Author's Note: This is my first multi-chaptered fic in a really long time (Tattoo notwithstanding; it was intended as two stand-alone pieces, but ffnet's rules made me uncomfortable doing so), but have no fear, I shan't abandon it (like I've done with literally every other multi-chaptered fic I've written). I have it on a regular update schedule, and the whole deadline thing seems to be working for me. Apologies for the delay in posting this on ffnet. I'm not sure why I didn't, but here it is now, complete with a cover image! As I mentioned in the summary, this fic is End!verse with parallels to Swan Song aplenty, so you pretty much know what to expect. But, hey, it's the journey that's important, right? Right.

Warnings: Snark, bit of crack, the usual. Also, there are shout outs and references galore, well as many as I could do without being irritating about it. So take a shot every time you catch one—you have earned it my friend.

Soul Men
by Judanim

Chapter One: "At Home at the End of the World"

"A little help here, Gabriel!"

"Sorry, cupcake! Kind of busy!"

The trouble with fighting a pack of demonic virus-infected zombies was the suckers were fast and smart. Sure, they weren't particularly hard to kill, especially not for someone with the powers of a pagan god, but they could strategize. So while you were taking care of one, there was usually two more sneaking up behind you.

Thus Gabriel's current problem. It didn't help that guns were not his strong suit, but close combat was not a game you wanted to play with Croats. Days like this made him wish for the actual fucking Apocalypse.

"Screw it," Gabriel said under his breath and retrieved his blade. He applied just enough magic to keep his rifle firing at the Croats furthest away while cutting through the ones directly in front of him.

Three of the zombies went down without a hitch, but Gabriel was starting to tire with his concentration split between the two tasks. He would be able to clear out the few right in front of him, but the other five waiting to take their place? That would be trouble.

"Azi, go!" he heard Crowley yell somewhere across the yard. Well hey, the hellhound was awake; that was good news.

The distraction cost him, because one of the Croats got close, and Gabriel couldn't raise his blade in time. Before the zombie could lay a hand on him, it fell flat on its face. A glance down told him it was the work of Aziraphale, the hound already sinking his monstrous teeth into the zombie's midsection.

"Crowles you softy," the trickster said, careful to keep his voice down.

With Azi's help, Gabriel managed to take out the rest of the Croats. As soon as they were gone, he went to join Crowley's battle, only to find the demon standing calmly amidst the corpses of his fallen enemies. Par for the course.

"What took you so long?"

Gabriel made a show of counting the bodies. "Oh you know, just had to take out, hmm, twice as many zombie freaks as you did. No big deal."

Crowley smirked. "Sure you did, love." His expression and tone were sarcastic, but his eyes were giving Gabriel and Azi a quick once-over.

The action didn't go unnoticed, and the concern brought a smile to Gabriel's face, smug and saccharine all at once. "Well, all that fighting worked up an appetite. I'm just gonna-"

"Don't you dare-"

But the trickster was already snapping himself into the house. Perhaps not his brightest idea, given the circumstances, but with Azi on guard it seemed like an acceptable risk. Gabriel landed himself at the threshold of the kitchen just to screw with Crowley, but the taunt got caught in his throat when he saw the state of the room.

"What the bloody hell?" came the demon's voice from behind him.

"I swear it wasn't me, Crowles," was all Gabriel could think to say. He took a tentative step into the kitchen.

Paper was everywhere, almost covering the tile floor and at least half of the counter space. The little printer in the corner was silent by now, but little wisps of smoke were rising out of the machine's business end.

"It looks like the angel radio vomited in here," Gabriel said. "I'm surprised Azi didn't wake up sooner."

"Fucking windbags," Crowley said and waved a hand, the papers beginning to collect themselves into some semblance of order. "Don't they know brevity is the soul of wit?"

Gabriel snorted out a laugh. "Not when it's important." He snatched one of the papers from the air and skimmed the text within. The word "Detroit" popped up several times. Too many times. "Damn it."

Crowley was busy retrieving his roast from the oven. Even during the dreaded End Times he cooked like Betty fucking Crocker. "What is it?"

The trickster picked up another sheet, trying to piece together the story. "I think… It looks like Lucifer's making one last big push. He's fortifying Detroit, so no one with a pair of wings can get in."

"If there were any left willing to try." Crowley jabbed a thermometer into the meat before turning to Gabriel. "Of course all your brother's going to accomplish is wiping out the humans, as long as Michael's still floating up in the clouds."

"Unless he's got a vessel," Gabriel said, the words thick and heavy on his tongue. And there was the guilt that seemed programmed into an angel's being. He'd almost missed it. "But we would've heard about it, right? I know Zachariah would be shouting it from the mountaintops."

"Something tells me there'd be whole choirs singing about it all over the bloody world. Ineffable plan and all that." Crowley glanced back to the thermometer. "Looks like dinner's done. I say we deal with the Apocalypse on a full stomach."

"Just like old times." Gabriel found himself smiling despite the unease worming its way into the pit of his stomach. "I'll bring the wine."


"I will never be convinced that you don't add even just a little magic to your cooking," Gabriel said. He leaned back on the couch and added a belch for dramatic effect, not that it made the action any less sincere. Crowley's cooking was that good, and the bastard knew it.

"Believe what you want," Crowley said, giving the barest of smiles over his glass of wine. In his other hand was one of the angel radio papers, and Gabriel would've protested the notion of working through dinner, but in this case he let it go. An exception every once and a while never hurt anyone.

That didn't mean he could avoid the subject, so he didn't bother trying. "So, what's the verdict? Is it the dreaded Sunday dinner?"

Crowley made a noise in his throat and put the paper back into the mile he'd manage to organize on the coffee table. "The end of the end, I'm afraid. There's no word on Michael getting his vessel, but Lucifer's acting like it's all about to come down."

"Always was trigger happy. At least some things don't change." Gabriel sighed, closing his eyes. "Finally, it's almost over."

"Don't sound so relieved, darling," Crowley said before seating himself on the couch next to Gabriel.

The trickster couldn't help but lean against his demon, resting his head on Crowley's shoulder. "I'm just tired," he said, words running together as the wine and the exertions of the day caught up with him.

His fatigue shifted to something else when Crowley's hand found its way to the nape of his neck and started massaging the tense muscles there. "Mm. It is nice to have a deadline." And then that rasping baritone was in his ear, whispering, "Makes me think we should make the most of what time we've got left."

Gabriel couldn't help his shiver. "You and your ideas, cupcake," he said with a smirk and opened his eyes to see Crowley wearing a matching expression.

With a snap of the demon's fingers, they were transported to the bedroom, and at least for the night Gabriel was able to forget about his guilt and his exhaustion. Crowley made sure of that.