Hi, people who might read this! I hope you enjoy this story. This is not my first fic, but it is my first Supernatural fic, so I hope things go over well enough. I have read a lot of fic before, so I know most people don't read this part. So, I'm going to shut up soon, promise :)
First of all, no, you may not hunt me down and kill me in a creative manner because of my cliffhangers. That's how I write and I do not deserve to die because of it.
Second, if you read my ROTG fic, I'm sorry but I'm probably never going to update again. I love you, bebe, and I'm sorry I'm a horrible person. I'm gonna try to do better about the whole horrible person thing in the future, but it's probably not gonna work. I do sell things for a living, after all.
Third-ly, I love reviews and I most likely will respond, because I am friendly as shit. So reviewing will probably result in interpersonal communication of some kind. You have been warned.
Catorce, enjoy, and know that I love you for always for reading!
There was a warm, fresh pool of blood on the desk, but he didn't care. Metatron pushed Naomi's corpse out of it's rightful seat with a careless flick of his arm. He sat, interlacing his hands on the desk, blood soaking into his sleeves.
"There's going to be some fascinating new stories to tell now." he chuckled. "Stories with more suffering than any told before. And the Winchesters thought I didn't care about suffering. I absolutely love it." he allowed a laugh, but only a soft one. He didn't want to be the crazy, laughing villain in this story, after all.
"What?!" Sam Winchester gasped. He was in a hell of a lot of pain, but that didn't stop him from being more than a little shocked.
"I said the angels are falling!" Dean repeated, this time with urgency. "W-we gotta go. We need to get back. Can you stand?".
"Don't know." Sam muttered. Dean proceeded to try to pull him to his feet. He inhaled sharply and fell back against the impala. "Nope! Nope, can't." he managed.
"Come on, little brother, we gotta get you home." Dean wrapped an arm around his back once again. He eased him into a more vertical position, with a bit more care this time. Sam still didn't seem to appreciate the movement, curling in on himself and gasping the whole way. After several moments of fumbling with the handle, Dean finally got the back door of the impala open. He eased Sam into the seat, glancing behind all the while. Lights still flared and shot through the sky toward earth. He grimaced.
By the time Sam was settled in the back, sprawled across both seats and legs still hanging out the door, he was nearly out from the pain alone. His head lolled against the window. Still, he was trying to tell Dean something.
"What's that, buddy?" Dean asked, leaning into the cab.
"Crowley. Can't leave him."
"We sure as hell can. I'm a little more concerned about you, thanks." he replied.
"No. I... I did this to him. I was supposed to cure him. But couldn't. He... he wanted it, Dean. Wanted to be forgiven. L-like me." Sam gasped in-between labored breaths. His eyes had that pleading look that always made Dean so uncomfortable. Ever since they were kids.
"Alright, alright. You just calm down, okay. Just worry about yourself for now. I'll get Crowley." Dean reassured, reaching in to pat him on the shoulder. He let his brother fold his legs into the car, then closed the door. Turning, he strode toward the church, not sure what he would find inside.
"Okay, Crowley, you're coming with me! And there's not gonna be any bullshit! I'm already up to my eyes in... are you crying?!" Dean had slammed open the doors of the abandoned chapel, face screwed into his typical scowl. The look on his face now was more of an atypical mask of disbelief.
"Not really." the demon sniffed. "Mostly something in my eye. The words you said to your brother were just touching, is all." he sniffed again, and his face quivered.
"You are crying. Seriously? Seriously?! Crying, Crowley?! Come on!" Dean threw up his arms in disbelief and disgust. And maybe just a little defeat. After all, if Crowley was crying, it really was the end of the world.
"You truly are so much like your brother." Crowley murmured, smiling. But not in his usual way. A real smile for once. "Is Sam okay? He didn't look good when the two of you rushed out."
"And now you're concerned. Creepy." Dean grunted. He moved forward and began undoing the shackles that bound Crowley's wrists. "Look, the only reason I'm letting you out of here is for Sam. If it were up to me, you'd rot in that chair. Sam wanted me to save you." he growled.
"I owe your brother. So very much. He showed me... my many shortcomings." Crowley's eyes looked wet again, and Dean wasn't quite sure what to say. He decided to just resort to lowering his head and pretending he didn't notice. Emotional Crowley spooked him more than normal, asshole Crowley.
