Title: Ice of Oblivion Chapter 1/?
Fandom/Genre: SPN AU Romance, Drama, Action
Pairing (s): Dean/Castiel
Rating: T
Word Count: ~82,000
Warnings: Underage, Mild Sexual Situation, Violence
Summary: AU. In a time of great tragedy in the lands of Mamot, the human race and the angel race are forced to form an unbreakable union that will bind them together for twenty seven lifetimes in order to stop the uprising of the demon race. In bargain they offer Castiel, one of the most powerful angels in the entire world to marry Dean Winchester, the young crown prince of the human world. The typically detached Castiel winds up falling in love with the Prince. The only problem is his brothers don't expect Dean to live through the war. Will Castiel stay and support the man he loves despite the heartbreak that might accompany his passing or will he fall back in line with his brothers, becoming numb to all human emotions once more?
Chapter 1
It was named The Virtuous Time. A time where great prosperity spread through all lands of the glorious Mamot, in years to come all school children will learn of such a great time.
A time when there was peace and unnamed understandings amongst people of all races and places, a time when demons and angels coexisted without conflict, a time when humans were not purposely victimized by their more powerful counterparts, a time when the lesser races of Mamot were looked upon as equal to the demons, angels and humans. But good times, like all times, have the tendency to end.
It was on the castle on the hill - where the rich ones were, where the extravagant ones were, where the King and his Queen feasted on crumpets and grand punch - where it all came to an end. From far away, it appeared almost haunting, a befitting place for such an end to occur, with luminescent orange lights flickering inconsistently on the oyster castle walls while the extensive green vines of the unkempt gardens below shot up the walls like fire-shows. It was a lush frame and people envied all who lurked inside. But they did not know of the evils that would take place within those castle walls that night and that the lives of the rich ones, the extravagant ones and the King And his Queen would soon seem dwarf in comparison to theirs.
It was on the night of Uitare when it happened.
All of the Kingdom of Inim was in a celebration. For four days and four nights the Humans drank and ate for their dead ancestors, consuming two-fold what the normal consumption level should be. A common legend is that on the night of Uitare, you are to eat for two or three or twenty, for all of your ancestors will join in the festivities consuming the drinks and food along with you, celebrating their death day and celebrating oblivion.
The people dressed in colors so exuberant that it reflected the sun and, in legend, created a rainbow in Iad and Himmel alike, bringing peace to the angels and demons of their world. Skirts cut through the air and feet clacked on the dirt, creating steady dust clouds that people will blame on the bourbon. As the people danced and sang jolly song , people in gray and brown clothing came from their shops and homes, cradling dusty bottles of wine and chickens as big as horses.
Cheers erupted and brought smiles to the faces of the men and women of Inim. Taking their respective bottles and glasses, the people went on with their festivities not once bothering to break their pleasant illusions of safety and solitude to notice the group of black-eyed people who walked steadily through the town of Kent, none drinking or eating, only watching, watching with a steady air, the castle at the top of the hill.
It was common on the night of Uitare that originally illogical people became even more irrational when alcohol is added to the mix. And like every other human in Inim, these people took it upon themselves to travel all the way to the castle on the hill to have the King decide who the less ridiculous one truly was.
"It was- it was my horse," a burly man in overalls barked. His body still reeked of alcohol and pig excrement, but his voice and movements were as sharp as a knight's, and all in attendance were inclined to believe him rather than the women who stood on the opposite end of the Great Hall.
The King's eyebrow twitched.
A woman with oily summer hair and red streaked eyes stomped her feet hard as she bunched up skirts to her waist. "He's a lie," She screeched. Her missing canines became even more evident when she yelled, most of the people in attendance grimaced when she spoke, her horrible dialect annoying and shocking them.
Another twitch.
The woman's one stunning quality, her sky blue eyes, quickly darted to the man sitting on the high throne at the very end of the hall. "You know I'm right, King!"
John Winchester was always a patient man. You had to be when you are the king. The constant petty fights that his advisers often brought to the round table would wear on the patience of any sane man in Inim and probably the most peaceful of angels in Himmel.
Not John. No, John carried that unyielding burden on his shoulders because he was known for his patience, all the Winchesters were known for their patience. His ancestors bore witness to the greatest fights of Iad and Himmel and waited patiently for the fighting to pierce the lands of Inim and all along rallied the troops and bridged defenses. And when the fighting was over, it was John Winchester's ancestors who acted as mediator for the irrational demon's lord Gurkhan and the leader of the angels, Michael.
