AN: SuperWhoLockOmens=Supernatural,Doctor Who,Sherlock,Good Omens.
I have the entire story planned out, so hopefully updates will be fairly regular (As in, once-a-week-ish), unless I say otherwise at a later point.
This story is set pre-God!Castiel, pre-Reichenbach, and the Doctor that will appear later is 10.
This story is a crossover with His Dark Materials, however, no specific characters from the trilogy will appear, as it is set long after the events in the books.
I think we all need some good fandom feels for a change, especially after last night's Supernatural ;_;
~Luna
Carry on my wayward son
There will be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more
When God closes a door, he opens a window somewhere
"Hey there, John. I dunno if you remember me or not, but we met about a decade back, huntin' down a coupl'a werewolves… Anyways, I left the key to my Dallas storage unit with your friend Bobby Singer. I'm goin' on a hunt, and… Well, I ain't sure if I'm comin' back from this one… Keep that key safe—don't ya dare let anyone in there. It's important, John—really important, that you keep that key safe, and you're the only son of a bitch I c'n trust, God help me… End of messages. To delete, press 1. To listen again, press—"
Dean Winchester flipped the phone shut with a sigh, depositing it in the Impala's glove box. He looked at his brother, shaking his head.
"How many people are gonna call Dad for help, before the world finally realizes the guy is dead?"
Sam shrugged, not knowing the answer any better than Dean. The call had to have been the fourth one that year, and all had been from various hunters who were under the impression that John was up and kicking.
"Don't know Dean... But look, what do you think of this guy? I don't recognize the voice or anything. Still, do you think what he said is worth checking out?"
"You mean the storage unit? It's probably just a bunch of fancy-ass guns or something. We're on a case—it can wait."
"But you heard what he said. The way he kept repeating how important it was to keep the key safe. A hunter wouldn't be that protective of a couple guns."
"Curse boxes or something then, I don't know. I don't care either, at the moment Sammy. Bobby's got the key, apparently, and he can keep it until we're done with this case."
"Dean, I really think this could be worth looking into—Look, Bobby's only a few hours away, and the case I found is in Louisiana. We'd have to pass through Texas anyways. Just humor me, would you?"
The older brother rolled his eyes, but wordlessly u-turned, heading in the direction of their friend's place. He whipped out his own cell phone, ringing up the older hunter to let him know they would be there that evening.
"So, let me get this straight… Guy knocks on your door, tells you that he needs you to get this thing—this key—to Dad, hands it to you, and books it before you can ask any questions?" Dean was incredulous, turning the key over in his hands.
"That's right." Bobby shrugged. "Just took off before I could get a thing out of him, the idjit."
Sam took the key from his brother, tilting his head to examine it: perfectly ordinary looking, fashioned from dull, bronze-plated metal. Tags hung off of the end, offering the only clue as to what it opened; the name of a Dallas storage company, and the number of the unit it opened.
"So… What do you think is in there?" The younger Winchester looked at his companions, puzzled. "I mean, what would need to be protected like this?"
Dean, his curiosity getting the better of him, reached over to grab the key back. His lips twitched up into a half-smile as he stared at it.
"Lets go and find out."
The Impala delivered the Winchesters to Texas sometime after midnight. The city was still as busy as ever, illuminated by streetlamps and neon lights. The crowds kept to the brightly lit sidewalks, or clustered in bars and diners. Groups gathered outside clubs, passing around a box of cigarettes, or a pack of beer. The darker parts of the city were sporadically populated with underdressed women, and grungy groups of teens lounged on the doorsteps of the buildings.
Agreeing to wait until morning to examine the storage unit, the boys pulled into a motel, taking care to lock the car when they left it. Quickly wrapping things up at the front desk, the brothers bought a room to crash in for the remainder of the night.
Dean stretched out on the cheap mattress, burying his face in the pillow as he tried to block out the noise of the city. Just as he began to feel himself slipping into blissful unconsciousness, he caught the familiar rustle of wings, and a warm presence materialized against his back.
