Author's Note:
My idea of what happens in the dying seconds of the very end of 4x22 (season finale, so episode title withheld to prevent spoilers), and what I think should come next.
Ergo: ULTIMATE SPOILERS for end of season 4
Oh my dog, is that angst? You think I'm doing angst now? Oh ye of little faith… SPN fans cannot live by angst alone…
Obesa Cantavit
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Sam looks at his brother with eyes loaded with the pain and mortification that he can never fully convey, the guilt and remorse he can never express to the degree he is feeling right this second.
It's the end of the world, Sam's eyes say. And it's All. My. Fault.
Dean looks at him, and it's the worse stare he could ever envision:
Is that anger? Accusation? Blame? But I need you! Don't you turn your back on me, Sam's eyes plead. I was played. I was manipulated. I was coerced. But you can help me. You can help us both. You can save the world.
Dean's eyes soften. Not enough for others to notice. But enough for Sam.
Did he hear me? Does he realise how I would give my life, right now, if it stopped what I've done?
He struggles to think of a chain of thought; something must be said.
Something is said: "I'm sorry."
And Dean's face changes. Now he fears, now he realises what is about to happen. His look of disbelief, of alarm - it drives a stake through Sam's heart.
I did this. He warned me, he told me - and I didn't listen. I did this.
But Dean's face shifts slightly once again. Now it is determined, together, organised:
My little brother's jump-started the apocalypse, it says. So I've gotta catch him when he falls. And I'll stop Lucifer. But Sam comes first.
The blood trails on the floor are already touching in the centre. The light begins. A funnel, a channel, a piercing column of hellish light thrusts up not just through the concrete floor, but the divide between Earthly planes and Hell itself. The light describes everything, and is everything to all things: Tartarus, Anaon, Kalichi, Dei Yuk, Naraka, the House Of The Lie, Perdition, Hell, the Ninth Circle, The Pit, The End Of All Souls.
The light grows, the circle of cosmic entrance widens. It is now. This is where it happens; this is where mankind faces the fallen angel, the bringer of the light.
Dean is the first to move. He knows they cannot stay. His hand is already moving; it grasps at Sam's jacket.
Sam needs this; he needs to be kicked, needs to be told to move. He needs guidance, reassurance, something in which to put his faith. Perhaps for the first time in too long a time, it is again his brother.
The light grows. The sound rises. The shuddering, quaking of the stones under their feet begins.
This is it: the end of all things.
This is Lucifer rising.
.
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He feels it: it is the call to another plane.
It starts small: a tiny crack, a tiny bell pealing over and over. It announces his time has come; Lilith has been victorious, her manipulation consummate, her compleat plans incarnate, the will of the souls trapped in Hell itself made manifest.
Too long he has waited for this, too long he has been bound and hidden. He will scorch the very Earth, take back what was ripped from his purview, conquer and serve and lavish love and torture on the minions he will garner.
He thinks back to Lilith's words: Sam. Sam is setting you free. But Dean… He seeks to destroy you. For the price I have exacted from his flesh, his soul: his brother.
Lucifer considers. He needs something more, something absolute, something to remove this older brother from existence. And Sam - he must be destroyed. He is human, and he can kill his first demon, his first convert. They must both be annihilated. He needs something more.
He needs something more.
He considers. He concludes. He stretches for that which will end the world upon which he is about to walk. He knows of the weapon he needs, but it is out of reach.
He turns his back to the growing portal for less than a human second.
He turns to gird his loins.
.
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Sam and Dean: the poler opposites, the necessary evils. They stand and stare, they watch the column of light. Dean would despair, but young Sam is with him.
He can't know how I've let him screw this up, Dean thinks. He can't know this is my fault. I shoulda stopped him. I shoulda-- "Sammy, let's go!" he urges.
But Sam stares into the light. "Dean…" He watches, he sees the aperture expanding. He gasps, barely able to grasp the concept as easily as he grasps his brother's jacket for emotional support. "He's coming!"
They stare into the light. The ground is shuddering, the light too bright. It fills the room; they are forced to close their eyes against the harsh needling of every colour in existence fighting to assault their eyes and senses.
The quaking stops. The sounds subside.
This is it, Dean realises. This is Lucifer rising.
There is no sound. It could be the aftermath of the audio overload, or it could be that nothing is happening.
Dean opens a single eye. He can feel Sam's hand on his jacket, knows he is squeezing his painfully tightly. His one receptive eye ranges around the room.
No column of light. No fallen angel watching them with derision.
Just a hole in the floor. It measures four feet wide, the dark red blood of the first demon bonded to the sides of the shape. Small bright red charges of apparently electrical energy snap and dance across the diameter, arcing and crackling with desire and delight.
The hole is Stygian blackness itself. The red energy zaps and shimmers across the opening.