Yes, the Winchester's patience was well known amongst people in all of Mamot. But, that didn't mean his wife was going to follow suit.
Mary Winchester was a firecracker if John had ever seen one. Always on the very brink of her "last nerve", Mary had no qualms knocking heads together at times like this. Ever since these two first came into the hall, every time John glanced at his wife he could see her nostrils slowly flaring or her eyes burning in unrestrained annoyance. As time went on her lips became painfully thin and the worry lines in her forehead deepened.
By the time the woman turned to the King (finally) asking his advice, something in Mary snapped.
"Listen woman. The horse does not belong to you, I don't care how much scotch you've had this evening, if you plan to spend the rest of your night enjoying the festivities of Uitare, I would suggest you return it to him immediately! For Jehovah's sake, you would think on a holy night like this one you stupid people would have the type of common decency that normal people have to leave the King, you're hardworking King, to himself so he can enjoy his night just as well as you are enjoying yours."
John was not surprised by his wife's behavior. She went on tirades like this all the time, in fact, that one was nothing compared to some of the other rants she embarked on.
The reactions of the people in the room were split. The vast majority of John's advisers displayed discomfort and, for some, outright disgust and rage at the behavior of the Queen while some were trying their damnedest to stop the laughter from escaping.
John gave his wife a weary look and she, in response, gave him an expectant one. He could barely blame her for her irritation; they were interrupted in the middle of their previous and very strenuous "activities" just to race to the great hall after their guard insisted that there were two people ready to kill each other there… over a horse. Knowing that this was international public drunkenness day for his people, he thought that the feud would be something easily tied over simply with a few calming words. Unfortunately, this particular fight started weeks ago when the man accidentally killed a pig that belonged to the woman and the woman, for revenge, stole the man's horse claiming that it was hers. After weeks of arguing, the man put a gun to the woman's head and a group of monks intervened and sent them here.
"I beg your pardon," the woman snapped.
"I beg your pardon!" John watched as Mary's foot elevated from the ground and threatened to stomp unceremoniously hard on the marble floor and quickly tapped his wife's shoulders to stop her.
She knocked his hand away and looked at him with venom in her drunk red eyes. "John, dismiss these two back to their homes. This is ridiculous."
There were a couple of awkward coughs and disapproving sighs from the advisers at Mary's disrespectful treatment to her king. John's jaw stiffened in mild annoyance at his advisers, who were all too individually self-righteous, and his wife, who only served to embarrass him at this point. Yes, John was a patient man but there was only so much he could take.
If he was going to put a stop to this twitch, John knew what he had to do.
He waved Mary down to ear level and placed his hand next to his mouth. Mary stared blankly at him and without leaning down rolled her eyes and removed herself from her throne.
"If you will all excuse me, I think I would rather spend tonight with my children." She turned on her heels sharply and began to walk out of the room.
But, a thought struck her and she turned swiftly back to the two disputants and pointed her finger. "Shame on the both of you for your juvenile treatment of this situation; you, man, should have offered her one of your pigs in exchange for the one you so foolishly killed without a second thought. And you, woman, should have never went as far as to steal a man's horse for a pig. It's a pig, woman!"
The woman with the summer hair pouted and placed her hand over her heart. "But, that pig was my best friend. Her name was Caroline and she was everything to me!"
Mary looked taken aback, but quickly composed herself. "I'm sorry for your loss." She glanced at her husband, now angry again, and wrinkled her nose at him. "Good night."
After that, Mary was gone and John was able to relax again. He knew she was angry with him, but he had work to do and she was a BIG distraction. He would apologize later.
"Continue."
Mary could have brained him for how he behaved. To shoo her away from the great hall in such a way, she was the Queen just as well as he was King. So what if the advisers thought of her as the weaker one in the relationship who had no right to speak out of turn and address John as anything other than Your Highness. She hadn't called him anything but John since she was still a servant girl in his mother's quarters.
John assured her when they first got married that she would not have to deal with the judgment of the advisors. And here he was shooing her away when their judgment became too much for him.
She loved John, she really did. But, sometimes she wondered why she ever married someone with so many complications.
Her marriage to him was nothing compared to her parents'. Though they were busy, they always found time for each other as well as their children. She and John did not have that, because of his status as King of all of Inim he had no time for romance, the fact that they had even fallen in love was fueled by the fact that they were childhood friends from way back when John was only a prince with no true responsibilities. And Mary did not have time to try to steal him away from his people because she had her own responsibilities to worry about: her sons Dean and Samuel Winchester.