He murmured into the pillow, not bothering to open his eyes. "Cas, what have we said about personal space?"
There was a murmured apology, and the bed creaked as Castiel moved farther away from the man.
The hunter grinned sleepily, picturing the look on the angel's face. He removed his head from the pillow to look, leaving a warm imprint where his face had been. The divine being was the same as always; suit, loose tie, trench coat… Soft, dark hair, delicately masculine features, and ridiculously beautiful eyes.
Dean sat up the rest of the way, bringing himself face-to-face with the angel, a sleepy grin on his face.
"So… Are you here in the middle of the night for a reason, or just to watch me sleep?"
"Dean…" Came the reply, soft and serious. "I know what you plan on doing tomorrow."
"What, you mean opening that storage unit? Cas, it's hardly gonna cause World War III… What are you worried about?"
His friend gazed at him for a moment, the blue eyes, bright even in the darkness, locking into green ones.
"All I'm asking is that you watch yourself." Castiel held the hunter's gaze for another moment, staring as if he could see right through him. "There is something powerful in there, and old; it's been locked up for centuries."
Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, drawing back slightly. "If you know what it is, why don't you just tell me?"
"I don't know what it is… Only that it is very powerful, and heavily guarded."
The hunter opened his mouth to ask another question, and the angel hurried on. "The storage unit is covered with Enochian wards, Devil's Traps, and about a hundred other varieties of warding symbols; nothing supernatural, including me, can get in that place."
His friend seemed surprised for a moment, before hunter's logic took its place. "So whatever's in there… Whoever locked it up obviously thought it could do some major damage in the wrong hands." The man's expression became contemplative, running his battle-scarred hand through his hair as he thought.
"If we get in there and figure this thing out, we can be out of here by tomorrow evening." He shrugged, breaking eye contact with Castiel to lie back down. "Pretty simple, Cas."
The angel was silent as Dean shut his eyes, going back to sleep. He sat there for several more moments, just watching. The hunter's breathing became slow and regular, and Castiel tore his gaze away to glance through the window at the still-bustling city outside. Remembering his friend's words, he sighed, the sound like the biting wind before a violent storm.
"Don't be so sure, Dean."
He tentatively raised a hand, pausing with it in midair for a long second, before gently running it through the sleeping man's hair. The angel sighed again, more quietly this time, frowning as a feeling of apprehension washed over him.
There was a rustling of wings, and he was gone.
Sam, carrying only his knife and a handgun, stared at his brother as he slammed the Impala's trunk shut—the older Winchester had armed himself to the teeth, complete with knives, a stake, holy water, two different guns, and extra ammunition.
"Um, Dean? D'you really think you're going to need all that?"
The hunter shrugged, checking his pocket for the key to the storage unit. "Better safe than sorry, Sammy."
He began walking across the parking lot to the company's entrance, ignoring his brother's confused look. After a moment, he heard Sam catch up with him, and answered the man's question before it was asked.
"Cas came to talk to me last night. Said this unit was plastered in warding symbols—all kinds. I told him we'd watch ourselves…" He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. "I dunno what's in there, so, like I said, better safe than sorry,"
"Oh, so we're having midnight visits from Cas again, are we?" Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly, before a more serious expression grew on his face. "Anyways, did he say what it is?"
"It was closer to three in the morning, for your information… But no, he couldn't get past the wards—apparently, they keep angels out."
"Enochian wards? Damn… It's powerful then, whatever's in there?"
"It'd seem so, yeah."
The brothers reached the front entrance of the storage building, pushing open the doors and going in. Numbered doors lined the walls of the long hallway, all leading to different storage units. Dean took the key out of his pocket, checking it's tags for the unit number; 427. Showing it to Sam, they glanced at the doors around them, and, reading the numbered plaques on the door, noted they were only in the early twenties. The boys picked up their pace, walking past dozens of entrances, until the hallway took a sharp turn to the left. Following the path, the boys kept walking. 50…100…150…200…
After the door labeled 300, the Winchesters found themselves facing a large, metal, sturdy-looking door. Trying the handle revealed it to be locked; they looked at each other, shrugging, and Dean tried the key he was carrying. It clicked, to their relief, and he pushed it open, walking through ahead of Sam.
