A/N: I do not own anything of Supernatural although I'm pretty sure Eric Kripke currently owns a piece of my soul.
First Awakening After Last Rising
Outside the window the world was on fire. This was no daze brought on by lack of sleep or too much alcohol or a colloquialism suggesting all was well and better than good. No, the world itself was literally on fire. Flames danced from leaf to leaf, tree to tree, each bursting into bright earthbound comets against the sky. A million miniature sunsets were rising across the horizon, each one louder than the last as the living succumbed, creaking and crackling, to fiery death. Eyes long since drained of tears could only watch as one by one branches tumbled to the soil, shattering into monochrome shards across the ochre floor, sheathing all in scorching ash. The fire raged, consuming everything it touched, it's appetite beyond all comprehension. Nothing could withstand the hatred that fuelled its very essence, the stark fury embodied within the dancing pyres, reaching tenderly for its next prize before devouring all in its path.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Refuge within this old house – a phantom from the past - had been the only option available. Now, as the tongues of fire outside advanced upon the pale wooden framework, it seemed that the only option was no more than an extension of a death sentence. The old tree in the front yard, barren of leaf and flower for more than two decades, stood outlined against the deepening red of the sky – white bones pointing to the heavens, reaching up toward a salvation that would never come. Gently, with tender fingers gloved in scarlet and etched with gold, fiery hunger reached toward the base of the last standing figure in the outside world. Inch by tortuous inch, shadow preceded light, a wash of cool before blistering heat tore into the outer skin. Bark curled, boiling over wood as cracks darted upwards and outwards, ravaging what was once smooth and pure. That virgin surface, torn asunder, crumbled beneath the cleansing fire as it crept higher and higher, snapping in glee at the fall of this last defiance before the final course in a diabolical meal. A single straight limb, aiming for the North Star, seemed to shimmer against the black; an accusatory finger, pointing in beseeching impotence, waiting for recognition of need. White lightning flashed and the finger - the entire tree - was gone, leaving a corpse turned ash to drift, dancing upon the warm eddies in a delicate ballet of silver and black sequins.
Deadly beauty – he had never understood that until now. Frozen by the window his eyes took in the sight of a tsunami born of flame and shadow. It was hypnotic, the weaving vines of colour twining together, pulling apart, moving ever forward. Like a true predator stalking its next prey, with full knowledge of its superiority, flickering fingers crept inward. He knew the entire house was surrounded just as he knew that there had never been any true chance of escape. He had been left as the final morsel in a banquet that had sampled from every race, colour, creed and religious belief across the face of the earth. As no mercy had been shown to previous victims, whether plant or creature, so no mercy would be his. Terrible knowledge chilled his flesh from within as insidiously as the snake that had first led to the fall of human kind at the beginning of time – all that had come to pass was but a consequence of his actions, his choices, his follies. Memories, awash with blood and tears, soared into his mind's eye as his ears rang to a dark symphony where screams and cries of the innocent and the foolish were as alike as sugar and milk within bitter morning coffee. Irrational thoughts dart, minnows in the stream of his conscious mind. For the briefest moment too tight laces on his boots are all he can think of but it is barely a moment as the beast outside roars in triumph; the flames have taken the porch and veranda in the first move of the final game.
Refuge is impossible but he tries to find some all the same, the decision to flee echoed a second later by the chiming bells of shattering glass blasted inward by boiling air. Ducking, dodging, sprawling across the floor he seeks to extend his life a few minutes more. Bitter tang of blood caresses his lips even as the scent of charcoal and melting plastic assaults his nose, teasing his throat into closing. Coughing, choking, something deep inside recognises that this is further torture upon him – the creature that hunts him wants him to last, to suffer until the last breath, the last moment of thought, the last beat of his heart. Barely one foot upon the stairs before he hears the home he once had groan against the onslaught, his chest tightening in sympathy before the first splinters seek to lodge themselves in bared skin. Forgetting his balance as his arms dart upwards to shield his face he finds that the stairs have gained no soft edges in the years since he last tumbled down to the landing before the front door. Cracked ribs are a familiar knife's edge of pain throughout his torso, something fresh and real to cling to in the warped reality he desperately wishes was no more than a dream. Clawing to his feet, pockets abandoned by their usual occupants, he stumbles backwards as his eyes fasten upon the wooden door. Slowly at first it bent toward him, edges sealing against the jamb. As his heart thumped harder within his chest so did the door jerk, faster, harder, violence trembling throughout the stout security of his past. His own heartbeat echoed within his skull not as a sense or a feeling but a child's voice, a little girl, repeating over and over: "Ba-boom...ba-boom...ba-boom!"