A smile slowly formed on Mary's face. Dean and Samuel, they were her heart; more than anything she wanted to spend tonight with the two of them, even if John didn't.
"Mommy!"
To her surprise and delight, Mary found her arms full of bouncy four-year-old child. He hung on her neck for support. She could never put into words how much she truly loved her son, who was always an excitable bundle of energy even when it was way past his bedtime. He seemed to know it too, because he was fully decked out in his polka dot button-up nightgown and cotton pants.
While ruffling his already messy hair, Mary asked, "What are you doing up this time of night, Dean?"
Dean shrugged, before smiling with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. Reaching to the top of his mother's head, he ruffled her hair in an imitation of how she did his and then he wrapped his arms back around her neck. "What are you doing up this time of night, mommy?"
Mary threw her head back and laughed openly. She knew if her husband's advisers were around to see that, they would have a thing or two say about it "Been learning from your father lately, have you now?"
Dean nodded.
Mary peered in the direction that Dean initially came from and frowned. "Where's London?"
London was a part of the royal guard; because of his capable fighting skills and nearly perfect detection skills John immediately made him the personal guard of their son Dean. Though the man seemed angry at first, he warmed up to the idea and acts almost as a second father to her son.
"I ditched him."
"Why?"
Dean pouted stubbornly. "He was getting on my nerves and he tried to put me to bed."
Mary shook her head and put Dean down on the floor. "He is going to be so mad at you."
As soon as Dean's feet touched the floor he reached for his mother's hand and held onto it tightly. "Can I sleep with Sammy tonight?"
"Why not sleep in your own bed tonight, Samuel needs his rest." Mary reasoned.
"But, I'm not going to play with him. I just want to see him; I haven't seen Sammy all day. I miss my brother."
"You played together just this morning, remember?"
"Yes, I remember; but, that was such a long time ago," Dean exclaimed. "Babies grow fast, you know; from this morning 'til now, Sammy might have grown to be my size, maybe even bigger."
Mary smiled with a roll of her eyes. The way that Dean treated Sam was similar to the way a child would treat a brand new toy. They always wanted to play with it, did not like others to touch it and annoyed the hell out of their parents if they did not get it. John did not want to indulge such behavior in his children, saying that it was unhealthy for Dean to have such a preoccupation on the presence of his brother. Always claiming that Dean was going to be King someday and hobbies at his age should involve playing war, not playing dolls with his younger brother. Mary just ignored all of the Macho Kingly assertions that spewed from John's mouth on a regular basis. She thought Dean's love for Sam was cute.
"Okay, you can sit in if Sam is awake while I read him a story. But after that, it's back to your room for the night."
Dean's ever-present pout only dropped closer to the floor, but he nodded grudgingly.
They made it to Sam's room a couple of minutes later and after nodding to the twin guards guarded the door – Diamond and Sapphire, both sweet girls- the two went in.
Sam lay in the middle of a high crib with steel bars. Unlike any baby room that Mary saw when she was a child, this room was made for a little soldier. She and John made a deal at the beginning of their marriage that they would design the baby's room based on the sex: if it was a girl, Mary designed her room and if it was a boy, John designed his room. Unfortunately, Mary ended up with two boys instead of at least one little princess.
"Sammy!" Dean piped when he saw that Sam was awake. Rushing over to his crib, Dean wrapped his slender fingers around the bars to peer into Sam's crib with a dreamy smile on his face. Sam, noticing Dean before his own mother, smiled a very big honest smile and reached his chubby arms out toward the boy.
Mary reached into the crib and pulled her son out. Sam's smile dropped instantly and he scowled at his mother while his eyes searched for his big brother; then, in the greediest of manners, Sam sucked in his cheeks and popped them open with a loud smack. He was always hungry.
Releasing an irritated sigh, Mary let Sam continue to stare at his brother, which completely took his mind off of his hunger. She handed Sam over to Dean with shaky and uncertain hands, and was happy to see Dean sit down in the rocking chair while talking and wiggling his fingers in front of Sam's face.
Mary retrieved a book from Sam's small bookshelf. It was one that was simple and quick, she read Sam this book many times but she doubted he remembered what she did and did not read him over the past six months. The Book was entitled "The First Sprite".
Sitting down on the floor, Mary leaned her back on the side of the rocking chair. Dean stopped rocking it and crossed his legs onto the chair, balancing Sam mostly in his lap and freeing up one of his hands to play with a strand of his mother's blond hair. Mary sent him a smile and her insides warmed when Dean sent her one right back and, trying to imitate his hero, Sam did the same thing.