They found themselves in a narrower, darker hallway, lined with more closely spaced doors, counting up from 300. Stopping momentarily to ready their weapons, the brothers continued their trek. 301…350…370…400…427.
The only noise in the hallway was the quiet, controlled breathing of the two hunters, so both jumped as a third figure appeared in a fluttering of feathers.
"Damn it, Cas," Dean hissed through the darkness, "Can't you ever show up at normal times?"
The angel had materialized inappropriately close to the man, and the narrow hallway didn't make the situation any more comfortable. Wedged between his brother, a wall, and the supernatural entity, Dean swallowed nervously. Given their proximity, he could feel Castiel's breath on his neck when he spoke.
"I appear when you need me, Dean. I don't see how I could make things any more 'normal' for you."
The hunter sighed and looked away, handing the key he had been holding to Sam. The younger brother took it, glancing at Cas, who nodded as well. Carefully inserting the key to the unit, the taller man slowly opened the door, raising his gun. His brother did the same, taking a defensive position behind him. Taking a cautious step inside, Sam glanced around, keeping his weapon handy as he took in the surroundings. Dean followed him, leaving the angel to watch from the hallway.
The boys found themselves in a moderately sized room, with different types of shelves—empty shelves—lining all four sides. The walls were cinderblock, as is true of many storage units, with iron rods lining them at different intervals, from floor to ceiling. The room was covered in black spray paint, looping and swirling into hundreds of different wards, as Castiel had described. The same paint covered the floor, forming Devil's Traps, more wards, and other, complicated looking symbols that the men could only guess at. Lining the base of all the walls, every single shelf's surface, and, from the looks of it, ground into every symbol decorating the room, was rock salt.
"It's… It's a panic room." The younger hunter announced, breaking the silence.
Dean lowered his gun now, giving his brother a look. "Great observation, Sammy. College really paid off, din't it?"
Sam rolled his eyes, dropping his weapon as well. "Cas, are you sure there's something in here? It looks completely empty."
Castiel looked in from the hallway, unable to cross the threshold.
"Sam, I can feel it… I can't explain it any more clearly, but there is definitely something in there… Keep looking."
The boys glanced at each other and shrugged, splitting up to inspect each shelf, and every wall. Dean ran his hand over the cinderblocks on his left, and frowned when his fingers found something unusual.
"Hey, Sammy. I think I've got something over here…"
Sam crossed to his brother, leaning in to see what his brother had found. Camouflaged by the black paint on the walls, and half hidden between two of the empty shelves, was a small, but noticeable fissure in the mortar running along the edge of a cinderblock.
As it was much too thin to be pried open by hand, the older hunter pulled out one of the knives he was carrying, working the blade into the crack. When it was hilt-deep in the wall, he pushed against it, and saw the block begin to loosen. Sam, on the other side, pulled his own knife from his belt and did the same. Together, they managed to slide the brick an inch or so out of its place, at which point Dean abandoned his knife to grip the cinderblock from both sides and pull.
After several minutes of heaving, and sliding the block out inch-by-inch, the older brother gave it one final, massive tug. He fell flat on his back from the force of it, grunting as the brick landed on his midsection.
Pushing it off of himself, he sat up, grimacing. "Son of a bitch, that's gonna bruise." He moaned.
Getting up the rest of the way, he joined the other hunter in staring into the hole in the wall. It went much farther than expected, the very back not even visible through the darkness.
The boys glanced at each other, coming to an unspoken agreement. Each raised a fist, pounded it into their other hand three times, and put up a weapon. The older brother cursed at the results; he'd been beaten, paper to rock.
