would tell her to do that anyway.
She listens to Castiel explain what they need to do, why they need to do it this way, that the angels will not stop if they simply kill Michael and she has to wonder when her life got so damn difficult. She wonders how she managed to go from worrying about the occasional brawl in the bar, to all out war against Heaven.
It sounds strange in her mind, to say that they are about to do war unto Heaven, aside from the fact that it is a strange, archaic phrase and one that she saw in a book somewhere that has stuck with her until this moment. So they are to do war unto the angels.
She only has to consider now how many of them will be dead by nightfall.
People can no longer cover their eyes
If this disturbs you then walk away
You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of
Ten Thousand fists in the air
Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care.