Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, even the smallest atom. No profit will be made from this fanfic, and no animals were harmed in the making of it. Actually, my kitten is sleeping on my foot at the moment, and I'm ignoring the fact that it's asleep because I don't want to wake him...

Summary: One shot about the history of the infamous demon-killing knife.

The Host was there, on that cold hill that the humans called Golgotha and Calvary. Their innumerable wings beat the air, unseen and unfelt by the humans that crowded beneath them, hurling insults at the Most Holy One. But He felt the wind, which cooled his body. He felt their eyes on Him, their Grace reaching out to brush His body gently, not healing Him because it had been forbidden, not easing His pain because He had told them no. They were merely taking and giving comfort, struggling to control their rage. His oldest children, the Archangels, crowded around the base of the cross, tears streaming from their eyes as they sang hymns of worship and praise, of love unending, of power unimaginable, of Grace that would clean the darkest of sinners. They suffered as He suffered, feeling His pain with Him, struggling to control the urge to strike back at these humans, these idiot children, who so dared to harm their Father-Son, who betrayed His love.

As the hours passed, as He suffered, the Host began to lose control. Power leaked out, warping the land He had created so perfectly for His children. The earth shuddered from angelic fury, the sun darkened as their hearts darkened. Their anger tormented the Earth, but they did not strike down those humans that so tormented Him. He had forbade it. The story must play out, He had told them. He must not be saved. So they stood by, impotent, but filled with anger, as He was tormented. He who had created the stars. He who had have given everything life. They watched Him slowly dying, and did nothing.

As He cried out, they cried out, voices beautiful even in pain. As He shuddered in pain, they shuddered in pain. They cried out in rage when His body was pierced, and cried out in sadness when He drew His last breathe. They followed His body, guarding it in the Tomb, and cried out in gladness when He arose again. He walked among His children once more, giving them the final Word, and then returned to Heaven, to hear praises raised to Him in angelic voices.

The spear that had pierced Him returned to where it had come from, and as time passed, the wood rotted. The holy blood that it had soaked in sank into the metal, imbuing it with Grace. The metal was reshaped, reforged, turned into dozens of different things. Its final incarnation was that of a knife set into to a bone handle that came into the possession of a demon that had once been a witch. A demon named Ruby. The knowledge of how the knife had come into being and what it had once been was long lost to the ravages of time. Ruby only knew that it killed demons. The last thing Ruby knew was that it killed her.