Possession (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 6 of 6)
Title: Possession (Los Desaparecidos, Chapter 6 of 6)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (yup); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 6,500 this chapter, ~30,000 total
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then on day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: Did I say six chapters? I SAID SIX CHAPTERS. Oh and Crowley's song this chapter (it's just a snippet) is based on and old Cole Porter tune, "My Heart Belongs to Daddy."
“Boys,” came Crowley's voice, “that most assuredly isn't your father.”
Dean, his skin crawling, whirled around to look at the demon. “Then … what is it?”
John Winchester - or at least something that resembled John Winchester - had walked out into the light. No, that wasn't Dean's dad. It was definitely not Dean's dad, although Dean wasn't quite sure why. He had been just a kid when John had taken off. But the expression just wasn't quite right. The posture just wasn't quite right.
Something walking … in Dad's body.
Dean shuddered. He glanced to Sam at his side. His brother looked perplexed.
“Sammy! Aren’t you looking well?” the John thing said. And suddenly Dean was standing in front of Sam. “And little Dean. Still as protective as ever?”
“Crowley,” said Dean. “What the hell is this?”
“Hello, brother,” said Castiel quietly.
“Oh good god, they sent you?” asked John. He made a flicking motion with his fingers. Like flicking a booger, Dean thought, and Cas went flying back, smashing into the wall with a sickening thud.
“Cas!” Dean was running to where Castiel had just fallen. The impact probably would have injured or even killed a human, but Castiel was picking himself up, albeit slowly.
“Perhaps the man upstairs doesn't think as much of you as you think of you, Lucifer,” purred Crowley.
“Crowley,” said Lucifer turning now to the demon. “And how the hell did a crappy little crossroads demon get involved? Oh, I get it. You got them the book,” he said, pointing at the crumbling spell book Sam was still clutching. At Lucifer’s gesture, the book blew up in flames. Sam gasped and stepped back, watching as red and orange ashes fluttered to the floor.
“Well. Lucky I didn't offer them a money back warranty on it,” said Crowley.
But Dean was squinting at Lucifer. Now that he was out in the light, Dean could see he looked like he had some kind of skin disease. There were some angry red patches visible on the skin of his face and neck. “Did our dad forget to wear suntan oil or something?” he whispered to Castiel as he helped the angel stand.
“His vessel is cracking,” Castiel whispered back. “Not many human vessels may contain an entity as strong as Lucifer.”
“Are you up again already, little Castiel?” Lucifer shouted over. He gestured, wiggling his fingers like a puppeteer. “Maybe I should have you dance for us?”
“Better than making Crowley sing,” Castiel shot back as, still shaky, he held on to Dean’s shoulder.
“I shouldn't mind singing for you, old friend,” Crowley told Lucifer, strolling over to stand between Lucifer and the angel. “Here’s an oldie but goodie. I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he grinned. And then in a fine strong Irish tenor (for whose voice he’d had to trade for a whole lot of very fine, free range unicorn haunch, though it had been worth it), Crowley began to sing.
“If I invite
A girl some night
To dine on my fine candied cherries....”
Lucifer’s stared at Crowley.
“I just adore
Her asking for more
But my heart belongs to …
Mary.”
The room went silent.
Lucifer blinked, and for just for an instant, he looked like John Winchester as he whispered, ”Mary.” He was silent for a moment.
There was a soft rustling sound. “You know where she is, demon?” Lucifer was suddenly right in front of Crowley now, nose to nose, glowering.
“Oh, my goodness gracious. You mean your wife’s immortal soul didn’t make it down to your domain?” asked Crowley with studied casualness. “Rather terrible record keeping in Hell these days,” he scoffed. “Not like the good old days!”
Lucifer leaned in. “Where is she?”
“Am I smelling a bargain?” asked Crowley, cocking up the eyebrow on his good eye.
“Give her to me and maybe I won’t pluck out that other eye and feed it to you,” snarled Satan.
“Unfortunately for you, my brother,” said Castiel, “currently only Crowley is privy to information regarding Mary Winchester’s whereabouts.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” asked Lucifer, rounding on Castiel.
“There are two reasons: one, Crowley is a masochist, who enjoys pain.”
“Sad but true! Beat me, beat me black and blue!” grinned Crowley, winking at Lucifer, who actually cringed back.
“And secondly, he is also a sadist, who would enjoy it if you tried threatening any of the rest of us,” explained Castiel.
“Oooo, yes! Will your start with the big one?” urged Crowley, pointing to Dean. “I would enjoy hearing him squeal a bit.”
“What?” said Sam. “OWWWW!” he yelled, doubling over as Crowley waved at him.
“Crowley,” said Dean. “Quit it, you son of a bitch.”
“That I am. That I am,” mused Crowley.
“You touch a hair of any of us, Lucifer, and I guarantee you will never find her,” Castiel told him. “You let us go, now … and maybe we can arrange something.”
“How can I trust you?” Lucifer asked Castiel.
“You can't,” Castiel told him.
“That's the beauty of it,” smiled Crowley. “We're all a bunch of vicious cunts!”
Lucifer leaned forward, glaring at Crowley. “Twenty-four hours. Starting now. If I do not see Mary, then I can literally say, there will be hell to pay.”
Crowley smiled.
Dean felt Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then he was back at Bobby's compound, along with Cas and Sam and Crowley.
“That is one dumb angelic motherfucker,” grumbled Crowley, wiping off his lapels.
“Crowley. You know where our mom is?” asked Dean.
“No one knows where your mother's soul is, Dean,” said Cas gently.
“Least of all, me,” grinned Crowley.
Dean stared at the two creatures. “You guys were bluffing? With the devil?” he added, his voice breaking.
“Wellllll, no so much bluffing,” said Crowley, “as lying to his nasty little angel face.” Crowley looked over at Castiel. “No offense, Cassie.”
Castiel leapt over to Crowley, where he began choking him. “Do not call me Cassie,” he told the demon.
“Whoa! Whoa! Boys! Break it up!” said Dean, who heedlessly jumped in to pull the angel off the demon.
“It is highly offensive to address an angel by a diminutive!” Castiel told Dean. He was shaking with rage, although he had at least stopped choking Crowley.
“Cas. Sticks and stones,” soothed Dean.
“What does that fucking tits mean?” growled Castiel.
“Um,” said Dean, who was now struggling not to laugh.
“Words,” said Sam. “He means it's just words, Cas. Playground taunts.”
“Holy shit, where have you guys been!” hollered Bobby, who was running out towards the little group. “Your spell worked like gangbusters, but then you guys disappeared on us!”
“Uh, visiting a friend. And by that I mean visiting a loathsome sack of shit,” spat Crowley, who was still rubbing his neck.
“Bobby,” said Castiel softly. “We’ve seen my brother. My, um, older brother.” He put a hand on the old hunter's arm.
Bobby glowered, striking off Castiel's hand. “Lucifer. I ever get my hands on him....” He was shaking.
“Well, thanks to our brilliant non-scheme, you've got 24 hours, and then he gets his hands on us. All of us,” said Crowley.
“Where's the book?” asked Bobby. “It vanished when you boys did.
“It's turned to charcoal. Not even that,” said Dean.
“Brother dear zapped it,” grumbled Crowley. “And it had such a fine resale value.”
“You mean we lost the damn demon banishing book?” said Bobby. “And Satan's coming for us? Maybe it's just me, but it seems we're kinda screwed.”
“You remember the magic recipe, Bobby?” asked Sam.
“Well, yeah, but you need to chant the Latin crap too,” said Bobby.
Sam began chanting in Latin.
“What?” said Bobby.
“Photographic memory,” grinned Sam, pointing to his head.
“Wait, does that trick work in Latin too?” asked Dean.
“Why wouldn't it work in Latin?” asked Sam.
“You're a scary dude,” said Dean.
“That will work for banishing Lucifer's legions, but not for him,” said Castiel. “Remember, he is an angel, like me.”
“You got a plan, kid?” asked Bobby.
Castiel glanced at the barn, and then back at Bobby. “Yes. I think so.”
“You're feeling OK? No after effects?” Dean asked Jo as she crowded into her mother's pickup truck.
“I feel great. I told Mom I could stay with you guys.”
“You're gonna be nowhere near, young lady,” scolded Ellen, who was busily tossing items in the truck bed.
Jo pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Look. Dean. I'm not real clear what I said or did when I was possessed....”
“Like you said, you were possessed,” smiled Dean.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
Dean leaned forward and gave her a peck on the forehead.
“You ready to go?” Ellen asked Jo.
“Yeah, Mom.”
“We'll talk again,” Dean told her. “That's a promise.”
Jo smiled and slid up into the cab.
“You be careful, hear?” Ellen told Dean.
