Author's Note: Hi! So, this is my first Supernatural fanfiction, and the first fanfic I've written in two years. I'm kind of nervous uploading it (what with all of the amazing writers in this fandom), but I'm also really excited to be doing this after so long! Constructive criticism is welcome (and encouraged!), but please don't be too harsh about it.
This fic takes place during and after the last 40 seconds or so of 8x23, Sacrifice.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Supernatural. Unfortunately.
These are the first things the man registers as his eyes slowly slide open, adjusting to the minimal light. He blinks, feels the hard, solid Earth beneath his back. Stands. Sees that he is in a forest. He is confused.
What has brought me here? he thinks. More importantly, who is me?
For he remembers not who he is.
He does, however, know that something is happening up ahead in the darkened sky. A rainstorm? Perhaps. He steps forward, peers closer. Begins to run. He notices that there are small specks of gold scattered throughout the atmosphere.
What are they?
He is worried, frightened, sorrowful, yet he doesn't know why.
That is, until the people start falling.
It happens suddenly, as he is intently studying the stars. They burst out, men and women hurtling towards the planet at the speed of sound.
The man inhales a sharp breath.
He knits his eyebrows together.
His memory comes flooding back, and he now realizes that the people falling are not strangers.
They are his family.
Dean lets out a slow, stunned sigh as he watches the last of the angels crash into the ground. He stares into space, trying to understand what just happened. He knows that the angels fell. He saw it. Witnessed it with his own two eyes. But somehow, it just won't sink in.
After a few moments, Sam gasps for air, and Dean whips his head around to face his little brother. Crap, he thinks, shoving the thought of the falling beings aside to focus on the task at hand.
"Okay, Sammy, just listen to me. I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me?" Dean asks, propping Sam up against the car.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," Sam manages. He winces in pain.
Dean grimaces. "Damn it," he says. "Alright, hold on. You'll be okay. I promise, you'll be okay. You have to be." Dean wraps an arm around his brother's middle and pulls him up, throwing open the Impala's door and laying Sam down in the backseat before turning back to the church.
He marches in, stopping when he reaches Crowley, who still sits, gazing out the window.
"Did-did hundreds of angels just plummet to Earth?" he asks in his thick British accent.
Dean rolls his eyes and nods, moving to retrieve the handcuff keys from the table.
Crowley cackles, snapping his head back. "Well, that's just bloody brilliant! Good job you did there!" he exclaims.
Dean angrily turns back to him. "Can you just shut up for five seconds so that I can THINK?!" he yells, unchaining the king and handcuffing him to Dean's own hand before slicing open the Devil's Trap.
Crowley lets out a small huff, letting Dean drag him out of the building and to the car. He sits primly in the passenger seat as Dean turns the key and drives onto the highway.
After a while, the demon flips the radio on. A newscaster excitedly talks about the "falling stars", saying they appeared all over the globe. Dean shakes his head at that.
"Thousands of 'em," he sighs, making a left turn.
"Oh well," Crowley responds, raising his eyebrows as if he doesn't care at all.
Dean glances at him. "So, what, are you back to your old self? Did the 'purifying' shit or whatever fade away?"
Crowley looks out the window. "I don't know," he confesses after a minute. "I feel...different, I suppose, but not completely 'human' by your standards. Perhaps it'll just take a bit more time, considering your dear Moose backed out of the trial at the last second. I do feel...guilty? I think. I'm not sure. What do you want from me?" he quips.
Dean lifts a hand in a "don't shoot" gesture. "Calm down, I just want to know what the hell is going on," he replies.
"Don't we all," Crowley mumbles. He returns to staring at the flashing scenery.
His throat is parched.
His legs are tired.
He feels weak.
Castiel is human.
His mind is all a muddle, a blur of thoughts and feelings and new, unfamiliar emotions and sensations. It takes all of his concentration to be able to stumble along the road as he has been doing for the last 5 hours.
He needs to find a town.
He needs a phone.
He wants to collapse, to give it all up. He feels as if he cannot go on.
But he must.
Not for him.
Dean slows the Impala to a stop, glancing out the window at the bunker. He stops, something catching his attention.
All the lights are off.
He gets out, pulling a bored Crowley along with him, and drags Sam out of the backseat. He gulps nervously when he sees his little brother's state; the younger Winchester is pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and blood covering his face. His body is cold, but his forehead is burning up when Dean checks. He shakes his head, wraps Sam's arm around his neck, and careens into the building, yanking the two other men behind him.
He fiddles with the light switch for a bit until the room is slightly visible."KEVIN!" he yells.
"I'm up here, Dean!" a voice shouts back.
Dean unlocks the metal restraint from his wrist before cuffing Crowley's other hand, then half carries Sam to his room.
He carefully helps Sam out of his jacket and shoes and delicately lays him on the bed. He gingerly places the blanket on top of him, checks to make sure he's still breathing, and quietly leaves.
Dean pads to Kevin's room and gently opens the door, where he is faced with the sight of the young man cowering in the corner. Dean rushes over, alarmed.
"What happened?" he inquires, hauling Kevin to his feet and checking him over for wounds.
"I don't know, Dean. One minute the place is quiet, the next there's this rumbling sound and all the lights start blinking and making these weird noises and then the glass started shattering and it-it sounded like something – not rain, not any kind of precipitation – something was falling from-from the SKY," Kevin says, his voice quavering with repressed hysteria.
"Yeah, it was the angels," Dean replies, gazing around the room for damage. "Metatron kicked 'em all out of heaven."
"Metatron?" Kevin asks. Dismay begins to cloud over his face. "You mean he really was working against us this entire time?"
"Yep, basically," Dean confirms. "You were right, those trials he was having Cas do weren't the real ones, the ones from the angel tablet. They were ingredients he needed to perform the spell to expel the angels."
"Oh," Kevin responds. "And what about Sam and Crowley? Did you finish the trials on the demon tablet?"
Dean sighs and rubs eyes. He was getting extremely weary of this entire situation. "No, because it also turns out that Naomi wasn't lying about Sam dying, either. I stopped him from completing the ritual, so hopefully he'll get better soon. I don't know what the deal is with Crowley."
Kevin stares at him. "So...all that work I did, translating the tablet, that-that was all for nothing? The gates of hell didn't close?"
Dean blinks. "What? No, man, no, we're going to do the trials, we just need time to figure out how to do them without anyone ending up dead," he stammers.
Kevin looks at him, unsure. "Okay..." he says hesitantly. "So, where's Castiel? Did he-" Kevin's eyes widen in realization. "Did he fall, too?"
Dean looks away, his throat closing at the thought. "I don't know," he says after a while. "He vanished when I got to the church."
Kevin stares, slowly understanding.
Dean glances at him again, gives him a fake smile and a quick nod, and strides back downstairs to deal with Crowley. But his mind is elsewhere.
Come on, Cas, where the hell are you?
Author's Note: If you liked it, please review! I'll post the next update within the week, so check back soon. If you see anything wrong with this plot-wise (I only watched the episode twice, so I may have gotten a few details wrong) please inform me and I'll fix it.