fic: to the end [3/6]
Title: To The End
Author: aja_evenstar
Fandom: Supernatural
Warning/Rating: PG, dark themes. Spoilers up to 4x22
Disclaimer: all aside from the plot belong to Kripke
Summary: Picking up from the season 4 finale, the unfolding of the apocalypse.
A.N.// Randon fact: This is the first Spn fic i've written that followed Dean, not Sam.
Chapter 3
The town was quaint, composed of streets wide and clean, with gardens placed strategically on street corners. The single-unit stores were lined demurely, modest rather than over-advertised. A tall man walked the swept sidewalk, polite locals nodding their heads as they made eye contact. A young woman, no more than twenty-five or so, knocked his shoulder as she was heading in the opposite direction and apologised profusely before heading on her way with a wide grin.
The man reached a crossing, waiting patiently with the other pedestrians for the green light. Just opposite, he spotted ‘Dress and Disguise’, and grinned. Once allowed passage he made his way directly into the vibrant shop, a bell announcing his arrival. Cerulean eyes scanned the store, taking in the costumes assembled on racks and hung on every wall. Higher up there were shelves of masks, funny or fearsome, as well as hats. To his immediate right were accessories, and to the right of that was a cluttered counter. Toward this his feet took him, looking at the many pairs of lashes, contacts and nails available. Beneath the glass counter-top were jewels, large and small, some connected to chains.
“Won’ be a moment!” a strained voice called from an unknown location. The man’s eyes rolled from side to side, trying to locate the source. There was the thud of a bat being put down, and then a small section of the wall swung forward to reveal a doorway hidden behind costume hangings.
From this secret door came a man no taller than five and a half feet. He was dressed in an odd assortment of clothes, comprised of a maroon suit embroidered in an elaborate gold design. Beneath that were a maroon shirt and a silk, gold tie. The man was balding severely; however the circular glasses dressed his head well, the thin gold frames glinting equally as much as the gold chain hanging behind his ears.
“Ah, hello sir! After anything in particular today? Something for a special occasion?”
“Oh, I’m just exploring,” the customer mused, his mouth twisting into a smile. The man behind the counter reflected the sentiment enthusiastically with, “Oh yes, yes of course. Well let me know if you see anything of interest. We have a very wide selection for all your celebratory needs.”
The shopkeeper watched as this gentleman remained in place, simply looking around, rather non-committal. He wasn’t sure of whether to offer further assistance, settling for polite conversation.
“Good fellow, are you new in town? I don’t believe I’ve seen you before, and I’m very good with faces,” he winked.
“Simply passing through,” a light voice replied. He twisted his head back to the counter, and the shopkeeper’s face paled as he stumbled backwards into a coat rack.
The man’s eyes shone white, glazing over inhumanly. The store owner made to leave, but his posture stiffened and his eyes flew wide with a sharp intake of breath. A tear of blood formulated in the corner of his right eye, falling in a perfect line down his face. A second traced the red streak as his left eye followed suit. Blood foamed at the mouth, the store owner’s throat clogged and gurgling as he attempted to breathe. His knees buckled and he came crashing down, blood pooling beneath his head. His fingers twitched as the life bled out of him, soon falling still.
Lucifer tipped his head in pleasure, smirking before he exited the store.
***
Dean and Bobby were pushing forty-five hours sleepless, eyes aching. They had made their way through a substantial amount of the library, hell-bent on a solution. Dean felt his body protesting consciousness, but pushed himself on regardless, for Sam. He had to save Sam; Dean wasn’t going to let his brother die, not even for Lucifer.
Forehead throbbing as the creases began to feel permanent, Dean used the pain to keep himself awake. Over in the living room, Chuck was snoring deeply on the lounge, his face half-buried in a cushion that released dust particles at every exhale. Just behind him was the window, and beneath the moonlight was a solid silhouette standing solitary in the yard. In its hand Dean could see Lucifer’s blade. Clenching his teeth and slamming down his book, Dean stormed out of the house. Bobby jumped at the thud and Chuck roused from his snooze, all eyes watching Dean as he headed out the door.
Castiel’s eyes were sad and regretful, and had Dean cared to notice this, he would have realised he’d never seen such emotion playing on an angel’s face.
“Have you found your solution?” he asked, and this only infuriated Dean more. The question made it clear that Castiel knew well they had found nothing.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Dean - I’m sorry. It’s the only way.”
“You listen to me-”
“Dean-”
“-I don’t care if this is God’s will or plan. I don’t care if He comes down here Himself. If He’s not happy, He’s gonna have to kill me, because I’m not following His supposed orders anymore.”
Bobby and Chuck had come out into the yard, Chuck’s eyes flickering nervously between Dean and his own hands. Castiel tipped his head to look around Dean and at the prophet.
“Chuck.”
Flinching under his name, Chuck released a squeaky sound from his throat to acknowledge that he knew what Castiel was asking. Dean’s hard eyes waited for Chuck to speak.