“Ellen, can I ask you one thing,” said Dean, coming around her side of the pickup. Ellen nodded. “What happened between Lucifer and Bobby?” he said softly.
Ellen sighed and leaned back against the truck. “You know his wife, Karen, passed away?”
“I didn't even know he was married,” said Dean.
Ellen shook her head. “He never talks about her. There isn't even a picture around any more. But he puts her death on Lucifer.”
Dean nodded. “I didn’t know.”
Ellen shrugged, and jumped into the driver's seat. “He may talk to you. You are John's boy.” She started the truck, and then they were off, Dean standing in the driveway, deep in thought.
It didn't take Dean long to find Bobby. To Dean's surprise, Bobby and Castiel were standing in the barn, having a quiet conversation. Castiel nodded and departed, and then Bobby stood alone.
“You know, you can never really trust an angel,” Bobby told Dean.
“Bobby, Ellen told me about Karen,” said Dean.
Bobby suddenly looked about ten years older. “She tell you what happened?”
“No,” said Dean. “You wanna tell me?”
“It was right after they took your dad,” said Bobby. “It was clear what was coming. So I took off. A lot of us - me, Rufus, Ellen - the old hunters, we run off and hid.
“But I left Karen. This life was never for her. I thought she'd be safe. I was a dumb shit.
“I got the word, so I come back home. Possessed.” Bobby was silent for a while. “Rufus, he tried to help me get it out. We.... We didn't do so well. We....” He shook his head.
“She didn't survive?”
“Happens more often than not. No matter how good a spell, and how experienced an exorcist you got. Possession just rips the heart out of you. It did of her. She was always … sensitive.”
“Lucifer, huh?” asked Dean.
Bobby shook his head, sadness now flared to anger. “What the hell is their old man thinking? God. Letting those things reign on the earth?”
“Cas tells me no one up there has talked to Him. God. Not for a long time.”
“Bastard run out on us, huh? Well, I tell you something, Dean. He may have deserted us, but He's not gonna get me to run off. I'm gonna stand and fight for what's mine. This time.”
Dean nodded. “Bobby. You think there's anything of our dad … left in there?”
“Well, if Cas and Crowley can use your mom to bait him, yeah, there's traces. But you know, angels ain't demons. They run a little hot to use a human body, so I understand. No telling even if you banished the bastard back to the pearly gates that John would still be in there. And.... There's another thing about angels running your body. Dunno if Cas told you, but the rules are, they can't just hop in and take over, like a demon will.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“It works like vampires,” said Bobby. “You gotta let 'em in.”
Dean frowned. “Dad … let Satan in.”
“That’s about the size of it. I’m sure it wasn’t entirely willingly. But, yes.”
Dean nodded sadly.
“Anyway. I gotta go finalize plans. With Cas,” said Bobby, excusing himself. “But you remember one thing, boy. You watch over those you love. Don't let 'em out of your sight.”
“I will, Bobby,” said Dean, watching him go. “I will.”
The demon squinted at Bobby's hand-written list and sighed. “This human has the worst handwriting I believe in the known universe.”
“How the fuck do you lose someone's soul, Crowley?” asked Sam.
Crowley legged down the ladder in the dusty storeroom, holding a box. “Easy, if you're a bloody idiot. For which I think the current King of Hell qualifies.” He pointed at the box and the top popped off, and then stuck some careful fingers inside. “Hmmm,” he said, placing a round, jelly-like object in front of his eyepatch. “A little eye of newt. Never hurts, and adds the loveliest aroma.” He tossed back the newt eye and refixed the lid, and then handed the box over to Sam.
“They really don't know where our mom went?” asked Sam.
“Believe me, if I knew, I would be out dealing, and not stuck in a dusty storeroom trying to decipher Bobby singer's Beelzebub scratching. When I am installed, things shall be run like a fine timepiece!”
“Isn't that against the point?” asked Sam reasonably.
“What?”
“I thought the point of hell was supposed to be chaotic,” said Sam.
“You're obviously a man who likes order. A man who wants to know where his dear mammy's soul is located. For you, hell would be chaotic,” offered Crowley.
“We all have a personal hell?”
“Ah. You are catching on,” said Crowley.
“So, if by some miracle....”
“Don't think we're in for one of those today, mate, if what Cassie says about his dear old daddy is true.”
“If we manage to overcome Lucifer today, you're just going to march into hell and take over?” asked Sam.
“Well, in a sense....” hedged Crowley. “I have access to many things. Weapons. Charms. Amulets. King of the Crossroads?” he said, pointing to himself and starting a little tap dance. “They might prove handy. In a fight.” He peered at Bobby's list, and then looked up at Sam. “Say, by the way, now I recollect, I have come across an object which may be of interest. To you. And your brother.”
“An object?” said Sam.
“Something of your father's,” grinned Crowley.
“Yep. That's a damn good plan, Cas,” said Bobby, offering over a splash of his flask. They were leaning against the counter in Bobby's kitchen.
Castiel frowned and held out his shot glass. “Thank you, Bobby.”
“You realize you'll die,” Bobby told him. “Horribly.”
Cas tossed back the drink. He nodded.
“You are one brave little motherfucker, I'll give you that,” said Bobby.
“I am the Winchester's guardian. It is my job,” said Castiel determinedly. “There is one other matter,” he told Bobby. “Lucifer wears John Winchester as his vessel.”
“Yeah,” said Bobby, cringing. “That sucks. Bastard. Dean was asking me about getting him out of there. But I told him the truth, I don't think it's possible.”
“I would agree. The vessel - John Winchester's body - is now failing him. Even Dean noticed this.”
Bobby nodded. “Maybe it's for the best,” he sighed.
“There is more. I think Lucifer is seeking out someone else in the Winchester bloodline to take its place.”
“Shit, Cas. You're saying he wants to wear Sam. Or Dean?” said Bobby.
“Yes. I think so. They are of the same bloodline, so may suit his needs. There are few humans would would suit me as a vessel,” said Castiel, holding out his hands, “and even fewer could contain such a powerful archangel.”
“We can't let him do that,” said Bobby, shaking his head.
“He would need consent, of course. He cannot possess them. But as you understand, it's not difficult for a being like him to force such a thing.”
“Yeah.”
“So that is another reason why this must be done as soon as possible,” said Castiel, standing up straight to go. “Thank you for the liquor, Bobby,” he said. He looked thoughtful, and then awkwardly stuck out his hand.
Bobby smiled, and then reached out to shake Castiel's hand. “It's been an honor,” he said.
Castiel nodded.
“And Cas,” said Bobby. “About your big plans for Lucy?”
Castiel smiled. “You know it is a great insult to call him that?”
Bobby smiled back. “Just one question before you go. Does Dean know?”
Castiel looked sad. “No. And you will do me the favor … to not tell him? Nor Sam?”
“No. Of course not,” smiled Bobby. “I won't need to.”
“Oh. Why not?”
Bobby grinned, rubbing at the bandage that wrapped around his forearm.
“Did you injure yourself, Bobby?” asked Castiel, tilting his head at the bandage. “Oh. Oh no!”
Bobby grinned and yanked open a cupboard door. Then before Castiel could stop him, he slammed a hand on the Enochian warding signed he'd scrawled inside, written in his own blood.
There was a whooshing sound, and a burst of light.
And Castiel was gone.
“Ha! Who's got bad handwriting. Huh?” grinned Bobby. “OK, got the dumb angel, now for the dumb demon. Hey, Crowley! Get yer bitch ass in here.”
“You two got everything you need?” asked Bobby, sticking his head into the bunker's interior room.
“Looks like,” said Dean, who was looking puzzled at the packet of cobwebs he'd gotten stuck to his fingers.
“Ain't exactly glamorous, is it?” laughed Bobby, who moved over to help Dean.
“It's awesome!” said Sam.
“Uh, my brother thinks he's back in biology lab. He's kind of a geek,” explained Dean.
“This is really cool, Bobby,” gushed Sam, who was busily arranging powders and potions in an array around him.
“Boy's a natural, huh?” asked Bobby. “Well, your pop would have been proud I think.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, Sam smiling shyly, Dean grinning openly.
“Hey, Bobby, is there a reason why we need to do the spell down in here?” asked Dean. “I mean, we don't have a demon to exorcise,” he said, pointing to the empty chair in the middle of the devil's trap.
“You two idjits will be safer in here,” said Bobby.
“Safer from what exactly?” asked Sam.
“From what I'm about to do,” said Bobby, slamming the door shut.
Sam and Dean looked at each other. And then as one they looked towards the door as they heard the sound of a lock clicking.
“Dean!” shouted Sam.
Dean had already thrown his body against the door. “Shit! He's locked us in! Son of a bitch!”