Something crashed against the earth outside. The church shook. Dean swore under his breath, thinking of his ailing brother outside. His thoughts wandered briefly to his missing friend, the one with the knack for being used. He forced his thoughts back to the situation at hand. No use worrying about that. Castiel had either betrayed them, or, more likely, was dead. Both options hurt, but somewhere deep down, Dean hoped he had betrayed them. The other option hurt more.
He finally undid the last ankle shackle and handcuffed Crowley to himself again. Crowley didn't object this time, didn't try to punch him in the face. He just gave him a look of gratitude that made his skin crawl. He rushed out, back to the car, ignoring the fact that he was nearly dragging the demon behind him. Crowley stumbled along, sore and meek, thinking that to be drug by Dean Winchester was probably the least of what he deserved.
They climbed into the car, Dean pushing Crowley across as he climbed into the driver's seat. Sam moaned in the backseat as another crash sounded outside.
"Okay, Sam?" Dean asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. His complexion was even more ghostly now, his eyes sunken into his head. They were screwed shut, and his teeth were clenched in pain.
"You stay with me, you hear?" Dean commanded. He heard Crowley sniff from the seat beside him. He, too, was looking back at Sam, his face a mask of worry.
"I'm sorry, Sam." he said in an eerily grave voice.
Dean rolled his eyes. He felt like telling him to shut the hell up and worry about his own problems, that this was his fault, but refrained for Sam's sake.
He turned the key in the ignition and the car and radio roared to life. He forgot how loud he had had the radio cranked before turning the car off. The Who's Won't Get Fooled Again screamed from the speakers. Literally screamed, as that was the part of the song they had managed to land on.
'Meet the new boss,
Same as the old boss.'
"Dean..." Sam moaned from the back, curling further in on himself.
"I hear ya, Sammy. Not what I want to listen to right now, either." Dean agreed as he pulled out of the churchyard. He turned down the volume to a low drone and skipped to the next station, a pop station. Some women with a low voice was crooning:
'Let the sky fall
when it crumbles
we will stand tall...'
"Nope!" Dean said, smashing the skip button.
The radio landed on another classic rock station. Van Halen rang from the speakers and Dean relaxed back into the seat.
'Runnin' with the Devil
Runnin' with the Devil'
"I wonder why your kind are so fascinated with singing about the Devil, as they call him. Do they not realize that he hates them with a passion they can hardly begin to fathom? That he only longs to see them burn in hell for separating him from his father?" Crowley mused from beside him. Dean groaned.
"My brother is dying in the backseat and the sky is literally falling. Can't we do this some other time?" he forced through clenched teeth. Crowley shrunk back into the seat like a scolded child.
"Just trying to make casual chitchat." he muttered.
Castiel rubbed at his eyes, confused. Why were they wet? This vessel didn't normally leak. Jimmy Novak had been an excellent man, and was an even better vessel. Cas far preferred him to any other vessel he had ever used. Yet now he was leaking, and his chest was aching in the worst way. The forest around him was spinning. The vessel's legs failed and he fell to the ground.
The lights rained from the sky around him. All he could do was watch as his eyes leaked and his chest hurt. His family was suffering. His connection to them was failing, but the suffering was so strong that he could still feel it. It rang against the inside of his mind and made him shake all over. It was such a deep yet sharp cry of remorse.
He wasn't sure how long he remained that way, but something eventually reminded him that he had to stand again. That not all the world was lost, even if his brothers and sisters were. He still had two brothers out there that he had not betrayed. And that was how he saw them now, more than ever. Sam and Dean had always insisted on calling him a brother, but Cas had never really felt the same connection before. Until now. Now they seemed to be the only home he had to return to.
He trudged through the trees, his legs weighing so much more than they had before. Somewhere deep down he realized why he felt more of a connection to the ill-fated brothers now. It was his humanity. His connection to his other brothers and sisters dying rapidly, the human connection he had made to the Winchesters seemed to be growing.
Cas found the road and followed it. Headlights came and went, but none of the cars following them was the familiar black car he had come to love. His mind went to Dean, then Sam, and his chest clenched even harder. He remembered the trouble Sam had been in, and he silently asked his father for the hundredth time to look after the youngest Winchester. He didn't think his father heard him anymore, or maybe he just didn't care to get involved. But Dean would've wanted him to ask anyway. Actually, Dean would've wanted him there, as an angel, so he could save Sam himself. That was really what Cas wanted himself.