What room did she have to complain? This was the perfect life, not only was she blessed with two beautiful children who loved her as much as she loved them, she had a husband who loved her, servants who respected her and the life that no other servant girl breaking her back cleaning barroom windows would ever bother dreaming of. She was truly blessed.
Mary opened the book slowly, "Once upon a time-"
A sudden rush of air hit Mary on the side of her face. Thinking that it was only guards warning her that her husband was on another rampage or the wet nurse asking if it was Sam's feeding time, Mary waved a dismissive hand toward the door.
"Can't you see I'm busy? Come back shortly."
"Oh we won't take up too much of your time." A smooth feminine voice assured. "We just want your children."
Mary's head snapped quickly to the door and there stood two people. Blinded by the shadows that fell from the doorway, Mary could not tell who they were or if they were smiling or leering at her. All she could see was their scandalous red robes that held onyx-embroidered insignias on both sides that shined in the smallest ray of light. The insignias were in the shape of hands with all of the fingers broken and bending at different angles, in the middle of the hand-type formations sat the image of one side of an upside down angel wing. The insignia was so brutal in shape and definition that Mary was almost sure that if she'd seen it before she would remember such a thing; if not the insignia itself she would remember the shivers that raked her body as she stared at the aforementioned symbols. They glided into the room gracefully, as if taking no steps at all, and Mary's breath caught at what she saw.
Black eyes.
Dean knew that his mommy was afraid. He looked like that sometimes too, especially when he tricked himself into being trapped on the highest branch of the tallest tree in the castle walls.
He instinctively held Sammy closer and uncurled his legs. A sinking feeling barreled into Dean's stomach like one of his dad's play-punches (the one's that went too far), causing him to release a gasp.
The adults in the red robes both looked at them and Dean shivered when the woman in front smirked and reached toward them. Dean subconsciously held Sammy even closer to his chest; what was he going to do? He looked at his mother for guidance, but her eyes were glued to the red robed people in front of them.
Dean got down from the rocking chair and toddled closer to his mother, when he was pressed onto her side he looked at her expectantly and gripped her hand in his.
"Mommy…" He trailed off and looked down at Sam, as if he was going to give him all of the answers. As to whom those people were, why his mother was so upset and how this night was going to end.
"Ah, here they are, already gift wrapped and ready," the female said.
"What do you want demon?" Mary spat.
The woman wrapped her arms across her chest and looked pointedly at the two boys again. "I want them," she stated.
Mary shielded her son's from their view with her arm. "What do you want with them?"
Her gaze shifted to the ceiling as if she was thinking and then, unwrapping her arms, the woman shrugged. "I don't think that's any of your business."
"These are my boys-"
The women interrupted with a raise of the hand. "Those boys are no longer your concern, they belong to our lord Lucifer now."
Dean watched his mother's face working before she pulled him by the shoulder so that he was farther away from her. Dean turned what he hoped looked like pleading eyes to his mother and tried to move closer to her again; but her firm grip on his shoulder kept him back.
"Dean, listen to me." Mary looked at Dean from the corner of her eye and squeezed his shoulder in a comforting manner. And unbeknown to Dean, that would be the last loving moment that he and his mother would share. "I want you to go to your father, run really fast. You like to run right?" Dean nodded quickly. "Don't stop until you're with your father and you and Sam are safe."
Dean nodded again.
The two at the door were smirking, but Dean could only pass a quick glance at them before he was looking at his mother again with tears threatening to spill. "Mommy…"
"Go Dean, go now!"
With those words said, Mary was closing in on the demons with the hardcover book and Sammy's bottle in hand. Dean watched her movements carefully, knowing that he could not leave with the two people with black eyes still at the door. He doubted they would let him pass without trouble.
Mary chucked the hard-edged book at the man who stood a couple of inches behind the woman, causing him to cry out in momentary pain and stumble back while squirting the remains of the bottle in the dark eyes of the women, who rubbed ferociously at her eyes and screamed out curses that Dean never heard before.
Dean, seeing his opening, dashed out of the room with Sammy pressed tight against his chest. When Dean exited the room, the first thing he saw was the dead bodies of the twin guards. No longer the imposing forces that they were only three minutes ago, the women looked almost small in their slung back postures. The sharp smell of cooper threw Dean through a loop, making him feel like he'd just tasted it himself; he choked on the air around him and with a gentle cough he kept on moving.