“Wait. Wait,” said Sam, now digging into the hem of his shirt. He pulled out a pick.
“You still carry one of those?” asked Dean.
“Heh. I always carry two,” said Sam, now attacking the first lock. “Guess I picked up something from dad.”
“Just, hurry, OK?” said Dean.
Twenty-four hours, on the dot, from when he had made the deal with the ratty little party of Crowley, Castiel, Dean and Sam, Lucifer set foot on Bobby's compound.
Lucifer was a punctual creature.
He whistled as he walked across the rich farmland, imagining the terrain all up in flames, as he intended to leave it.
And he had another mission now. John Winchester’s offspring had grown up tall and strong. He fully expected to leave the compound today clad in a glorious new vessel. And he was now planning for the future. Given that Crowley could turn up Mary’s soul - maybe not today, or tomorrow, but Lucifer was a patient creature - he now had the potential to keep breeding nice, strong new vessels.
Why hadn’t anyone thought of it before? Angels were such stupid creatures. Lucifer spared a sigh for his idiotic brethren.
“Hey. Lucy!”
Lucifer whirled around. “Bobby Singer?” he asked, John Winchester's face forming into a frown, but Bobby had disappeared into a structure. Some kind of horrible little farmhouse.
Oh, this would be fun. Whatever sly trap these stumblebums thought they had laid for him, he would outsmart them, and then maybe get a few centuries of fun torturing them to death. Again and again and again. And again.
He paused just outside the entrance to the barn, wondering where his brother, Castiel, had gotten to. He didn't feel the little angel's presence. Probably had conjured up a fine grain of sense, and flown the coop. That was all right. Lucifer spared a moment to consider the pleasure he would have hunting down the little bastard. His skin would make a fine trophy. Maybe he would have Dean Winchester flay him? That would be perfect.
Once Lucifer had settled comfortably into Sam's body, that would be perfect.
So many plans!
Lucifer entered the barn, and was surprised to see Bobby Singer standing alone. That was a slight surprise. He hadn't at all expected to see the soul of Mary Winchester. No, not really. Lucifer wasn't stupid, after all. But he had expected that any plot would include the bunch of them, the better for him, to capture them all at once.
“Well well well! All alone today? Where is everyone else?” asked Lucifer. “Are you going to answer? Or should I torture it out of you? Your choice, really.” And he grinned.
Bobby simply smiled and yanked on a dusty tarp.
The canvas slid down to reveal stacks upon stacks of shiny tanks. There was quite an impressive stockpile, right up to the barn's high ceiling.
“What's that? Your moonshine?” sighed Lucifer. “A last toast for the sad old drunk?”
One of the tanks at the bottom was leaking pretty badly. There was a pool of oil collecting underneath.
Very familiar oil.
Lucifer paused. And sniffed.
John Winchester's heart beat slightly faster.
“Is that...?” asked Lucifer.
“Fuck you, Lucy,” said Bobby, lighting the match.
The ignition, they later said, could be heard all the way into the next county. Holy oil lights up strong and fast, and burns for an eternity.
The barn was almost instantly a column of flame, stretching heavenwards.
Dean was running, Sam hot on his heels. “Took you long enough to pick those fucking locks,” breathed Dean.
“I'm outta practice!” Sam protested.
“What the fuck?” asked Dean, stopping short, throwing a hand up over his face against the inferno.
“Deep fried Lucifer, boys,” Crowley shouted down from the porch.
“Is that holy oil fire?” asked Dean.
“An entire lifetime's stock,” said Crowley sadly. “Although I couldn't have thought of a better use for it. Also, I am saddened to report, your friend Bobby is in there as well. Was in there, rather.”
“Shit,” said Sam.
Dean felt the tears coming. “Crowley. Was Cas in there too?”
“Your boyfriend is nowhere near,” said Crowley. “Thanks to, I assume, a little prank from the late Bobby Singer.”
Dean's heart, which he felt breaking, now beat again. “Where is he?” asked Dean.
Crowley sighed. “First I shall need some assistance. One of Bobby Singer's last mortal acts was to confine me under a cleverly concealed devil's trap painted on top of his porch. Can one of you boys kindly fetch up a ladder? And a spot of paint remover?”
Dean glanced over at Castiel, huddled in the passenger seat, for the hundredth time. Crowley had warned him to take a blanket along, but hadn't specified why. Cas had somehow landed, bare ass naked, up in a tree, about 20 miles from Bobby's compound.
He had been very disoriented too, so it had taken Dean a little time and some comforting words to urge him down. Dean shook his head. Cas was supposed to be a heavenly general, but Dean couldn't help thinking of a kitten caught up in a tree.
As they came nearer the compound, and the conflagration that was once the barn became visible, Cas seemed to snap out of it. He stared at the flames, entranced. As soon as Dean brought the car to a halt, he was scrambling out of the passenger seat and running towards the barn.
“Cas! Don't! It's dangerous!” yelled Dean.
But Cas stopped, evidently repelled by the great heat, and sank to his knees, hugging the blanket around himself.
Dean sat down beside him on the grass, even though it was too damned hot.
“We should get back, or we'll get our asses fried,” said Dean gently.
Castiel was weeping. “I should not feel this way, Dean. Lucifer was my brother. I should mourn him. I do not. I miss Bobby, though.” He put a hand up on his heart. “And he was only a human.”
“Lucifer was a dick. You're doing it right. C'mon Cas, you know it's right. You know it.”
“Wow!”
Dean turned at the sound of Rufus' voice. The roaring holy oil had concealed the sound of his pickup pulling up. Dean noticed that there were now several vehicles in the driveway, as some of the hunters Bobby had banished were making their way back. They had left Sam to broadcast the all clear signal to everyone.
“That's Bobby?” asked Rufus.
“And Lucifer. Yeah,” said Dean.
Dean felt the whiskey bottle in his hands. He took a pull, and then read the label. Craig. He passed it over to Castiel, who looked confused for a moment, but then drank as well.
“I brought the good stuff. This is a hunter's funeral, you know,” said Rufus. “We burn our own. And the biggest son of bitch gets the biggest pyre, I guess.” He grabbed the bottle when Castiel handed it up. “REST IN PEACE, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!” Rufus shouted, and then he hurled the whiskey bottle into the barn, where it shattered.
“Oh, sparing the good stuff?” asked Crowley, who was one of a group that was slowly gathering around. “I would have suggested marshmallows, but,” he held out his hand, which now held another fifth of Craig.
“Never thought I'd be spending Bobby's funeral drinking with a demon,” said Rufus as Crowley offered the bottle.
Crowley grinned up at the pyre, warming his hands. “You, sir, are sharing a drink with the soon to be crowned King of Hell.”
“Crowley, please do not sing,” pleaded Castiel.
Dean laughed, and reached for the bottle, but was suddenly on his feet.
Sirens.
“Is that rescue vehicles?” asked Sam, who had just made his way out to the small funeral party. “Way out here?”
Dean looked at Rufus, who was now all seriousness. “Cops,” said Dean. “That’s a cop siren.” Despite the heat of the holy oil, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.
“Dean. Did you and Sam finish the demon banishing ritual?” asked Rufus.
“No,” Dean admitted. “Bobby locked us in the bunker, and we spent our time picking the locks. Well, Sam did.”
“I thought we took out Lucifer?” said Sam. “Aren’t we done?”
“Kid,” said Rufus, “now instead of a group of angry demons under the King of Hell, we got ourselves a whole pack of leaderless angry demons.” He waved a hand at the inferno that had been Bobby’s barn. “This holy fire is probably drawing them.”
“You’re King of Hell,” Sam told Crowley. “Can’t you … reason with them?”
“Number one, admittedly, I have not quite been crowned yet,” said Crowley. “And number two … reason with a bunch of fucking demons?”
Rufus had grabbed Castiel and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, angel. We’re gonna need you. And put on some fucking pants while you’re at it.”
Castiel nodded solemnly at Rufus, and then the blanket fell to the ground, as the angel had disappeared.
“The FUCK?” said Rufus.
“He does that,” smiled Dean.
“I was getting pants,” explained Castiel, who had reappeared in back of them. Indeed he now wore a pair jeans that appeared to be a size too large for him as well as a Metallica T shirt.
“Borrowed some of yours Dean. No time to shop,” said Cas.
“That’s cool,” smiled Dean.
And Castiel now carried a small, sharp looking sword, which glinted weirdly in the holy oil fire.
“IS THAT AN ANGEL BLADE?” blithered Crowley, who rushed over to him. Castiel flicked the blade, and the point ended up right under Crowley’s chin. “You wouldn’t want to … I don’t know, discuss a trade, would you?” the demon tried as Castiel scowled at him.
