Title: Going Down
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: For spn_summergen: Michael and the angels win the Apocalypse. Dean, Castiel, and any other characters who survive (Sam awesome, but not necessary if you want to work it some other way) are leading a losing battle against the garrisons of heaven with what's left of humanity/ anyone who hasn't said yes to becoming a vessel yet.
Summary: Maybe all they can do is go down fighting.

People say your life flashed before your eyes when you died.

Well, it kind of did that when you were drunk too (fall-down, twist-around, gonna-be-hell-in-the-morning drunk, not that morose, bitchy drunk that Sam and Cas were known for).

Your life flashed before your eyes and it just sucked 'cause Dean drank to forget but, instead, everything just flied past his closed eyelids like a speeded up movie.


Like that time the world ended (and nobody should be able to start a sentence like that) and they barely had time to lock themselves in Bobby's panic room before Adam-Michael and Nick-Lucifer began their little death match: Dean, Sam, Castiel, and a bleeding out Bobby.

It took three days for the world to stop shaking, for angelic energy to stop pushing up against the wards and sigils that covered the walls, floors, and roof.

It ended.

Dean, Sam, and Castiel walked out.

Bobby didn't.

Michael walked away. Lucifer didn't.

If they knew a little less, they might've thought that was a win.


Like that time they formed an army (and only so many people could start a sentence like that) and decided they were gonna go down fighting. Their ragtag army was made up of post-apocalyptic refugees that ranged from six to sixty.

If there were any older survivors out there, Dean, Sam, and Cas never found them. If there were any younger, Dean felt like a jackass because he was kind of glad they didn't find them.

It turned his stomach to fit a gun in pudgy kid hands.

He looked at all these little kids showing up for 'training' and remembers his little brother biting his lip and holding onto the gun with shaky hands. "Why do I have to, daddy?"

"Don't you want to be awesome like me?" Dean had said.

It seemed like a good answer back then.

He repeated it to the little kids who looked up at him unsurely and their faces turned cutely determined just like Sammy's did all those years ago.

Dean smiled down at them and tried to ignore the fact that he's older now and the words just sound hollow.


Like that time Dean killed his first angel and let everyone celebrate ('cause they needed it, damn it).

People screamed and danced. One man ran across their field naked to a round of claps, whistles, and applause. Dean got it on with a woman who used to be a dancer at a totally awesome strip club while Sam grabbed his sleeping bag and disappeared somewhere that was "not here".

Dean wandered out later than night to find Cas sitting on a branch of a freaking tree and watching everybody celebrate with his hands clenched.

Cas answered the unspoken question. "That was my brother."

And Dean wouldn't stop anybody from celebrating but he could go without for a night, drag his sleeping bag away from the crowd and fall asleep next to Cas as he stared forlornly up at the stars.


Like that time Sammy found a fugly dog with shit-colored fur and a squashed face and said, "Can we keep him?" and Dean said 'whatever' (just 'cause Sam hadn't sounded that childish in a while and Cas already had that wide-eyed look that said if Fugly Dog stuck around, he might give one of those awkward ex-angel smiles).

He got even more than that. He got Sammy running swiftly across the field with the dog bounding along beside him. He got Castiel getting bowled over by an enthusiastic dog. He got loud, raucous laughter from the both of them that made people turn and look. He got some good times and he figured it was worth keeping the pain-in-the-ass around.

He should've known better.

Dog got killed a few months later.

Dean was kind of glad 'cause it died saving Sammy's life but Sam and Cas sat in the field and Dean had to place a hand on Cas' too-thin shoulders and watch the small shakes of Sam's too-large body.

Sam never sounded that young again, Cas never smiled, and people talked about their stoic faces like it made them strong, some kind of untouchable heroes.

They didn't know Cas kept that little blue ball in his pocket.


Like that time Dean stood on the tail of some beaten up truck and assured people that they could fight this war and they could win (feel-good crap but that whole 'forming an army' thing taught him that, sometimes, crap was good).

"Let's kick ass," he said.

They all screamed their approval, a teenage kid at the front being the loudest.

He looked up at Dean with wide, adoring eyes, followed him around after that like he was permanently attached to Dean's ass.

The kid bled out in Dean's arms two weeks later. He was another casualty of the war they could win. Before he went, he smiled a bloody smile up at his hero. "I – I kicked ass, right?" he asked.

It felt like a punch to the gut. "Yeah, kid, you kicked ass."

Funny thing: the fight he died in was actually counted as a victory.


Like that time Dean got drunk on their homemade beer (tasted a little like motor oil but it got them drunk). He sang loudly and insulted half of the people in camp before falling down and smacking his head on a damn log.

Sam and Cas found him.

One of their little army made some smart-ass comment about him maybe not being fit to lead and he couldn't be sure (cause he was face-down on the ground and seeing little birdies flying circles over his head) but he thinks Sam might have punched him.

He heard the contact and the thump as the guy fell hard on the floor. He got a hazy view of their profiles as Cas lifted him up and dragged him back to their army-green tent.

Sam cleaned blood from his forehead with a damp shirt and Cas sat at the entrance like he was their personal guard.

"Not a good leader," Dean mumbled.

"Shut up," Sam said.

"Gonna get 'em all killed."

"Shut up."

Dean caught Sam's wrist. He waited until Sam was looking him in the eye. "We're gonna lose, Sammy, one way or another."

Sam looked away. Dean saw him swallow.

"We're going to go down fighting," Cas said from the doorway and Dean and Sam's heads twisted toward him. He looked steadily back at them.

It was feeble, didn't have as much as weight as it used to have, but it was something.

Gonna go down fighting.