Begrudgingly reaching an arm in the hole, Dean grumbled about the strength of a rock over paper in real life, feeling around in the dark.
Sam chuckled at his brother's antics, watching him unhappily feel around in the wall. Suddenly, the other hunter shrieked, his eyes wide with terror at what he had found in the hole!
"Dean? Dean what is it?" The younger brother asked, his voice rising in panic. Castiel called to the boys from the hallway, worry in his voice as well.
The man dropped his act, laughing as he pulled his arm out, a small object in his hand.
"It's a box, guys."
Sam rolled his eyes, making a face at his brother, who grinned back at him. Bringing the small, wooden box all the way into the open, Dean crossed to the doorway, remaining just inside the room, allowing the angel a view of the find.
Inspecting it from the short distance, Castiel nodded at his friend to open it.
"The box is nothing special." He informed them. "It's not built to hold a cursed object, or anything of that sort. The object inside is too powerful to be contained by anything… I can feel it; it's much stronger now."
"That's totally reassuring." The hunter murmured, fingers running along the top of the box. His brother came to stand beside him, watching as the man gripped the carved lid, pulling it off with some difficulty, and peered inside.
Lying there, on a strip of ancient black fabric, was a knife. It was not extravagant, or special looking; in fact, it appeared rather dull. The handle was worn where it had been gripped, the less held areas hinting at once-beautiful rosewood. Gold wires formed a design on the handle, but time had deposited layers of filth on them, rendering it fairly indistinguishable from the wood.
Dean glanced at the angel, who was staring intently at the blade. Cautiously, he held the small box in one hand, reaching in to carefully take hold of the handle, lifting it out. Handing the now-empty object to Sam, the man held the knife out in front of himself, examining it in the light.
Despite it's initial appearance, the knife had a certain air of elegance about it; it didn't need to be pretty, the hunter decided. It was perfectly balanced, easily handled, and felt strangely alive in his hand. The surface, dented and cracked in places, as if it had been repaired countless times, was only the first layer. Underneath, it ebbed and flowed with every color in existence, swirling in his peripheral vision, disappearing when he looked at them directly. The blade was not as dull than he had originally thought, and Dean lowered the knife, reaching out a hand to test the edge.
"Son of a bitch!" He drew back quickly; blood gushing steadily from a deep cut that crossed two of his fingers.
Sam froze, staring at his brother's hand in surprise—the knife still appeared dull to him—before grabbing the black cloth from inside the box, ready to wrap it around the wound. Castiel, however, held a warning hand up to stop him. Reaching towards Dean, he looked at the hunter expectantly. The man gingerly placed his bleeding hand in the angel's palm, watching as his friend examined it, frowning when Cas looked confused.
"It can't be…" He mumbled to himself.
"What? What is it?"
"A legend, really… A tale that the angels tell, accounted by a prophet." He took the strip of cloth from Sam's hand, wrapping it carefully around his friend's hand, an absent look on his face. "It tells of a knife of enormous power, forged centuries ago, and supposedly destroyed after the mess it created… Destroyed in another world."
Dean's mouth fell open, and his brother looked at Castiel, dumbfounded. Sam blinked several times, as if allowing his thoughts to catch up with him, before taking a step towards the angel.
"Wait, what?"
Cas glanced at him, nodding. "This isn't the only world, Sam, nor the only 'real' one. Thousands of Universes exist, pressed together, like… Pages of a book, if you will. The angels can hear whispers from some of them, and even pass through them if they have the power." He looked at the knife, still in Dean's good hand. "But it's been a long, long time since any of us have. Because of that knife, and what a pair of children did with it."
The Winchesters looked at him, curiosity written all over their faces. The angel sighed, stepping aside to allow them to exit the room. They did so, and Castiel fixed them with a serious look.
"Come back to the room. We need to learn if that really is the knife, and it will take a long while to explain why."
Without a thought, and before the brothers could object, he touched a hand to each of their foreheads, and the three were gone.