“OK, let’s quit fucking around,” barked Rufus. “Winchesters, get back to the goddamn bunker and start chanting in fucking Latin. Everybody else!” he shouted at the small gathering of returned hunters. “The rest of you will help me hold them off ‘til they’re through. We’ve got booby traps, but it won’t be enough.
“Your traps are somewhat poorly concealed,” opined Castiel, casually twirling his angel sword.
“Now you tell me,” grumbled Rufus.
“Boom!” Castiel smiled wryly. “Castiel bits.”
Rufus gawped. “All right, after this shit is over, you and me, angel, we gotta talk. Now, we got armaments in the house, let’s move.”
As Sam and Dean had busted some of the bunker locks in their hurry to escape, Rufus had stationed both Crowley and Castiel outside the door, although neither had looked especially pleased about the prospect of fighting side by side. Dean imagined their partnership of convenience would not long outlast this night. Especially if Crowley began a dance routine.
Dean was in charge of mixing the ingredients, but had been quickly replaced by the fussy demon. “No no no! That’s not how you cast a spell! What do they teach you humans in school these days?” Crowley fussed.
“Oh, you know, differential equations, biogenetics,” said Sam.
“Aren’t you supposed to be outside with Cas?” Dean asked Crowley. “You know, defending us?”
“If I am risking my cursed ass over this spell, I want things done properly!” said Crowley. “Ah, there we are, eye of newt!” he said, holding the object up to his eyepatch.
“Yeah, that joke never gets old,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.
Crowley plonked the newt eye into the bowl. “Now, I think all you blighters will need to do is light up - I assume you’re experienced with that, darling Dean?” he asked.
“CROWLEY!” came Castiel’s voice from outside.
“You barked, dear?” But suddenly there was the sound of running feet, and three cops were bursting into the bunker. “Oh, crap,” muttered Crowley. “Oh, my dears,” he told the cops, walking boldly up to them. “Don’t you look lovely in basic black? But you know, one shouldn’t be afraid of color!” he assured them, tapping one under the helmet.
The cops looked confused, but then raised their weapons.
“Shit!” said Dean.
But then Castiel was there. His angel blade flashed, and then a first and a second and then a third fell to the ground.
“See, red is a nice touch,” Crowley told the fallen cops.
“Crowley!” said Castiel. “Out! Now!” And then he disappeared.
“I do love it when you’re dominant,” said Crowley. “Do try not to screw it up, boys,” he told the Winchesters. Suddenly another cop was running in to the bunker. Crowley turned and pointed to him, and the guy exploded with a pop. “I am getting very weary of this,” he said, suddenly disappearing.
“Did he just ditch us?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, can’t trust a demon,” said Dean, taking out his lighter. He struck it and ignited Crowley’s witches brew in the bowl. “Do your stuff, Sammy.”
Sam hesitated, trying to calm his beating heart, and conjuring the pages of the book in his mind. He held out a hand, as if he was casting out someone in the empty chair, and began to repeat the words. The bowl glowed, and there seemed to be a strange electrical charge in the room.
Sam flinched at the gunshot, and stole a glance to the side: Dean had just shot another demon that had got past Castiel. He kept repeating the words, willing himself to concentrate. There was another shot. And then another. Sam kept going. Dean kept firing.
“Think I’m running low, Sammy,” Dean whispered at one point. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the yellowing pages in his memory. He heard Dean curse. Out of ammo, Sam thought. There was a crunch, as Dean was obviously hitting a cop in the head with a rifle butt. And Sam still had a whole page to go.
A dog was barking. Confused, Sam opened his eyes and glanced up. There was no dog. But a cop was screaming, and he looked like he was getting ripped to pieces by an invisible force. Another demon cop turned and ran, the sound of paws thumping after him.
“That’s my good little puppy, isn’t that?” came Crowley’s voice from outside. “Good boy, Fluffy!”
Sam glanced at Dean, who urged, “Keep going. Keep going.”
The electricity in the bunker now made Sam’s hair stand on end. The fire in the bowl flared up, nearly to the ceiling.
He reached the end. As before, it was like all the sound had been sucked out of the room.
And then the blast hit. Sam and Dean were both thrown to the floor as the world shook.
And then, from outside, the sound of car alarms.
Sam and Dean looked at each other as they got up and dusted off. They emerged, blinking, from the bunker. Castiel and Crowley were sitting together on the steps, Crowley’s hand patting what looked like the world’s biggest invisible dog.
Arrayed around, a veritable black sea of dead demon cops, and yet more dazed ex-demon cops, lying on their backs, popping off helmets, looking around in confusion.
“I am sorry about your T shirt, Dean,” said Castiel. He pulled it out at the waist. It was covered in blood.
“It’s cool,” said Dean.
“Cold water for blood stains,” advised Crowley.
Sam squatted down and picked up something. It was an old tennis ball. He eyed Crowley, and then tossed the tennis ball into the air. Crowley abruptly stopped patting the air. There was the sound again of thumping paws.
“Oh, he rather likes doing that,” said Crowley approving. “But you might want to take care….”
Suddenly Sam was slammed down to the ground, a drool-coated tennis ball appearing on his chest.
Dean doubled over laughing.
It was some days later.
Dean chewed on the end of his ballpoint pen while and angel looked over his shoulder.
“What should I say I've been doing for the past four years?” he asked Castiel.
“Um,” said Cas, scanning all the empty beer bottles scattered around Dean's kitchen. “Beverage industry consultant?”
Dean laughed and scribbled it down.
“This application will secure your admission to college?” asked Castiel.
“It's only a community college. But it's a start. Criminology. And it will get Sam off my ass.”
“You don't mean literally?”
Dean answered with a smile. “And what about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” asked Castiel.
“Well, you were supposed to guide us to our destinies, right?” asked Dean, making air quotes around 'destiny.'
“Yes.”
Dean looked at Castiel, Dean's head imitating a very familiar tilt.
“Oh, well,” said Castiel. “I have, um, taken it as my mandate that I should offer further guidance.”
“Guidance,” said Dean, sitting back in his chair.
“Yes. I think you need someone in your ass! Or, um, on your ass?”
Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's tie and pulled him close for a kiss. “Either one,” he said when they finished.
“Literally?” asked Castiel.
“I hope so.” Dean peered at Castiel's chest. “Hey, is that my Metallica T shirt you've got on under there?”
Castiel grinned.
Two men stood over the sleeping woman.
There were several photos on the mantle over her bed depicting an attractive blond woman in the company of none other than Sam Winchester.
“You sure you want away with all of it, mate?” asked Crowley. “No backsies on these deals, you know.”
“All of it. Every scrap,” Sam told the demon.
Crowley nodded and waved a hand over the woman. She stirred slightly, and then settled back to sleep.
Meanwhile, the photos changed, as Sam's image faded out of each and every one.
“Goodbye, Jess,” said Sam, leaning over and kissing her forehead.
“I'd be careful if I were you. Might arrest you for a cat burglar.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two men were standing in the driveway outside Dean's darkened house.
“A cat burglar? I kinda like that,” grinned Sam. “Now, what you promised.”
Crowley held up a leather bound journal. “The notebook of John Winchester. Uh, pre-holy oil bath.”
Sam held out a hand, and Crowley slapped the book into it. Sam flipped through the pages.
“You probably know a lot of that stuff already,” said Crowley as they walked together.
“It's good because it was his,” said Sam.
“Sentiment never did anyone any good,” said Crowley. “Now, I must fly. Sure you won't pop over for a drink?”
“I am certain,” said Sam, who was still poring over the notebook. And then he was alone.
“Oh, there you are!”
Same smiled up to where his brother was standing in the front doorway, an angel in an overcoat standing beside him, looking curious.
“You ready?” asked Dean, who was walking down, flipping up his car keys.
“What's on the agenda?” asked Sam.
“Unicorns!”
“No way.”
“Way!”
“Why does Sam have difficulty believing in unicorns over other supernatural beings?” inquired Castiel.
“Cas. Get in the car.”
“All right, Dean,” said the angel, slipping into the back seat.
“Also, there's a wrecking yard I wanna check out,” Dean told Sam.
“A … wrecking yard?”
“Yeah. Something Rufus told me about. Seemed like it might make a good base of operations,” said Dean.
“Base of operations,” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Someone's gotten ambitious.”
“Hey. I got a brother and an angel to support now!” said Dean.
Castiel poked his head out of the back. “Um. Are we there yet?”
Sam grinned at Dean, and then they were all in the car, a Hendrix cassette tape jammed in the player, and out on the road.
This entry was originally posted at http://tikific.dreamwidth.org/114716.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel (yup); Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Ellen, Jo, Crowley
Warnings: AU. Cursing. Some hints of Dean/Jo, so if you loathe that pairing, steer clear.