If he wanted to get to his father he could not stop to help those two; Sammy was his first priority. Dean ran through the halls, clumsily shuffling on the marble floor, and pursed his lips when Sam started whining and shaking in his arms.
"I'm sorry Sammy; I'll protect you, don't cry, please don't cry," Dean begged.
Sammy responded to Dean's voice only slightly, though he stopped his whining he did not stop shaking and twitching in his grasp. Dean saw that as a good enough improvement and took his eyes off of his brother and back onto the where he was going.
A piercing scream tore through the halls and Dean acknowledged with a sinking heart that he recognized that voice.
"Mommy…" Dean whimpered.
He wanted to go back. He had to go back. His mom…
But, Sammy was here too. Dean fought the new tears that stung his eyelids and proceeded down the halls, the great halls hopefully coming up soon. The halls seemed so endless tonight; usually they never seemed long enough for Dean to truly play in them to the extent that he wanted to. But, tonight was different. Tonight was an ending. And no one likes a bad ending, not even the halls, so they don't end.
More screams, this time from different people, ripped through the halls. Almost on cue, gun shots rang out and the screams only got louder and more animal-like. But so far, no one penetrated the halls to the main room, where Dean was headed. It was odd that there was no one around; usually they had guards attending to every door with their flashy guns held high and their faces straight and precise.
He didn't know where his father was, but his instincts told him great hall and he always listened to his instincts, even though they usually got him in trouble.
"Please, please, please… no one come in here."
As if reading his thoughts, a man fell into the halls from the doorway, landing on his butt with a deep grunt. Immediately recognizing him as London, his bodyguard, Dean felt the sinking weight in his gut lift and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. London was perfect; if anyone could get them to his dad then it was him.
Dean smiled and began to run toward the man when London's head twirled around toward him. He looked shocked at first but, always the composed one; London gave him a sidelong glance that stopped Dean dead in his tracks. It was one of the signs that they used to practice every week- it meant 'Stay'. London waved his hand, another sign, meaning 'Hide'.
Without hesitation, Dean followed his orders and hides in the doorway the room closest to him. He leaned back on the wall of the doorway and peeked past it to see what London was doing.
And from the door that London had just fallen from a very tall man stalked towards him with a kitchen knife in his hands. Dean inhaled sharply when he saw the blood leaking from the ends of it and held Sammy much closer; He knew he was close to losing it; he didn't know what he was going to do. The one thing he did know was that he had only one job tonight: Protect Sammy, protect Sammy, protect Sammy.
London stared at the man who slowly approached him, not making even the slightest move to defend himself. And then, with one clean swipe of his knife, the tall man ended London's life. Dean's mouth gaped open like a fish, but he sucked in his lips and shut his eyes tight to prevent any sound from escaping. He had to be strong. He had to be brave. For Sammy and for Daddy; for his family he needed to get Sammy out of there.
The man looked in Dean's direction and Dean pressed himself tightly against the wall and slung Sam over his shoulder so that he would not protrude too much. A fresh bead of sweat formed on Dean's temple as the steps of the murderer got louder and louder. Dean tried to blend with the wall, but there was not much he could do. The man was getting closer.
"Please," Dean silently begged god.
When the man made it to the doorway Dean held his breath and did not look at him, much preferring not the see the man who murdered his best friend and who could possibly be the murderer of his brother. His entire body shook as the man took his final steps past Dean's threshold. He won't see, He wouldn't dare see us, He can't see us.
When the man's footsteps began to get farther away Dean opened his eyes and looked to right, only to see it empty. The man hadn't seen him. They were safe… for now. Dean knew that he could not go the way that he wanted to; getting to the Great Hall would require him going down the same hall that London was killed in. Now if that did not creep him out enough, there was also a chance that the same group of people who killed London and attacked his mother were still down there. Who knows, they may have already gotten his Daddy.
Dean looked to his left and, without further assessing the situation, bolted through the door.
The cooper smell attacked his nose as soon as he entered the room. It was previously a guest room, Dean's favorite. He used to play with Sammy in there a lot and before Sammy was born, he spent hours jumping on the bed while London read books in the chair in the corner. The same chair that his favorite maid Henrietta is currently sitting in with her decapitated arm on her lap and her throat slit to the very root.
Around the room were the scattered remains of various guards, maids and servants. None of them looked even remotely alive; all of them were ravaged through, laying in various pools of other people's blood, bodily fluids mixing and merging with one another making the whole sight look even more disgusting.