He felt the anger roar up the inside of his throat. It wasn't the righteous anger he usually experienced. It was a helpless anger. He wanted to destroy Metatron so badly, but there was no way he could do it now. He should've been there to help Sam and Dean. He should never have been doing Metatron's stupid "trials". He should've been on Earth with his two human brothers. He should've helped Dean save Sam. He should still be an angel, because that was the only real way he could help them. He shouldn't have been so stupid.
The anger was so helpless and depressing and engulfing that Castiel recognized it for what it was: his first bout of human anger. He hated it, and he hated himself. He hated being human and being useless and so...
Hungry. Cas's stomach made a strange noise and he glanced down at it. He was so shaky. But there was nothing to eat in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.
He trudged onward, arms hanging limp at his side. It started to rain. Cas's vessel's eyes started to leak again.
Dean pulled up near the Batcave in the early hours of the morning. It was still dark outside, but the first hints of light were showing in the sky. He was grateful to be back. The car ride had been near unbearable. Crowley, with his new found sense of humanity, had attempted to make idle conversation the whole way. Dean had been in no mood. Sam had eventually drifted off, and spent the ride in and out of painful consciousness.
Dean glanced in the rearview mirror every other minute. Truth be told, he was waiting. Waiting like he had been waiting for so long. Ever since Sam's life had been placed in his hands when they were both young. He was waiting for his younger brother's chest to stop rising and falling.
Thankfully, Sam held on. Dean knew he was white-knuckling it, but at least he was still clinging to life, somehow. Sam seemed to have developed a talent for living through things that would kill most others.
Dean unfolded himself from the car, dragging Crowley out with him. He stretched, then stomped over to the door into the bunker. His legs didn't seem to appreciate the sudden use and his body ached from the long drive and all the stress. He felt older than he could ever remember having felt.
"Kevin! Open up!" he yelled, pounding on the door. No response. He growled, then began knocking even harder.
"Kevin! I swear to whatever asshat is in charge these days, I'll end you if you don't open the fuck up!" he called.
"Allow me, Dean." Crowley said, stepping forward. He extended a hand in front of him, in a rather calm and lazy way, really. The door shot open as though it had been kicked by Dean himself. And Dean didn't screw around when he kicked open a door.
"One of the perks of being the King of Hell. You might say there are no closed doors." Crowley said with a smile. But still not his usual smile. This smile was rueful, like some part of him regretted being the King, and he was just really happy to be able to help. Dean didn't see how that was possible, though.
"You have no idea how happy I am to know you can do that." Dean said, voice flat. Crowley either didn't notice the sarcasm, or pretended not to notice it. Dean wasn't sure how to deal with this new, sarcasm-free Crowley, so he just shut up.
"Kevin!" he roared into the bunker. All of the lights were on, which he found strange and a bit worrying. He pulled the gun from his waist band and crept into the bunker with it raised, Crowley slinking along beside him. Images of Metatron popping by to finish off the poor prophet kept flashing through his head.
"Maybe he left." Crowley whispered. Dean shushed him.
"He wouldn't." he said.
They crept further into the lair, until Dean glanced down at their giant 'map-table' on the second floor. Kevin was sitting next to it, or rather, was passed out onto it.
"Kevin!" Dean called. When the prophet didn't respond, he rushed down to him, dragging Crowley in his wake.
"Kevin, wake up! Talk to me!" he feared the worst, feared that Metatron had visited Kevin to tie up lose ends. But when he shook him, the kid stirred.
"Hunh?" he mumbled, not opening his eyes to look at Dean.
"What's the matter with you?! Didn't you hear me knocking? Threatening to kill you? Anything?" Dean demanded.
"D'n? But you're dead." Kevin muttered, cracking his eyes open a fraction to look up at him.
"Seriously, what's wrong with you?" it was only then that Dean noticed the glass and empty bottles around Kevin, decorating the glowing map.
"You're drinking! The world is ending and you decide to get drunk?!" he yelled into Kevin's confused face.
"That's what you're supposed to do. 'Cause everyone's dead, so why not?" Kevin laughed.
"I don't know what movie you think you're in. Last time I checked, this wasn't The Hangover: Part 'Hell on fucking Earth'!" Dean groaned. Kevin just snickered.
"You need to pull yourself together. Sam's in trouble and I need your help, okay? So drink some water and get it together." Dean ordered. Kevin stared at him, as evenly as he could.
"Fuck you." he said. "You're not my mom, Dean. Mom's dead. You're dead, Sam... dead. Everyone dead because all the lights... everything lit up and we're all gonna die!" he laughed again, then the laughter turned to sobs. "Everyone's dead. Y-you're dead and Sam. All the lights came on and I thought you died. Everything's shit, Dean. All of it, shit. Shit shit shit..." Kevin continued to sob into Dean's shirt, one arm wrapped around his neck, until he went back to sleep.