Word Count: 6,500 this chapter, ~30,000 total
Summary: A dystopian AU where the United States is an authoritarian regime run by mysterious overlords. John Winchester disappeared when Sam and Dean were very young so the boys were not raised as hunters. Then on day Dean has a chance encounter with a strange homeless man who may be more than he seems.
Notes: Did I say six chapters? I SAID SIX CHAPTERS. Oh and Crowley's song this chapter (it's just a snippet) is based on and old Cole Porter tune, "My Heart Belongs to Daddy."
“Boys,” came Crowley's voice, “that most assuredly isn't your father.”
Dean, his skin crawling, whirled around to look at the demon. “Then … what is it?”
John Winchester - or at least something that resembled John Winchester - had walked out into the light. No, that wasn't Dean's dad. It was definitely not Dean's dad, although Dean wasn't quite sure why. He had been just a kid when John had taken off. But the expression just wasn't quite right. The posture just wasn't quite right.
Something walking … in Dad's body.
Dean shuddered. He glanced to Sam at his side. His brother looked perplexed.
“Sammy! Aren’t you looking well?” the John thing said. And suddenly Dean was standing in front of Sam. “And little Dean. Still as protective as ever?”
“Crowley,” said Dean. “What the hell is this?”
“Hello, brother,” said Castiel quietly.
“Oh good god, they sent you?” asked John. He made a flicking motion with his fingers. Like flicking a booger, Dean thought, and Cas went flying back, smashing into the wall with a sickening thud.
“Cas!” Dean was running to where Castiel had just fallen. The impact probably would have injured or even killed a human, but Castiel was picking himself up, albeit slowly.
“Perhaps the man upstairs doesn't think as much of you as you think of you, Lucifer,” purred Crowley.
“Crowley,” said Lucifer turning now to the demon. “And how the hell did a crappy little crossroads demon get involved? Oh, I get it. You got them the book,” he said, pointing at the crumbling spell book Sam was still clutching. At Lucifer’s gesture, the book blew up in flames. Sam gasped and stepped back, watching as red and orange ashes fluttered to the floor.
“Well. Lucky I didn't offer them a money back warranty on it,” said Crowley.
But Dean was squinting at Lucifer. Now that he was out in the light, Dean could see he looked like he had some kind of skin disease. There were some angry red patches visible on the skin of his face and neck. “Did our dad forget to wear suntan oil or something?” he whispered to Castiel as he helped the angel stand.
“His vessel is cracking,” Castiel whispered back. “Not many human vessels may contain an entity as strong as Lucifer.”
“Are you up again already, little Castiel?” Lucifer shouted over. He gestured, wiggling his fingers like a puppeteer. “Maybe I should have you dance for us?”
“Better than making Crowley sing,” Castiel shot back as, still shaky, he held on to Dean’s shoulder.
“I shouldn't mind singing for you, old friend,” Crowley told Lucifer, strolling over to stand between Lucifer and the angel. “Here’s an oldie but goodie. I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he grinned. And then in a fine strong Irish tenor (for whose voice he’d had to trade for a whole lot of very fine, free range unicorn haunch, though it had been worth it), Crowley began to sing.
“If I invite
A girl some night
To dine on my fine candied cherries....”
Lucifer’s stared at Crowley.
“I just adore
Her asking for more
But my heart belongs to …
Mary.”
The room went silent.
Lucifer blinked, and for just for an instant, he looked like John Winchester as he whispered, ”Mary.” He was silent for a moment.
There was a soft rustling sound. “You know where she is, demon?” Lucifer was suddenly right in front of Crowley now, nose to nose, glowering.
“Oh, my goodness gracious. You mean your wife’s immortal soul didn’t make it down to your domain?” asked Crowley with studied casualness. “Rather terrible record keeping in Hell these days,” he scoffed. “Not like the good old days!”
Lucifer leaned in. “Where is she?”
“Am I smelling a bargain?” asked Crowley, cocking up the eyebrow on his good eye.
“Give her to me and maybe I won’t pluck out that other eye and feed it to you,” snarled Satan.
“Unfortunately for you, my brother,” said Castiel, “currently only Crowley is privy to information regarding Mary Winchester’s whereabouts.”
“Why is that unfortunate?” asked Lucifer, rounding on Castiel.
“There are two reasons: one, Crowley is a masochist, who enjoys pain.”
“Sad but true! Beat me, beat me black and blue!” grinned Crowley, winking at Lucifer, who actually cringed back.
“And secondly, he is also a sadist, who would enjoy it if you tried threatening any of the rest of us,” explained Castiel.
“Oooo, yes! Will your start with the big one?” urged Crowley, pointing to Dean. “I would enjoy hearing him squeal a bit.”
“What?” said Sam. “OWWWW!” he yelled, doubling over as Crowley waved at him.
“Crowley,” said Dean. “Quit it, you son of a bitch.”
“That I am. That I am,” mused Crowley.
“You touch a hair of any of us, Lucifer, and I guarantee you will never find her,” Castiel told him. “You let us go, now … and maybe we can arrange something.”
“How can I trust you?” Lucifer asked Castiel.
“You can't,” Castiel told him.
“That's the beauty of it,” smiled Crowley. “We're all a bunch of vicious cunts!”
Lucifer leaned forward, glaring at Crowley. “Twenty-four hours. Starting now. If I do not see Mary, then I can literally say, there will be hell to pay.”
Crowley smiled.
Dean felt Cas' hand on his shoulder, and then he was back at Bobby's compound, along with Cas and Sam and Crowley.
“That is one dumb angelic motherfucker,” grumbled Crowley, wiping off his lapels.
“Crowley. You know where our mom is?” asked Dean.
“No one knows where your mother's soul is, Dean,” said Cas gently.
“Least of all, me,” grinned Crowley.
Dean stared at the two creatures. “You guys were bluffing? With the devil?” he added, his voice breaking.
“Wellllll, no so much bluffing,” said Crowley, “as lying to his nasty little angel face.” Crowley looked over at Castiel. “No offense, Cassie.”
Castiel leapt over to Crowley, where he began choking him. “Do not call me Cassie,” he told the demon.
“Whoa! Whoa! Boys! Break it up!” said Dean, who heedlessly jumped in to pull the angel off the demon.
“It is highly offensive to address an angel by a diminutive!” Castiel told Dean. He was shaking with rage, although he had at least stopped choking Crowley.
“Cas. Sticks and stones,” soothed Dean.
“What does that fucking tits mean?” growled Castiel.
“Um,” said Dean, who was now struggling not to laugh.
“Words,” said Sam. “He means it's just words, Cas. Playground taunts.”
“Holy shit, where have you guys been!” hollered Bobby, who was running out towards the little group. “Your spell worked like gangbusters, but then you guys disappeared on us!”
“Uh, visiting a friend. And by that I mean visiting a loathsome sack of shit,” spat Crowley, who was still rubbing his neck.
“Bobby,” said Castiel softly. “We’ve seen my brother. My, um, older brother.” He put a hand on the old hunter's arm.
Bobby glowered, striking off Castiel's hand. “Lucifer. I ever get my hands on him....” He was shaking.
“Well, thanks to our brilliant non-scheme, you've got 24 hours, and then he gets his hands on us. All of us,” said Crowley.
“Where's the book?” asked Bobby. “It vanished when you boys did.
“It's turned to charcoal. Not even that,” said Dean.
“Brother dear zapped it,” grumbled Crowley. “And it had such a fine resale value.”
“You mean we lost the damn demon banishing book?” said Bobby. “And Satan's coming for us? Maybe it's just me, but it seems we're kinda screwed.”
“You remember the magic recipe, Bobby?” asked Sam.
“Well, yeah, but you need to chant the Latin crap too,” said Bobby.
Sam began chanting in Latin.
“What?” said Bobby.
“Photographic memory,” grinned Sam, pointing to his head.
“Wait, does that trick work in Latin too?” asked Dean.
“Why wouldn't it work in Latin?” asked Sam.
“You're a scary dude,” said Dean.
“That will work for banishing Lucifer's legions, but not for him,” said Castiel. “Remember, he is an angel, like me.”
“You got a plan, kid?” asked Bobby.
Castiel glanced at the barn, and then back at Bobby. “Yes. I think so.”
“You're feeling OK? No after effects?” Dean asked Jo as she crowded into her mother's pickup truck.
“I feel great. I told Mom I could stay with you guys.”
“You're gonna be nowhere near, young lady,” scolded Ellen, who was busily tossing items in the truck bed.
Jo pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Look. Dean. I'm not real clear what I said or did when I was possessed....”
“Like you said, you were possessed,” smiled Dean.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
Dean leaned forward and gave her a peck on the forehead.
“You ready to go?” Ellen asked Jo.