He tore his eyes away from the sight in front of him and scanned the room for any formidable exits that may lead him to his escape. There was exactly one window, but the room was on the second floor. He could not risk it though; this was his only chance at escape.
Dean closed the door quietly behind himself and with Sammy close to him he stepped over the battered bodies one by one until he reached the window. He balanced Sammy on his shoulder and opened the window with one hand. A bristling breeze of ice-cold air hit his face and Sammy's side, causing him to break out into steady wails.
No, no, no. The cries that Sam emitted only made Dean lose more and more hope; he couldn't do this. He couldn't get Sammy out. He didn't know what to do. Dean felt himself tear up again but this time he didn't fight it. With tears running down his face, Dean sat Sam down on the bed with white sheets that were stained red, between the body of a guard and a maid.
As soon as Sam was situated on the bed, Dean's knees gave out and he was on the edge of the bed crying his eyes out. He didn't know what to do, what could he do? His parents were both dead, London was dead. He was alone…
Sammy's wails broke his stupor; Dean looked at his brother through tear-stained eyes and smiled brokenly. No he wasn't alone, he still had Sammy and he was going to get him out if it was the last thing he did.
Dean, with shaking hands, unbuttoned his polka-dot shirt and took it off, leaving him shirtless in the cold room. But he barely cared; he needed to make Sammy warmer. In the mad rush to get out of the room, Dean hadn't taken any of Sammy's blankets or clothes and he didn't notice at the time that Sammy was only wearing a small shirt and a diaper.
Dean wrapped the shirt he was wearing around Sammy's body and to his relief Sammy stopped crying and snuggled into the cotton fabric. Dean used both of his hands to wipe the stray tears from his cheeks and then huffed out a laugh. He was going to save Sammy no matter what happened and if his parents were dead, he was going to take care of him himself. Nodding to himself, Dean stood up and gathered Sammy into his arms.
He walked to the window again and stuck his head out. There weren't many people around, not that he expected there to be. The guards did not circle the castle very much, they only guarded entrances and the people who were killing everybody were not around either.
The coast was clear.
Dean looked down the wall and saw the castle vines. His mom always told him not to play on the vines no matter how many times he begged her; she said they weren't sturdy and he might fall and break his neck. He wanted to believe her, he really did. But what other choice did he have?
Dean slung Sammy over his shoulder again, gripping him tightly. He placed an idle kiss on Sammy's elbow and then hopped on the window ledge, keeping one arm firmly gripped on the stone ledge and the other holding his brother Dean moved up slowly until his feet were out swinging to the point where he could curl them back.
He moved his feet around until he could find a vine that he could hook his foot into. When he found one, he used it as leverage to find one for his other foot and then with the use of one of his hands he balanced himself on the vines. Dean knew he was shaking or at least starting to, but he couldn't be nervous right now. He needed to be strong.
With a sharp twist of his torso Dean was facing the wall and holding tightly onto the ledge in front of him. Dean felt a sick thrill at actually doing this; he always wanted to climb on the vines and even though it was dangerous Dean knew that looking at it like a game would make it easier. And maybe he wouldn't be as nervous.
Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He wasn't running for his life, he wasn't trying to save Sammy, his parents were alive, he was playing a game, he was defying his mother and he was having fun. Sunny Afternoon, London on the ground underneath the vines yelling at him, Sammy lying on the bed in the arms of Henrietta cheering him on with his tiny smile.
"I can do this."
Dean exhaled and started to slowly climb down the vines all while balancing his baby brother on his shoulder. One step at a time Dean shuffled down the vines, one step at a time Dean shuffled away from the opened window that still had curtains blowing inward, one step at a time Dean shuffled away from the dead bodies that now littered the castle.
Dean released a startled gasp when one of his feet slipped on a weak vine, but he caught himself with his only free hand and locked his foot in the vine. A shiver ran down his spine and he pressed himself to the wall before slowly climbing down the vines again.
"I can do this," Dean chanted.
Without looking at down, Dean knew that he was running out of vine, even though they grew sideways and from the ground, the gardeners usually cut them at a certain point. It was pretty close to the ground, but it was high enough so that Dean may slip and fall if he lands on his feet.
Dean climbed down a little further and when his feet ran out of vine he used the wall to balance his feet while keeping his free hand clasped on the vine. If I can just make it to the last vine, Dean looked down and bit his bottom lip; he didn't have much more to go.
A scream of fear ripped through Dean when one of his feet slipped, followed by his other one. In a mad rush to save himself and Sammy, Dean fisted the vine and held on tightly leaving him hanging a couple of feet from the ground. Dean bit his lip again, his arm throbbing from the weight of Sammy and himself. Dean tightened his hold on Sam and looked down.