"Poor kid." Crowley mourned behind him. Dean, who was already hoisting Kevin into his arms, turned to glower at Crowley.
"Who do you think made things so hard for him? Who do you think made everything shit for him? It wasn't Metatron, that's for damn sure!" he rounded on him. Crowley shrank back a bit, looking down at his hands. "Who do you think murdered the poor kid's mother?!" he asked.
"I did not. I can never begin to ask for Kevin Tran's forgiveness, but I did not murder his mother. I merely told him that to distract him a bit." Crowley replied.
"Dis-distract him a 'bit'? He went off the deep end!" Dean's voice cracked under the exhaustion and stress. He remembered Sam in the impala and tried to put things back into some priority.
"Look, I'm putting the kid to bed. When he wakes up, you're gonna help him find his mom. Clear?" he ordered.
"As vodka." Crowley nodded.
"Good." Dean growled. He glanced down at the table. Red lights glowed all over the map. He glanced around and noticed that practically every sensor in the room was glowing. No wonder Kevin had thought he and Sam were dead. It must have looked like the whole world outside was dead.
Dean stopped to handcuff Crowley to the leg of the table. He didn't believe it would hold him if he really wanted to leave, but at least there was some pretense of control.
"Stay." he commanded, pointing at the ground emphatically.
"Really, Dean? I'm a demon, not a dog." Crowley sighed, a bit of his old sarcasm shining through without it's usual bite.
"Same difference." Dean muttered under his breath. Crowley just replied with a look of exhaustion and remorse.
Dean found an empty, fairly comfortable room and deposited Kevin on the cot. As he placed him, Kevin muttered in his sleep and woke up a bit. He looked up at Dean for a second.
"Thanks, D'n. Glad you're not dead." he mumbled.
"Well, glad you're not dead, too, Kev." Dean shrugged, not sure what to say. Not dead was as good as a compliment in their field, wasn't it?
"You're like my big brother sometimes." Kevin mumbled into his pillow.
"Uh, thanks." Dean grunted, then exited the room as fast as possible. He was too tired for this shit.
When he got to the car, Sam was still out in the backseat. He climbed into the front and leaned over the seat, nudging him.
"Sammy? Come on, Sammy. Wakey, wakey, beer and jerky." he said, shaking his brother gently, but urgently, nonetheless. Sam didn't seem to notice, either way.
"Sam? Come on, wake up! Sammy?" he shook harder, but still no response. Something went tight in his chest. Sam was too still. "Hey, come on. Don't do this to me, little brother. You're okay. Come on, Sammy!" Dean waited, breath tearing out from behind clenched teeth. His hand was gripping Sam's shirt much too tight. "Come on, come on, come on..." he repeated in a whisper to himself, shaking Sam with each repetition.
He used what little morning light he had to look for the rise and fall of his little brother's chest. The same thing he had been looking after since he was four. The world might end, but Sammy still needed to be alive at the end of the day. He remembered how, months after his mother had died, he had gone to Sam's crib. He had checked, just to make sure. After all, if mom could die after Dean told her goodnight, so could Sammy. He would sit and watch. Then he would start talking. Only in a whisper, never enough to actually wake his baby brother. But Sammy was the only one he would talk to. Dean never talked anymore, but he would talk to Sammy. He would explain things, tell him why mom wasn't around anymore. Sometimes he would cry. But most of the time he wouldn't, 'cause he was supposed to set an example. And Sam cried enough for the both of them. But mostly, he promised Sam things. He promised that nothing was going to happen to him, because he was his older brother.
"Everything's going to be alright, Sammy." Dean promised, leaning over the front seat of the the impala. "I let some things happen to you, but I'm gonna fix it. I promise."
In the small bit of light that fought it's way through the windows, Dean saw Sam's chest rise, then fall. He said something unintelligible in his sleep, and tried to roll away.
Dean hated chick-flick moments. Even so, he really couldn't stop the single tear that worked its way out of his eye and down his face. He was just so damn tired. But happy.
Okay, for clarity's sake, I'm naming things after song titles in this fic because the show does that a lot. The show does it with a lot of classic rock songs. I do listen to classic rock, but not enough to name a bunch 'o shit after it. So I'm just gonna use song titles that I like. Then you can go google them because my music taste is fucking amazing.