“Yeah, Mom.”
“We'll talk again,” Dean told her. “That's a promise.”
Jo smiled and slid up into the cab.
“You be careful, hear?” Ellen told Dean.
“Ellen, can I ask you one thing,” said Dean, coming around her side of the pickup. Ellen nodded. “What happened between Lucifer and Bobby?” he said softly.
Ellen sighed and leaned back against the truck. “You know his wife, Karen, passed away?”
“I didn't even know he was married,” said Dean.
Ellen shook her head. “He never talks about her. There isn't even a picture around any more. But he puts her death on Lucifer.”
Dean nodded. “I didn’t know.”
Ellen shrugged, and jumped into the driver's seat. “He may talk to you. You are John's boy.” She started the truck, and then they were off, Dean standing in the driveway, deep in thought.
It didn't take Dean long to find Bobby. To Dean's surprise, Bobby and Castiel were standing in the barn, having a quiet conversation. Castiel nodded and departed, and then Bobby stood alone.
“You know, you can never really trust an angel,” Bobby told Dean.
“Bobby, Ellen told me about Karen,” said Dean.
Bobby suddenly looked about ten years older. “She tell you what happened?”
“No,” said Dean. “You wanna tell me?”
“It was right after they took your dad,” said Bobby. “It was clear what was coming. So I took off. A lot of us - me, Rufus, Ellen - the old hunters, we run off and hid.
“But I left Karen. This life was never for her. I thought she'd be safe. I was a dumb shit.
“I got the word, so I come back home. Possessed.” Bobby was silent for a while. “Rufus, he tried to help me get it out. We.... We didn't do so well. We....” He shook his head.
“She didn't survive?”
“Happens more often than not. No matter how good a spell, and how experienced an exorcist you got. Possession just rips the heart out of you. It did of her. She was always … sensitive.”
“Lucifer, huh?” asked Dean.
Bobby shook his head, sadness now flared to anger. “What the hell is their old man thinking? God. Letting those things reign on the earth?”
“Cas tells me no one up there has talked to Him. God. Not for a long time.”
“Bastard run out on us, huh? Well, I tell you something, Dean. He may have deserted us, but He's not gonna get me to run off. I'm gonna stand and fight for what's mine. This time.”
Dean nodded. “Bobby. You think there's anything of our dad … left in there?”
“Well, if Cas and Crowley can use your mom to bait him, yeah, there's traces. But you know, angels ain't demons. They run a little hot to use a human body, so I understand. No telling even if you banished the bastard back to the pearly gates that John would still be in there. And.... There's another thing about angels running your body. Dunno if Cas told you, but the rules are, they can't just hop in and take over, like a demon will.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“It works like vampires,” said Bobby. “You gotta let 'em in.”
Dean frowned. “Dad … let Satan in.”
“That’s about the size of it. I’m sure it wasn’t entirely willingly. But, yes.”
Dean nodded sadly.
“Anyway. I gotta go finalize plans. With Cas,” said Bobby, excusing himself. “But you remember one thing, boy. You watch over those you love. Don't let 'em out of your sight.”
“I will, Bobby,” said Dean, watching him go. “I will.”
The demon squinted at Bobby's hand-written list and sighed. “This human has the worst handwriting I believe in the known universe.”
“How the fuck do you lose someone's soul, Crowley?” asked Sam.
Crowley legged down the ladder in the dusty storeroom, holding a box. “Easy, if you're a bloody idiot. For which I think the current King of Hell qualifies.” He pointed at the box and the top popped off, and then stuck some careful fingers inside. “Hmmm,” he said, placing a round, jelly-like object in front of his eyepatch. “A little eye of newt. Never hurts, and adds the loveliest aroma.” He tossed back the newt eye and refixed the lid, and then handed the box over to Sam.
“They really don't know where our mom went?” asked Sam.
“Believe me, if I knew, I would be out dealing, and not stuck in a dusty storeroom trying to decipher Bobby singer's Beelzebub scratching. When I am installed, things shall be run like a fine timepiece!”
“Isn't that against the point?” asked Sam reasonably.
“What?”
“I thought the point of hell was supposed to be chaotic,” said Sam.
“You're obviously a man who likes order. A man who wants to know where his dear mammy's soul is located. For you, hell would be chaotic,” offered Crowley.
“We all have a personal hell?”
“Ah. You are catching on,” said Crowley.
“So, if by some miracle....”
“Don't think we're in for one of those today, mate, if what Cassie says about his dear old daddy is true.”
“If we manage to overcome Lucifer today, you're just going to march into hell and take over?” asked Sam.
“Well, in a sense....” hedged Crowley. “I have access to many things. Weapons. Charms. Amulets. King of the Crossroads?” he said, pointing to himself and starting a little tap dance. “They might prove handy. In a fight.” He peered at Bobby's list, and then looked up at Sam. “Say, by the way, now I recollect, I have come across an object which may be of interest. To you. And your brother.”
“An object?” said Sam.
“Something of your father's,” grinned Crowley.
“Yep. That's a damn good plan, Cas,” said Bobby, offering over a splash of his flask. They were leaning against the counter in Bobby's kitchen.
Castiel frowned and held out his shot glass. “Thank you, Bobby.”
“You realize you'll die,” Bobby told him. “Horribly.”
Cas tossed back the drink. He nodded.
“You are one brave little motherfucker, I'll give you that,” said Bobby.
“I am the Winchester's guardian. It is my job,” said Castiel determinedly. “There is one other matter,” he told Bobby. “Lucifer wears John Winchester as his vessel.”
“Yeah,” said Bobby, cringing. “That sucks. Bastard. Dean was asking me about getting him out of there. But I told him the truth, I don't think it's possible.”
“I would agree. The vessel - John Winchester's body - is now failing him. Even Dean noticed this.”
Bobby nodded. “Maybe it's for the best,” he sighed.
“There is more. I think Lucifer is seeking out someone else in the Winchester bloodline to take its place.”
“Shit, Cas. You're saying he wants to wear Sam. Or Dean?” said Bobby.
“Yes. I think so. They are of the same bloodline, so may suit his needs. There are few humans would would suit me as a vessel,” said Castiel, holding out his hands, “and even fewer could contain such a powerful archangel.”
“We can't let him do that,” said Bobby, shaking his head.
“He would need consent, of course. He cannot possess them. But as you understand, it's not difficult for a being like him to force such a thing.”
“Yeah.”
“So that is another reason why this must be done as soon as possible,” said Castiel, standing up straight to go. “Thank you for the liquor, Bobby,” he said. He looked thoughtful, and then awkwardly stuck out his hand.
Bobby smiled, and then reached out to shake Castiel's hand. “It's been an honor,” he said.
Castiel nodded.
“And Cas,” said Bobby. “About your big plans for Lucy?”
Castiel smiled. “You know it is a great insult to call him that?”
Bobby smiled back. “Just one question before you go. Does Dean know?”
Castiel looked sad. “No. And you will do me the favor … to not tell him? Nor Sam?”
“No. Of course not,” smiled Bobby. “I won't need to.”
“Oh. Why not?”
Bobby grinned, rubbing at the bandage that wrapped around his forearm.
“Did you injure yourself, Bobby?” asked Castiel, tilting his head at the bandage. “Oh. Oh no!”
Bobby grinned and yanked open a cupboard door. Then before Castiel could stop him, he slammed a hand on the Enochian warding signed he'd scrawled inside, written in his own blood.
There was a whooshing sound, and a burst of light.
And Castiel was gone.
“Ha! Who's got bad handwriting. Huh?” grinned Bobby. “OK, got the dumb angel, now for the dumb demon. Hey, Crowley! Get yer bitch ass in here.”
“You two got everything you need?” asked Bobby, sticking his head into the bunker's interior room.
“Looks like,” said Dean, who was looking puzzled at the packet of cobwebs he'd gotten stuck to his fingers.
“Ain't exactly glamorous, is it?” laughed Bobby, who moved over to help Dean.
“It's awesome!” said Sam.
“Uh, my brother thinks he's back in biology lab. He's kind of a geek,” explained Dean.
“This is really cool, Bobby,” gushed Sam, who was busily arranging powders and potions in an array around him.
“Boy's a natural, huh?” asked Bobby. “Well, your pop would have been proud I think.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, Sam smiling shyly, Dean grinning openly.
“Hey, Bobby, is there a reason why we need to do the spell down in here?” asked Dean. “I mean, we don't have a demon to exorcise,” he said, pointing to the empty chair in the middle of the devil's trap.
“You two idjits will be safer in here,” said Bobby.
“Safer from what exactly?” asked Sam.
“From what I'm about to do,” said Bobby, slamming the door shut.
Sam and Dean looked at each other. And then as one they looked towards the door as they heard the sound of a lock clicking.