Heat curled through the air, sidling past his legs like a slumberous cat. It caressed his cheeks with the gentle touch of dawn's rays. Over the bass beat of his heart he could hear the fiery tango at the centre of the flames, each crackle forming a note, each pause the end of a bar. Breathing slowed; lungs and throat finding it just that little bit harder now to take in air. Despite the wealth of tears shed before for the lost and hopeless, fresh liquid brought the sea back to the raging inferno, blurring the edges of reality almost beyond recall. Knees, crushed by the demands of gravity and the theft of will, grind against torn fabric and splintered floor. Pain fades from all parts of his body, pulling in toward the ongoing thudding of his heart – the only muscle yet to surrender to the inevitable. There's no time left, he knows, as he raises eyes of torment and sorrow and terror to the gleeful shapes beyond the last window. The little girl steps closer, leaning to press her lips against his ear as she whispers her personal a cappella tune.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The question floats through his mind – the final conscious thought he has. The flames are done waiting for their final taste of humanity. Glass shatters; spinning pieces glitter in the light, more entrancing than new-born butterflies savouring their first flight. Wood splinters; shards scatter through the air, a hail of spears upon an all ready demoralised army in rout. Eyes fasten on the slow decay of his family as piece by piece their pictorial likenesses are devoured – mother, father, brother, become naught but ash forever. Tongues of ruby and gold cackle ever closer, their voices catching at his soul. Each slice, each cut, each flash of heat, his blood spilling out over cracked flesh, is another strike of terror climbing higher and higher whilst he himself spirals down into the darkness where the screams and cries of the damned welcome his tears with the desperate joy of the starved...
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Dragging air into his lungs with a silent scream, his lungs battled against his heart for room within his chest. His skin was slick with sweat but he felt chilled to the bone, so much so he started to shiver as soon as became conscious. Swallowing back sobs of fear, even clamping a fist to his lips, the sleeper screwed his eyes shut and drove his nails into his palms in an effort to prove to himself he was alive and feeling real pain. His mind flooded with knowledge; jerking round, almost ripping the sheet with the blade stashed under his pillow, he searched the room for the person he knew should be there. Instead of resting his gaze in relief upon a slumbering form he found the other bed empty though less turbulent than his own. For a moment his heart thrummed to the beat he had just escaped.
"He is outside – he too found sleep lacking in comfort for his mind."
The voice, calm and familiar, cooled the flush of fear that had flared through his blood. Though his nerves still sang with restrained violence it was muted by the waves of peace that emanated from the corner of the room furthest from the door. One breath after another sank into his body, collecting tension and expelling it outward where it misted into atoms, nowhere for it to coalesce and inhabit. He knew oceanic eyes were watching him carefully, just as he had known the other had been waiting to speak from the moment he awoke. Just as he knew his dream – his nightmare – was no secret born solely of his subconscious mind.
"I couldn't stop it." Whispered apology.
"You will." Affirming statement.
Fingers curled up, finding new aches in their tight grip upon the mattress. Shoulders bunched, exhausted trembling rippling through muscles too tight for comfort. His head filled with cotton balls, becoming both light and heavy in the distracting manner it always did.
"I can't stop it." Broken confession.
"You can."Determined promise.
His sigh began from his toes, sweeping up through all of his body, lifting his heart then dropping it to hang heavy within his chest. His lips parted to ask but the answer came before his thought was done.
"You have asked before and the path it set you on led you to this point."
He felt his companion move, skin prickling as the embodiment of ease and rest drifted closer. Their connection had been forged through hell and tempered by heaven; where blood and war and sacrifice had birthed such things before, now there was a new bond on earth.
"Return to sleep – you will not be plagued again. You and your brother both need your strength."
Turning, his eyes lowered at first, he asked, "What if I can't do this? What if what I saw, it comes true, and I started it?"
The air changed, bringing with it the soft beat of feathers. Silent pressure made green orbs, glinting with unshed tears, lift to meet eyes turned to midnight as sorrow for the past was pushed aside by faith for the future.
"It will not – we will not let it come to pass."
He watched as his companion moved away, the others' intent evident. His back to the door, he did not realise his voice halted his friend in the act of reaching for the door handle.
"You're right – we won't." Sliding down to lay flat once more, blade left upon the side table, he took a deep though ragged breath. Swallowing his fears once more he wanted to ask one thing...
"I will make sure he returns. Now, sleep. You are both safe tonight."
The faintest thread of irked affection in that normally bland tone was enough to bring an amused smile to his lips. He could relax, knowing that he and his were guarded and his trust could not be broken again. Before his companion could slip from the room to seek his other charge, two pairs of eyes met once again as two words were spoken and so many more were not.
"Castiel." Green eyes spoke: Thanks for everything you've done. I know what it meant for you and I'm glad me and Sammy aren't alone in this.
"Dean." Blue eyes replied: You showed me the truth and heart of humanity against the wrath of all. I could not abandon you. I will not.
The door opened; the angel slipped out to retrieve the younger brother from his search for clarity. The air stilled; the hunter drifted until he heard his brother return to sleep and his friend to watchful care.
Tonight they rested. Tomorrow would begin their war.