Dean's other eye opens. He waits for the inevitable. He sees the hole into Hell. He acutely feels the world around him, knows it will not be there for much longer.
Nothing moves, save the energy discharges across the circle into nothingness. Time, reminded it still plays a part in all things, begins to tick again. It passes as mist over a river.
The Winchesters risk a glance at each other. It is much needed, and explains everything. Dean looks back at the hole.
He lets go of his younger sibling's jacket. And in a bold move that shocks both men, he takes a step toward the gaping wound in the chains of Tartarus.
Sam grabs his shoulder, trying to haul him backwards where his out-of-date sub-conscious tells him it is safer.
But Dean shakes loose; he takes two definite steps toward the shining hole, thrumming with some bone-shaking energy.
He takes a deep breath. And on behalf of the six billion inhabitants of the world in which he lives, for the multitude of cultures, faiths and colours of the world he is fighting to protect, he draws himself up. He utters a single word: a challenge, a warning of what is to come if battle is demanded of him.
"Yeah'ello?"
It is met with silence. Nothing stirs. He takes a unique step back, turning and finding his younger sibling's confused face. Their eyes meet in abject confusion, and hundred thoughts and ruminations on their current predicament are shared faster than light itself.
He turns back to the hole, his face a picture of vexation.
"I said: hello?"
The room shakes, the stone walls chip and splinter, the floor beneath their feet shudders and threatens to pitch them over. They fling their arms out wide, determined to stay on their feet for the coming battle.
A deafening noise thunders around the crypt. They are aware of the hideously extreme noises changing, morphing - and suddenly they recognise words in a confident, female voice that gives a new rating index to the word 'sultry'.
"The entity you are trying to reach cannot be connected at the moment. It is possible the dimensional portal does not exist, or has shifted temporarily out of coverage zone. Please check dimensional access code and try again."
A loud squeal fills the air. The men raise their hands, clapping them over their ears in pain. The screech dies away. Cautiously, they lower their barriers and listen for anything further.
They are not disappointed.
The booming, thundering female has only three further words to impart:
"Connecting. Please hold."
The Winchesters dare to look at each other, perplexed and shocked in equal measure. Until a new sound, a new voice, echoes impossibly loudly around the room. Despite the harsh volume, they do not dare cover their ears.
"How do you get this damn thing to--. Right. Got it!"
The echoes of such loud, cacophonous tones die away slowly. The brothers turn and stare at each other.
There is a huge sound of shifting phlegm, as if the universe herself is clearing her throat. The voice begins again.
"Hi. You've reached Lucifer. I'm sorry I can't get to your doorway to Earth right now. I'm sure I must have been trying very hard, but something must have got in the way - or, knowing me, I stopped to go back for something like one of those badly-written dumb blonds in slasher flicks. Either way, I can't come to the portal. Thanks for trying though, and I hope to see you soon, should another way to release me be found. Cheers. Keep the faith, loyal followers. Keep buying Microsoft."
The voice stops. The red crackles dissipate and then they are gone. The lights, the blood, the shock: it all bleeds away.
It is replaced, rather neatly, by the vacuum of complete and utter disbelief.
The brothers turn to look at the circle of light. What once was a vortex of unspeakable power, able to drag the Fallen One himself out of the Hephaestian chains anchoring him to his private prison in Hell, is now a rather boring, rather ordinary circle of scratches in the floor. It is no longer scored into stone, but earth and dirt and all those elements of perfundity that beg to be stepped away from, lest they leave objectionable mud on one's shoe.
It is a circle. Simply a circular patch of dirt in the otherwise sturdy stone.
Dean steps back. He turns and looks at his brother. Sam lets his mouth hang open for what seems an eternity. Then he shrugs.
"Seriously?" says Dean.
Sam runs a hand through his hair. He looks around slowly. Nothing has changed, no absurdity has blinded them to the trick of a devious criminal soul.
"I guess he missed his opening."
"Well…" Dean manages. His eyes cast around, to try and reconcile what he feels and what he sees. "So that's it then? No Lucifer, no apocalypse?"
"I guess," Sam blinks.
It is silent for exactly four minutes and twenty seconds.
"Well alright," Dean grins at last. He turns back to the earthen circle. "So the fat lady sang. But Lucifer stepped out for a burger when he really should have been paying attention," he snorts with derision.
Sam shrugs helplessly, his eyebrows now, at least, able to convey his monumental relief at the outcome. "Dean?"
"Whut?"
"Stiff drink?"
Dean considers. Then he realises that resistance is futile.
"Stiff drink," he nods. "Lots of stiff drinks."
They turn and walk away.
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FIN
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So I read psquare's "Staggered" and I had this weird idea. I wrote it down. Thanks for psquare for writing and sharing.
P.S.: If anyone gets the significance of the four minutes and twenty seconds, I'll be laughing for a week.