“Dean!” shouted Sam.
Dean had already thrown his body against the door. “Shit! He's locked us in! Son of a bitch!”
“Wait. Wait,” said Sam, now digging into the hem of his shirt. He pulled out a pick.
“You still carry one of those?” asked Dean.
“Heh. I always carry two,” said Sam, now attacking the first lock. “Guess I picked up something from dad.”
“Just, hurry, OK?” said Dean.
Twenty-four hours, on the dot, from when he had made the deal with the ratty little party of Crowley, Castiel, Dean and Sam, Lucifer set foot on Bobby's compound.
Lucifer was a punctual creature.
He whistled as he walked across the rich farmland, imagining the terrain all up in flames, as he intended to leave it.
And he had another mission now. John Winchester’s offspring had grown up tall and strong. He fully expected to leave the compound today clad in a glorious new vessel. And he was now planning for the future. Given that Crowley could turn up Mary’s soul - maybe not today, or tomorrow, but Lucifer was a patient creature - he now had the potential to keep breeding nice, strong new vessels.
Why hadn’t anyone thought of it before? Angels were such stupid creatures. Lucifer spared a sigh for his idiotic brethren.
“Hey. Lucy!”
Lucifer whirled around. “Bobby Singer?” he asked, John Winchester's face forming into a frown, but Bobby had disappeared into a structure. Some kind of horrible little farmhouse.
Oh, this would be fun. Whatever sly trap these stumblebums thought they had laid for him, he would outsmart them, and then maybe get a few centuries of fun torturing them to death. Again and again and again. And again.
He paused just outside the entrance to the barn, wondering where his brother, Castiel, had gotten to. He didn't feel the little angel's presence. Probably had conjured up a fine grain of sense, and flown the coop. That was all right. Lucifer spared a moment to consider the pleasure he would have hunting down the little bastard. His skin would make a fine trophy. Maybe he would have Dean Winchester flay him? That would be perfect.
Once Lucifer had settled comfortably into Sam's body, that would be perfect.
So many plans!
Lucifer entered the barn, and was surprised to see Bobby Singer standing alone. That was a slight surprise. He hadn't at all expected to see the soul of Mary Winchester. No, not really. Lucifer wasn't stupid, after all. But he had expected that any plot would include the bunch of them, the better for him, to capture them all at once.
“Well well well! All alone today? Where is everyone else?” asked Lucifer. “Are you going to answer? Or should I torture it out of you? Your choice, really.” And he grinned.
Bobby simply smiled and yanked on a dusty tarp.
The canvas slid down to reveal stacks upon stacks of shiny tanks. There was quite an impressive stockpile, right up to the barn's high ceiling.
“What's that? Your moonshine?” sighed Lucifer. “A last toast for the sad old drunk?”
One of the tanks at the bottom was leaking pretty badly. There was a pool of oil collecting underneath.
Very familiar oil.
Lucifer paused. And sniffed.
John Winchester's heart beat slightly faster.
“Is that...?” asked Lucifer.
“Fuck you, Lucy,” said Bobby, lighting the match.
The ignition, they later said, could be heard all the way into the next county. Holy oil lights up strong and fast, and burns for an eternity.
The barn was almost instantly a column of flame, stretching heavenwards.
Dean was running, Sam hot on his heels. “Took you long enough to pick those fucking locks,” breathed Dean.
“I'm outta practice!” Sam protested.
“What the fuck?” asked Dean, stopping short, throwing a hand up over his face against the inferno.
“Deep fried Lucifer, boys,” Crowley shouted down from the porch.
“Is that holy oil fire?” asked Dean.
“An entire lifetime's stock,” said Crowley sadly. “Although I couldn't have thought of a better use for it. Also, I am saddened to report, your friend Bobby is in there as well. Was in there, rather.”
“Shit,” said Sam.
Dean felt the tears coming. “Crowley. Was Cas in there too?”
“Your boyfriend is nowhere near,” said Crowley. “Thanks to, I assume, a little prank from the late Bobby Singer.”
Dean's heart, which he felt breaking, now beat again. “Where is he?” asked Dean.
Crowley sighed. “First I shall need some assistance. One of Bobby Singer's last mortal acts was to confine me under a cleverly concealed devil's trap painted on top of his porch. Can one of you boys kindly fetch up a ladder? And a spot of paint remover?”
Dean glanced over at Castiel, huddled in the passenger seat, for the hundredth time. Crowley had warned him to take a blanket along, but hadn't specified why. Cas had somehow landed, bare ass naked, up in a tree, about 20 miles from Bobby's compound.
He had been very disoriented too, so it had taken Dean a little time and some comforting words to urge him down. Dean shook his head. Cas was supposed to be a heavenly general, but Dean couldn't help thinking of a kitten caught up in a tree.
As they came nearer the compound, and the conflagration that was once the barn became visible, Cas seemed to snap out of it. He stared at the flames, entranced. As soon as Dean brought the car to a halt, he was scrambling out of the passenger seat and running towards the barn.
“Cas! Don't! It's dangerous!” yelled Dean.
But Cas stopped, evidently repelled by the great heat, and sank to his knees, hugging the blanket around himself.
Dean sat down beside him on the grass, even though it was too damned hot.
“We should get back, or we'll get our asses fried,” said Dean gently.
Castiel was weeping. “I should not feel this way, Dean. Lucifer was my brother. I should mourn him. I do not. I miss Bobby, though.” He put a hand up on his heart. “And he was only a human.”
“Lucifer was a dick. You're doing it right. C'mon Cas, you know it's right. You know it.”
“Wow!”
Dean turned at the sound of Rufus' voice. The roaring holy oil had concealed the sound of his pickup pulling up. Dean noticed that there were now several vehicles in the driveway, as some of the hunters Bobby had banished were making their way back. They had left Sam to broadcast the all clear signal to everyone.
“That's Bobby?” asked Rufus.
“And Lucifer. Yeah,” said Dean.
Dean felt the whiskey bottle in his hands. He took a pull, and then read the label. Craig. He passed it over to Castiel, who looked confused for a moment, but then drank as well.
“I brought the good stuff. This is a hunter's funeral, you know,” said Rufus. “We burn our own. And the biggest son of bitch gets the biggest pyre, I guess.” He grabbed the bottle when Castiel handed it up. “REST IN PEACE, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!” Rufus shouted, and then he hurled the whiskey bottle into the barn, where it shattered.
“Oh, sparing the good stuff?” asked Crowley, who was one of a group that was slowly gathering around. “I would have suggested marshmallows, but,” he held out his hand, which now held another fifth of Craig.
“Never thought I'd be spending Bobby's funeral drinking with a demon,” said Rufus as Crowley offered the bottle.
Crowley grinned up at the pyre, warming his hands. “You, sir, are sharing a drink with the soon to be crowned King of Hell.”
“Crowley, please do not sing,” pleaded Castiel.
Dean laughed, and reached for the bottle, but was suddenly on his feet.
Sirens.
“Is that rescue vehicles?” asked Sam, who had just made his way out to the small funeral party. “Way out here?”
Dean looked at Rufus, who was now all seriousness. “Cops,” said Dean. “That’s a cop siren.” Despite the heat of the holy oil, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.
“Dean. Did you and Sam finish the demon banishing ritual?” asked Rufus.
“No,” Dean admitted. “Bobby locked us in the bunker, and we spent our time picking the locks. Well, Sam did.”
“I thought we took out Lucifer?” said Sam. “Aren’t we done?”
“Kid,” said Rufus, “now instead of a group of angry demons under the King of Hell, we got ourselves a whole pack of leaderless angry demons.” He waved a hand at the inferno that had been Bobby’s barn. “This holy fire is probably drawing them.”
“You’re King of Hell,” Sam told Crowley. “Can’t you … reason with them?”
“Number one, admittedly, I have not quite been crowned yet,” said Crowley. “And number two … reason with a bunch of fucking demons?”
Rufus had grabbed Castiel and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, angel. We’re gonna need you. And put on some fucking pants while you’re at it.”
Castiel nodded solemnly at Rufus, and then the blanket fell to the ground, as the angel had disappeared.
“The FUCK?” said Rufus.
“He does that,” smiled Dean.
“I was getting pants,” explained Castiel, who had reappeared in back of them. Indeed he now wore a pair jeans that appeared to be a size too large for him as well as a Metallica T shirt.
“Borrowed some of yours Dean. No time to shop,” said Cas.
“That’s cool,” smiled Dean.
And Castiel now carried a small, sharp looking sword, which glinted weirdly in the holy oil fire.
“IS THAT AN ANGEL BLADE?” blithered Crowley, who rushed over to him. Castiel flicked the blade, and the point ended up right under Crowley’s chin. “You wouldn’t want to … I don’t know, discuss a trade, would you?” the demon tried as Castiel scowled at him.