"I can do it."
Dean closed his eyes and let go of the vine, hoping that the shock of him falling won't be too much for Sam to handle.
Dean's landing was not graceful. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Dean lurched forward and gasped out loud when a shock of pain shot through the bottom of his feet and continued to bombard through his legs until it reached his hips. Dean coughed and fell to his knees with his hand clasped onto his throbbing hip. Now it all made sense, his mother did not want him to get hurt.
After sitting in the same spot for over a minute, Dean decided that the throb in his legs and hip was slowing down enough for him to leave. He would have liked nothing more than to stay there with Sammy until his legs felt better. But it wasn't safe. They needed to hide.
Dean lifted one of his legs and noted that the pain was not too bad. Smiling at Sammy, Dean lifted his other one and yelped when another shock of pain ran through it. It hurt terribly; he didn't know what to do with it. He couldn't run on this leg.
His brother began to whimper and moan; And Dean realized with utter certainty that he had to get Sammy somewhere safe. He could barely form a rational thought when he had to apply more pressure to that leg of his; the pain was unbearable. But he pressed on, using his opposite leg to limp away
"Come on Sammy, let's go hide."
John Winchester removed his gun from his waist sheath and barreled down from his throne. Aiming it at the head of the demon that'd just killed his one of his advisors, he shot the demon with head-on accuracy. Killing it.
Screams and gunshots filled the air from all over the castle, including the great hall. But only three things were on John's mind: Dean, Sam and Mary. His kids and his wife were out there, not in here with him. God knows how long those demons have been snaking around this castle; if they got to his kids… they were so young…
John's heart hammered against his chest as he raced through the swarms of people and demons that flooded the great hall. Not really able to tell the difference without looking closer, John opted to just push past everyone instead of shooting people randomly.
"The hell," John shrieked when he was yanked back by something jumping on his back. He stumbled backwards and looked behind him to see a man with black eyes glaring at him. As soon as the man's hands wrapped around his throat, John turned his gun to the man's head and shot. With an animalistic shriek, the demon fell from John's shoulders to the ground.
Without making sure that it was dead, John continued on. His family was first. They're fine, they're fine, please god their fine.
Two more demons approached John from the side catching him off guard. He jumped back slightly, but gained his composure enough to shoot one demon in the upper arm. Unfortunately, the other jumped at John, tackling him to the ground and trying to wrestle the gun from his fingers. John bit back a scream when the demon's nails tore at his pale skin and the other pulled on his legs to distract him.
The demons continued to tear and rip at John's skin on his wrists and legs and John realized with a bout of grief that if the demons got to his wife and children they must have killed them in this way too. Jerking in their grips, John's hand loosened on his gun and the demon that was clawing at his arm knocked it away. He reached for it blindly as harsh pants blew past his lips; his gun was kicked and shuffled along by the all of the frantic people in his hall.
The dainty ankles of women and the clacking shoes of men running back and forth, while the ones in the red robes flung themselves in the air rather than running on foot. John grimaced.
When the demon's fist wrapped around his throat, John sputtered and jerked in his grasp. He knew what was happening, and like hell he was going to die like this. He tried to pry the demon's hand off of him, but demons have always had a strength advantage over humans, so all he could do was kick his free foot and try to get himself loose.
Without warning, the head of the demon holding his throat exploded and the one holding his foot followed closely afterwards. John closed his eyes when the blood sprinkled on his face and on his already dry lips. When the demon's grip on his neck loosened and he fell limp on John's chest John pushed him away and stood.
"Are you alright, your majesty?" A royal guard, Lex he called himself, ran toward his king with his now bloodied gun firmly in his grip.
Another guard ran toward him, asking the same question, his gun was bloodied as well and limp in his grasp but he seemed as ready to protect his king as the other. John realized with a begrudging nod, that he needed their help if he wanted to save his family.
"Come on!"
John took off running with the guards close behind him.
When he made it out of the Great Hall and into the hallways of the castle John saw that the chaos was no less profound there. But, there was one difference, instead of the vermin stealthily attacking his staff and friends; they seemed to be retreating; only attacking if someone got in their way.
John really wanted to chase them down and shoot them until their bodies were no more than mush. But, he had more important things to attend to.
Turning back toward his guards he cocked his head toward the stairs. "You have to help me find my family."
