End Game
A/N: This is a new story idea I came up with, I know I probably have too many open stories, but oh well I couldn't resist. I don't own anything, if I did Dean Winchester would be all mine ;)
There was complete silence all around him. Not a sound filled his ears besides his own steady breathing. Dean Winchester stood motionless. His eyes blinked every few seconds. The scene before the hunter's vibrant emerald orbs left him utterly speechless. There was hardly anything left of the city he stood in. The flames had long since died out, but their destruction remained. Scorch marks stained the buildings and walk ways. Windows were shattered, and doors forcibly removed from their hinges. It was almost too much for Dean to bear witness to. He was the only soul left in the wake. He shut his eyes for a moment; his mind trying to erase the truth his eyes revealed. All of this had to be a dream; it just has to be.
"What you see is real," a voice whispered in Dean's mind. Dean shook his head. This couldn't be true. But the voice sounded familiar to him, like someone he knew but had forgotten. "I'm dreaming," Dean whispered into the soft wind. There was a laugh heard in the hunter's mind. "True, but it is real Winchester," the voice responded. Slowly, Dean opened his eyes. If what this voice said is true, not that he was certain, but if it was then it could only mean one thing. "Damn Apocalypse," he muttered. Was this only the beginning for Earth? Between Heaven and Hell, will there be anything left? "Why show me this?" the hunter angrily asked. Was Heaven messing with his head so he will finally say yes to Michael? Because if it was, those winged dicks had another thing coming.
"Would you believe me if I told you who caused this damage? Even if it's not who you think?" the familiar voice asked. Dean raised a suspicious eyebrow. The experienced hunter had a pretty good idea who caused this damage. "I don't need you to remind me how destructive demons are," he replied. The mysterious voice chuckled once more. "Oh how wrong you are Dean Winchester," the voice spoke. Dean had an incredulous look on his handsome face. A part of him felt like laughing? Did this invisible presence take him for a fool? "Oh yea, then who?" Dean asked. It was silent for a moment as the voice didn't answer him right away. Dean was feeling a little frustrated. He was tired of playing this game. "Well," he spoke to the wind. "Turn left at the street corner in front of you," the voice ordered. Dean took a minute to think. Should he trust this strange voice? What if it led him into a trap? But curiosity got the better of the hunter and his paranoia. It was a dream after all. With a cautious step, Dean followed the voice's directions.
It took a few minutes for Dean to reach his destination. The voice led the hunter to the town center. What lay before Dean's green eyes left him speechless and horror struck. There was no doubt the being in front of the hunter was the culprit of the carnage all around him. To weaken Dean's resolve in front of the Winchester, it was not a demon in front of him. Oh no, Dean knew for certain the being was not a creature of Hell. It was an in fact an angel of the Lord. An angel that Dean recognized. Before him was Zachariah. The angel's blade was stained with blood. The shirt his vessel wore was torn and also stained with the crimson liquid. A sadistic smile appeared on Zachariah's lips. Littered around the powerful angel were lifeless bodies, cut and torn, and lying in a pool of their own blood. Dean's mouth dropped. It was the angels who did this. Not demons, but angels. The thought sickened the eldest Winchester son.
"What did I tell you," the voice began. Dean looked away from the scene before him. He did not want to see anymore; he wasn't sure he would be able to handle it. "What do you want?" Dean asked the presence. Slowly Dean felt his vision began to blur and fade. What was going on? "For you to know the truth Dean," the voice answered. Everything in Dean's vision was going black, and he was feeling light headed and weak. "And what's that?" Dean asked in somewhat of a sneer. His body was feeling weaker and weaker as the darkness spread across his vision. "That demons aren't the only beings that lie," the voice stated. Those words were the last thing Dean understood before everything faded out.
With a jolt, Dean sat up awake in his lumpy bed. The hunter was gasping for air. After getting his breathing under control, his green eyes darted around him while keeping his head straight. Dean found himself back in the cheap motel room he and his brother Sam had been staying at the last few nights. Sam slept soundly in the next bed to Dean's right. Slowly, Dean lay back down in his bed. The dream he just had replaying over again in his mind. What did his dream mean? Was everything he saw true? Did Zachariah and the angels cause that devastation? But Dean had no idea where he was. He never knew the name of the town or where its location was. And who was that mysterious voice, and why did Dean have the urge to trust it?
A/N: Well what did you think?
Who was that mysterious voice? And what are the angels really capable of?
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