“OK, let’s quit fucking around,” barked Rufus. “Winchesters, get back to the goddamn bunker and start chanting in fucking Latin. Everybody else!” he shouted at the small gathering of returned hunters. “The rest of you will help me hold them off ‘til they’re through. We’ve got booby traps, but it won’t be enough.
“Your traps are somewhat poorly concealed,” opined Castiel, casually twirling his angel sword.
“Now you tell me,” grumbled Rufus.
“Boom!” Castiel smiled wryly. “Castiel bits.”
Rufus gawped. “All right, after this shit is over, you and me, angel, we gotta talk. Now, we got armaments in the house, let’s move.”
As Sam and Dean had busted some of the bunker locks in their hurry to escape, Rufus had stationed both Crowley and Castiel outside the door, although neither had looked especially pleased about the prospect of fighting side by side. Dean imagined their partnership of convenience would not long outlast this night. Especially if Crowley began a dance routine.
Dean was in charge of mixing the ingredients, but had been quickly replaced by the fussy demon. “No no no! That’s not how you cast a spell! What do they teach you humans in school these days?” Crowley fussed.
“Oh, you know, differential equations, biogenetics,” said Sam.
“Aren’t you supposed to be outside with Cas?” Dean asked Crowley. “You know, defending us?”
“If I am risking my cursed ass over this spell, I want things done properly!” said Crowley. “Ah, there we are, eye of newt!” he said, holding the object up to his eyepatch.
“Yeah, that joke never gets old,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.
Crowley plonked the newt eye into the bowl. “Now, I think all you blighters will need to do is light up - I assume you’re experienced with that, darling Dean?” he asked.
“CROWLEY!” came Castiel’s voice from outside.
“You barked, dear?” But suddenly there was the sound of running feet, and three cops were bursting into the bunker. “Oh, crap,” muttered Crowley. “Oh, my dears,” he told the cops, walking boldly up to them. “Don’t you look lovely in basic black? But you know, one shouldn’t be afraid of color!” he assured them, tapping one under the helmet.
The cops looked confused, but then raised their weapons.
“Shit!” said Dean.
But then Castiel was there. His angel blade flashed, and then a first and a second and then a third fell to the ground.
“See, red is a nice touch,” Crowley told the fallen cops.
“Crowley!” said Castiel. “Out! Now!” And then he disappeared.
“I do love it when you’re dominant,” said Crowley. “Do try not to screw it up, boys,” he told the Winchesters. Suddenly another cop was running in to the bunker. Crowley turned and pointed to him, and the guy exploded with a pop. “I am getting very weary of this,” he said, suddenly disappearing.
“Did he just ditch us?” asked Sam.
“Yeah, can’t trust a demon,” said Dean, taking out his lighter. He struck it and ignited Crowley’s witches brew in the bowl. “Do your stuff, Sammy.”
Sam hesitated, trying to calm his beating heart, and conjuring the pages of the book in his mind. He held out a hand, as if he was casting out someone in the empty chair, and began to repeat the words. The bowl glowed, and there seemed to be a strange electrical charge in the room.
Sam flinched at the gunshot, and stole a glance to the side: Dean had just shot another demon that had got past Castiel. He kept repeating the words, willing himself to concentrate. There was another shot. And then another. Sam kept going. Dean kept firing.
“Think I’m running low, Sammy,” Dean whispered at one point. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the yellowing pages in his memory. He heard Dean curse. Out of ammo, Sam thought. There was a crunch, as Dean was obviously hitting a cop in the head with a rifle butt. And Sam still had a whole page to go.
A dog was barking. Confused, Sam opened his eyes and glanced up. There was no dog. But a cop was screaming, and he looked like he was getting ripped to pieces by an invisible force. Another demon cop turned and ran, the sound of paws thumping after him.
“That’s my good little puppy, isn’t that?” came Crowley’s voice from outside. “Good boy, Fluffy!”
Sam glanced at Dean, who urged, “Keep going. Keep going.”
The electricity in the bunker now made Sam’s hair stand on end. The fire in the bowl flared up, nearly to the ceiling.
He reached the end. As before, it was like all the sound had been sucked out of the room.
And then the blast hit. Sam and Dean were both thrown to the floor as the world shook.
And then, from outside, the sound of car alarms.
Sam and Dean looked at each other as they got up and dusted off. They emerged, blinking, from the bunker. Castiel and Crowley were sitting together on the steps, Crowley’s hand patting what looked like the world’s biggest invisible dog.
Arrayed around, a veritable black sea of dead demon cops, and yet more dazed ex-demon cops, lying on their backs, popping off helmets, looking around in confusion.
“I am sorry about your T shirt, Dean,” said Castiel. He pulled it out at the waist. It was covered in blood.
“It’s cool,” said Dean.
“Cold water for blood stains,” advised Crowley.
Sam squatted down and picked up something. It was an old tennis ball. He eyed Crowley, and then tossed the tennis ball into the air. Crowley abruptly stopped patting the air. There was the sound again of thumping paws.
“Oh, he rather likes doing that,” said Crowley approving. “But you might want to take care….”
Suddenly Sam was slammed down to the ground, a drool-coated tennis ball appearing on his chest.
Dean doubled over laughing.
It was some days later.
Dean chewed on the end of his ballpoint pen while and angel looked over his shoulder.
“What should I say I've been doing for the past four years?” he asked Castiel.
“Um,” said Cas, scanning all the empty beer bottles scattered around Dean's kitchen. “Beverage industry consultant?”
Dean laughed and scribbled it down.
“This application will secure your admission to college?” asked Castiel.
“It's only a community college. But it's a start. Criminology. And it will get Sam off my ass.”
“You don't mean literally?”
Dean answered with a smile. “And what about you?” he asked.
“What about me?” asked Castiel.
“Well, you were supposed to guide us to our destinies, right?” asked Dean, making air quotes around 'destiny.'
“Yes.”
Dean looked at Castiel, Dean's head imitating a very familiar tilt.
“Oh, well,” said Castiel. “I have, um, taken it as my mandate that I should offer further guidance.”
“Guidance,” said Dean, sitting back in his chair.
“Yes. I think you need someone in your ass! Or, um, on your ass?”
Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's tie and pulled him close for a kiss. “Either one,” he said when they finished.
“Literally?” asked Castiel.
“I hope so.” Dean peered at Castiel's chest. “Hey, is that my Metallica T shirt you've got on under there?”
Castiel grinned.
Two men stood over the sleeping woman.
There were several photos on the mantle over her bed depicting an attractive blond woman in the company of none other than Sam Winchester.
“You sure you want away with all of it, mate?” asked Crowley. “No backsies on these deals, you know.”
“All of it. Every scrap,” Sam told the demon.
Crowley nodded and waved a hand over the woman. She stirred slightly, and then settled back to sleep.
Meanwhile, the photos changed, as Sam's image faded out of each and every one.
“Goodbye, Jess,” said Sam, leaning over and kissing her forehead.
“I'd be careful if I were you. Might arrest you for a cat burglar.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two men were standing in the driveway outside Dean's darkened house.
“A cat burglar? I kinda like that,” grinned Sam. “Now, what you promised.”
Crowley held up a leather bound journal. “The notebook of John Winchester. Uh, pre-holy oil bath.”
Sam held out a hand, and Crowley slapped the book into it. Sam flipped through the pages.
“You probably know a lot of that stuff already,” said Crowley as they walked together.
“It's good because it was his,” said Sam.
“Sentiment never did anyone any good,” said Crowley. “Now, I must fly. Sure you won't pop over for a drink?”
“I am certain,” said Sam, who was still poring over the notebook. And then he was alone.
“Oh, there you are!”
Same smiled up to where his brother was standing in the front doorway, an angel in an overcoat standing beside him, looking curious.
“You ready?” asked Dean, who was walking down, flipping up his car keys.
“What's on the agenda?” asked Sam.
“Unicorns!”
“No way.”
“Way!”
“Why does Sam have difficulty believing in unicorns over other supernatural beings?” inquired Castiel.
“Cas. Get in the car.”
“All right, Dean,” said the angel, slipping into the back seat.
“Also, there's a wrecking yard I wanna check out,” Dean told Sam.
“A … wrecking yard?”
“Yeah. Something Rufus told me about. Seemed like it might make a good base of operations,” said Dean.
“Base of operations,” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Someone's gotten ambitious.”
“Hey. I got a brother and an angel to support now!” said Dean.
Castiel poked his head out of the back. “Um. Are we there yet?”
Sam grinned at Dean, and then they were all in the car, a Hendrix cassette tape jammed in the player, and out on the road.
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