Oh, Death, oh Death, oh Death,
Won't you spare me over 'til another year...
"Sam, just- calm down. We can go and talk to Bobby, see what made him do this." Dean was uncharacteristically calm about someone so close- especially Bobby, of all people- selling his soul for the benefit of the pack.
"No, we've just about run out of souls for people to sell! Dammit, Dean, move!"
Dean had blocked the hotel room door.
"Look, I know you want to find Crowley and rip out his little demon eyes, but we can't just rush into things."
"Are you even listening to yourself? Did you take lessons from Castiel or something?" Sam's near boundless anger made him almost impossible to stop...when it came to other people standing in front of him, telling him to cool his jets.
...But what is this, that I can't see
with ice cold hands taking hold of me...
It was the middle of the night when Dean felt Sam's cold hands grab him by the shoulders and shake him awake,
"Dean! Dean- goddammit wake up!" the elder Winchester opened his eyes to a panic-stricken brother.
"What, what is it?" he sat up, the dark seemingly closing in on his line of vision. Then he realized, that it in fact was. It was growing darker and darker. Darker than the night should have the right to be.
The normally blurry, unintelligible lines of the tv in front of their beds smeared even further. He couldn't even see Sam looking around wildly, from window to window. It was just like the time at the police station, when the demon smoke pressed up against the windows, just trying to find a way in.
"Get the salt from my duffle." Dean commands quietly. He reaches blindly for the bedside table, looking for his phone. Planning on using it as a flashlight.
He flipped it open and found that the light only projected barely 2 feet in front of his face. He checked the battery and it was full. What the hell is going on here?
Sam was using his cell as a light as well. He'd found the salt and was already putting down lines in front of the doors and windows.
Dean quickly dialed Castiel's number, it rang only once before the angel answered.
"Cas, we're at a Motel 6 outside Grand Island, Nebraska. Room number 4 Get here and get here fast." the sound of air being displaced met his ears. Then there was the sound of something glass breaking as the little decorative table near the door was knocked over.
"I wasn't aware that angels could get vertigo." Sam said, somewhere to Dean's left. The sound of salt being shaken from it's cylindrical container was the only other sound as Castiel stood and brushed himself off.
"I...did not know it would be so dark." Castiel said
"Neither did we."
"What is this?"
"This? This is the Apocalypse."
...When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,
who will have mercy on your soul...
"And if I say yes? Then what? You get your way I don't think so. You-." Sam was interrupted by Lucifer pressing his hand harder against his throat, cutting off anything to come out but the rought, gluttural sound.
"Or I could just kill you and take your body. No big deal, Sammy." he smirked at the rage flaring in the young Winchester's eyes. He'd need that...all of it, pure and raw. Sam could practically remember Lucifer's smug words in his gaze
"That's good, Sam. You keep fanning that fire in your belly. All that pent-up rage? I'm gonna need it."
Sam fought for breath, pulling at the fingers at his throat. When he was finally able to speak he grunted out,
"Don't- call me- Sammy- you- son of a bitch." Lucifer began to tighten his grip when, in a flash of blinding white light was gone. Sam fell to his knees, rubbing at his throat and coughing. He looked up and through watery eyes saw someone he did not know. The person approached him, offering their hand. When Sam accepted, the person pulled him up and dusted him off.
"Who are you?" he manages in a hoarse rasp.
"Thought you might ask, I'm Raguel." the angel tilted his head to the side, the light brown flop of his vessel's hair cascading into his eyes. His eyes were bright and green.
"Thank you." Sam said.
Suddenly the doors to the dank storage room (which was somewhere in rainy Seattle.) burst open. Dean aimed his sawed-off around and Castiel appeared by his side with his sword. When Castiel saw who was with Sam, he visibly sighed and the tension drained from his shoulders. "Thank God you're here, Raguel."
Dean's eyes widened.
"Like-the angel, Raguel?"
Raguel nodded, the brown flop swaying back and forth.
"Great, more dicks with wings."
...Oh, Death, oh Death, oh Death,
No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul...
He had agreed to meet Raguel in the middle of nowhere Nevada. His brother had been left in South Dakota. During the night, but Dean clearly remembered seeing Sam run from the house and try to chase the car down.
"I say yes. I will be Michael's vessel. Can you summon him, or was Zachariah the only one who could do it?" Dean kept about a foot of space between himself and the angel.
"No, Zachariah was not the only one who could do this. But I discourage you from becoming his vessel. I came to help your cause, to find the rings and lock Lucifer away. But, if this is your chosen path, I cannot change your mind." Raguel tucked the brown flop behind his ear, looked up to the sky and began the rhythmic Enochian chant.
Castiel had no way of finding him, nor did Sam. Unless, that odd tingling against his sternum that had spread steadily across his ribs was the removal of the Enocian-Angel-Witness-Protection-Mumbo-Jumbo.
A bright, warm light engulfed him. When, over the ring of "Thank you, Dean." he heard a shout, saw Sam and Castiel through the veil of Michael's grace, saw Raguel push them back.
"What is done, is done." Raguel's smooth voice was the last thing he heard before being thrown from consciousness.
...Oh, Death,
Well I am Death, none can excel,
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Oh, death, oh, death...
Sam clenched his fists at his sides.
"People are going to die! If we stick Lucifer back in his cage, everything goes back to normal. Then, legions of people don't have to suffer and die!"
Michael stood from his chair, though his vessel (Dean) was physically shorter than Sam himself, he seemed infinitely taller.
"And if I kill him, things go to better than normal. No more death and disease, starvation and sadness, no more struggles between good and evil. If we lose a few people, what does it matter? Violent death by cause of war is splattered all over the pages of this world's history. If I kill him, none of that will exist."
Sam's nostrils flared, "And if we lock him up, no one has to live a life that is fake. No one has to take a Heavenly handout. People get to live their own lives, not some Stepford, plastic-THING!" Castiel appeared, behind Michael.
Michael turned and Cas surged forward, he pushed his brother against the wall and plunged the sword deep into his sternum. Tears fell from his cheeks.
This is what he, Sam and Bobby had agreed on. There was no other way.
"I'm sorry, Dean." He whispered, twisting the blade. Michael's face scrunched and then a flash of light, so powerful that Sam had to duck his head, burst from his mouth and eyes. Castiel withdrew the sword and Dean's limp body thudded to the floor. He looked over to Sam, who was recoiling. His eyes were watery, but he dare not cry. Not in front of the angel.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I shall go and alert Bobby." and he was gone.
...My name is Death and the end is here.
A/N:
Inspired by: .com/watch?v=SXpnI52cLEc&playnext_from=TL&videos=NSSrsrAzzFQ