The two following him, and the six others who at some point fell in, nod at him with no hesitation. John sneers and continues running toward the stairs, the demons, at this point were almost all out and John and his guards promptly mowed down the ones that remained.
The stairs were less hectic, practically empty not including the litter of dead bodies and some of the grieving friends and families of said bodies.
But, John did not have time for that right now.
As soon as they made it to the top of stairs, the powerful smell of charcoal, sulfur and burning beef hit him immediately. Fire. There was a fire. And… someone was burned. Turning slowly, and seemingly painfully, back toward his guards -who seem to build up at every step he takes- and saw that he was not smelling things. They were looking at one another with deep frowns and scrunched up noses.
A group of guards ran to the king. They were bleeding from various places on their bodies, but they were whole and alive and each regarded him with regretful eyes.
At that moment John knew… he knew…
"What happened?"
The men all looked at each other before looking back at John, not one saying a word.
"Well," John snapped. "What the hell happened?"
Still no answer was forthcoming.
John felt his temper rising and he wanted so badly to smash all of their faces in until they told him the truth; even if he did not want to hear it. "Where's my wife? Where are my children?"
One of the men, the one in the front, was tearing up while the others simply balled up their fists and set their jaws. They were protecting him, John knew it, but he did not want to be protected now. His kingdom was attacked on the night of the Uitare, one of the holiest nights in all of Inim, and he unknowingly sat on his throne with his hands clasped in his lap listening to two stupid people try to solve their own stupid problem when it started. No, he did not need to be protected.
"As your king, I command you to tell me this instant or I will have you all hanged!" John knew his voice broke, but he didn't care. The threat was the same and it had the same effect because the guards all looked at John with fearful eyes and the one with the tears in his eyes stepped towards John.
"Your highness, we haven't been able to find your sons-"
John interrupted. "Neither of them."
The man shook his head. "No, they're both gone," He stated. He paused for all of five seconds, but he seemed to collect himself in that time period and he was back on track. "But, your highness-" He cleared his throat. "Your wife…"
He did not say anything more and John did not need him to. He understood.
"Take me to her."
The man nodded and turned his back to bring John to his wife. The other's fell in with the ones behind him, but John barely paid attention to them. His wife was all he could think of at that moment.
John felt a tremble run through him when he saw that the room they were nearing was his baby's nursery. As they got closer, the smell of charcoal and sulfur got stronger, but new smells arouse too. Sweet but musky aromas wafted through the halls, and the smell of beef became more pronounced, but it was also mixed in with the terrible scent of burning iron. John knew what he would find in that room, but he did not stop moving.
When they stepped into the doorway, John suppressed a shocked sob. His wife was not his wife. The top layer of her skin was burned off, leaving only blood and white skin that were clumped into folded lumps. Her hair was burned off of her head, only patches of black hair remaining there and her eyes were rolled into the back of her head.
A litter of her organs hung out of her stomach and were spread on the floor, making it slippery with blood.
John approached her slowly. His hand outstretched and tears already flowing from his hazel eyes, he sat on his knees beside her shoulder and looked deep into her white eyes.
It seemed so unreal. Less than an hour ago, she was the crabby woman who yelled at his subjects like they were her own children. Less than a day ago they were sharing their bed, "trying for a girl," she said. Less than a month ago they were celebrating Dean's birthday, cuddling on Sam's rocking chair as Dean ate cake and Sam drank milk. Less than a year ago they were welcoming their second child into their lives. And now…
She was his wife, the women who he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. He didn't understand how she could be the one lying on her son's floor. Her, her, her.
It could have been anyone else but her. It should have been someone else.
But it was her.
John tore his eyes away from his wife's body and looked at the men standing at the doorway.
He opened his mouth to speak but briefly had no voice. And for once, he did not have his strong dominating wife there to fill in for him simply because she always knew what her husband wanted to say.
"Continue the search for my children. Do not stop until they are found," He ordered with authority.
They nodded and half scurried off while the other half stood where they were, guarding the door.
John's eyes fell back to his wife and instead of extreme sadness taking over, John felt a crippling sense of anger and vengefulness overshadow his grief. For all of his life, Inim and Iad coexisted with tranquility and understanding. But no more! Those demons would pay for this. Not only for the life of his wife, but for his missing children and all of his subjects who have lost their lives on this night.
But John could not do it alone.
Himmel's leaders, the Five Brothers of Engels, the most powerful beings in the entire world, five angels who had as much of a stake in this demon uprising as John did; they owed him a favor and it was about time for John to cash in: for his wife, for his son's and for his people.