“I-I had a dream. Another one of my... prophecies.”
“And?” Castiel probed knowingly.
Chuck looked up at Dean, his hands shaking and mouth hanging slightly open.
“I-” he looked at Dean. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Dean pressed, becoming angrier at the suspense.
“It’s Sam. He... he was Lucifer. And you-you-”
“I what, Chuck?”
“... Stabbed him.”
Castiel dropped his eyes, staring silently at the ground. Chuck appeared to be both apologetic and terrified of what Dean would do to him. Bobby’s mouth was gaping, muted against his absence of suggestion.
Dean’s eyes bored deeply into Chuck’s. On the outside he had hardened, however inside his heart was beating without rhythm and his stomach was still falling. It had been a hard truth coming, and Dean had even suspected those very words, but to hear it was a blow nonetheless.
“You’re wrong,” he said finally, raising his chin slightly to look further down at Chuck. Nobody had the courage to reiterate to Dean that denying a prophecy would not erase destiny.
“It’s what I saw,” Chuck uttered in barely more than a whisper, his shaking hands grasping each other for support. Dean looked over to Castiel, whose face was bordering pity.
“Dean-”
“Don’t you go on about how you can’t change divine prophecy. Don’t you...” he trailed off, catching himself before his voice broke. Castiel took a step towards him. Dean steeled himself, his eyes meeting the angel. “Don’t you dare.”
“Chuck’s visions are absolute.” He spoke in a low voice.
“I’ve had just about all I can take from visions in my lifetime.”
“It’s the only way. I am sorry-”
“Don’t you apologise to me - don’t speak like Sam’s already...” He stopped mid-sentence again, turning to face the horizon.
“I may be able to...” Castiel began slowly, his eyebrows high in a musing state, though his voice didn’t reflect it. “To bring your brother back. If there’s enough human left in him.”
This didn’t necessarily console nor encourage Dean. There was no guarantee that Castiel would be able to save Sam, and Dean wasn’t willing to risk the mess of deals his family had been burdened with for what he now knew had been his whole life.
“You don’t know that,” he told Castiel, walking over to sit himself down on a car hood. When seated, he picked up Lucifer’s sword and fingered the hilt slowly. “How do you know this blade isn’t so powerful that it overrides your mojo? I mean it’s supposed to kill angels. Maybe it’s greater than all your damn powers.”
“Dean, angels and humans... they don’t live by the same rules. That which is directed at a human’s mortality will have no affect on an angel. And vice versa,” he added.
“Cas has a point, Dean,” Bobby sighed, grimacing at the very thought of himself resigning to this. “There’s lore of weapons being made specifically to address certain creatures. If this knife is made to destroy an angel at its core, it could be possible to bring back a human, since it wasn’t necessarily the mortal in Sam that it was being directed toward.”
As Bobby spoke, Dean kept his eyes on Castiel. The angel wore a blank face, now void of even pity. It was as if the emotional reservoir he possessed, however shallow, had been emptied in the face of the apocalypse.
Bobby let the dusty volume in his hand fall to the bench beside himself. “Dean, it doesn’t look like we’ve got much choice here. We’ve been researching for hours and there ain’t no way of getting Lucifer out of Sam’s meat suit before icing him-”
“I’m not killing my brother!” Dean roared, silencing Bobby and making Chuck jump two feet in the air.
“Then you condemn this world to its end,” Castiel said, his voice defiant. For the first time since their first meeting, Castiel appeared to Dean as a greater being than he.
Chuck took a swig from his fresh bottle, his hands shaking so aggressively that some alcohol spilled onto the dirt at his feet. Eyes squeezed shut, Dean felt the salty build up of tears, but tried not to let them spill out. It would be Cold Oak all over again, he thought with clenched fists. Only this time, Sam’s death would be at his own hands.
“Dean-” Bobby began, but he was cut off.
“Just! ... Just...” Dean clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to explode all over Bobby for merely supporting this lunacy. The man knew how important Sam was to him. Yet another part of Dean reiterated that yes, Bobby did understand Sam’s worth to Dean, and despite that he still believed this was their only hope.
Dean thought back to his father’s orders about Sam.
He said that I had to... save you.
And that if I couldn’t, I’d... I’d have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.
Had John known this much? Could he have worked out Yellow-Eyes’ plan to this extent? Dean had fought his father’s instructions for a long time, and now it had come to this: Sammy carrying the Devil inside of him.
Fist balling tighter, he held it up over his forehead, pressing it into the skin. Thumping it down furiously on the fender beneath him, he yelled loudly, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. Castiel merely bowed his solemn head with: “We will do all we can to save Sam.”
Chuck looked queasy at the idea of facing Lucifer in combat, and Bobby pulled his cap down to hide the emotion welling in his eyes. It was no easy feat for him to reach this conclusion either.
Dean stood up rather rapidly, causing Chuck and Bobby to jump. Game face on, Dean suppressed the cyclone in his chest and approached Castiel.
“So how do we do this?”
Chapter 4