Brave New World
The Road So Far
The blade cleaved clean through Crowley's arm; tantalizing flashes of golden light reflected on the spotless chrome. Meg was painfully aware of the blade's twin dangerously close to her stomach. If she lost her grip for a second...
Crowley howled and Meg felt her fingers slip from around his wrist as he jerked back. His hand moved. Light glinted on polished metal. Damn it, almost five thousand years and this is how I'm gonna die? On a fucking cold back road with Crowley?
She waited for the pain, the life-flashing-before-your-eyes montage, the darkness... Something. But there was nothing. The air swirled around her, thick with the scent of pine and autumn soil. Crowley was gone. She hadn't even noticed him disappear, but where she'd held a fistful of his suit there was only air. It was quiet, too—except for that one really persistent nightjar. Noisy little bastard.
"Are you alright?"
The voice didn't startle her. She'd figured as much. After all, she hadn't teleported herself into the middle of a freeway in the back ass of who knows where.
"At least someone had the decency to come back for me." She tried to sound flippant, but she was pretty sure she failed. That had been the closest she'd ever come to dying since the night her father had fled into the desert with her and told her to look after her brother as he'd dropped them into the Pit. Of course, the options then had been Hell or really high water, so...
She turned, glanced at Castiel, and realized he was still waiting for an answer. "I'm fine, Clarence." She gestured at her bloodied face. "Nothing I can't fix."
He smiled, somewhat sheepish. "I have to go. I... I have to protect this." He waved the tablet, almost like he thought he needed an excuse. He was so cute when he was flustered.
"You gonna tell me where I am before you ditch?" She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it from her face and, damn, that was gonna hurt later.
"Of course." Castiel returned the tablet to his inner pocket and straightened up. "This is the road the Winchesters are driving down. They'll be here in approximately four minutes at their current velocity." His voice lowered to a mumble. "I didn't want to leave you on your own."
"I've been alone for nine years, Cas. Why the sudden concern?"
Castiel sighed. "You like to pretend that you enjoy your solitude, but you don't."
Meg froze and in typical fashion, Castiel vanished without another word. The flapping if his wings echoed around the towering trees. For a second she didn't speak—couldn't. When her voice did return it was uneven, shaking more than she'd like.
"You're creepy, Cas. I hope you know that."
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"Come on, man. But it's the Rudy Hobbit, all right? Rudy Hobbit always gets a pass."
Sam chuckled, looking out at the trees as Dean added a half-grumbled "Shut up." He frowned, swearing that he saw a ghostly figure and, for a second, thought he'd imagined it. But then the headlights flooded the roadside and he slapped Dean's shoulder.
"Pull over."
"What? What for...?" The words had hardly passed his lips when he spotted a woman in his rear-view mirror. "Shit." Tires squealed as the Impala came to a halt, bobbing on its shocks. Sam was out of his seat belt and out of the car before it stilled completely.
"Meg?"
The demon stepped into the glow of the lights, pallid and bloodied and pulling her jacket around herself against the cold.
"Hey, boys. Room for one more?"
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Meg followed Dean through the hatchway, feeling the static prickle on her skin as she passed through the layers of demon warding. A careful survey of the room revealed one devil's trap, which she stepped around. Kevin was still holding the frying pan and he eyed her with suspicion.
"What is she doing here?"
"Relax, Kev." Dean pushed the frying pan down. "She's with us."
Meg gave a mock half-salute. "Hey, kiddo. Glad to know I'm not the only one to visit Crowley's barber shop."
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"Hey, come on Sam. Dean said stay put and if he finds out I've been letting you wander the halls—"
"Just... Just shut up a second... Can't you hear that?"
Meg crossed her arms, looking around at the closed doors and dusty silence. She sighed and glanced back at Sam, who looked about ready to pass out. "I don't hear anything. I really think you need to lie down."
"Can't." Sam peeked down another hallway; beads of sweat visible on his colourless skin. "He's close."
"Okay, whatever you say, Skywalker. But if he tries to smite me, I'm smokin' out. Capice?"
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"You jackasses, you're ruining my streak!" Crowley snarled as he hung up the phone. His attention turned to Ion and the angel could feel the venom. "Watch him. I'll be right back." The demon vanished, leaving the two angels in a frosty silence.
Ion glanced around, conspiratorial. There were two security cameras and he fused the circuits in both, waiting until the little red lights on them flickered out to move. He crossed the distance between himself and his injured brother, wings spreading in a gesture of appeasement.
"I'm so sorry, Castiel." Ion knelt, pressing his palm to Castiel's stomach and drawing out the crumpled chrome bullet. "If there'd been anything I could have done..."
Castiel looked at him as if he'd spoken in tongues. "You work for Crowley." It wasn't a question; just a statement. Ion scoffed.
"He thinks I work for him." The bullet clinked across the concrete floor.
"You're a double-agent?"
He shook his head. "I don't work for Naomi either. Not anymore." His eyes dipped to the floor. "I would have turned tail earlier... But I knew if I did, Esper would have been far crueller to you and to the humans. And I couldn't leave you to Crowley." He paused, seemingly reluctant to meet Castiel's eyes. "I was in a position to save you. I couldn't walk away."
Castiel swallowed, his eyes softening. "She didn't get to you."
"Oh, she got to me." Ion shuddered. "They've been in all our heads. You soldiers, down in the garrisons... They let you believe the lie. Upstairs, working for Naomi, working in intelligence... Well, let's just say she never reset me completely." Frustration and guilt coloured his features. "That's how she kept us in line. We knew too much. Otherwise I... I wouldn't have let her use Samandriel as some glorified bug. I was supposed to protect him."
"Ion, you didn't fail—" Cas began, but Ion cut him off.
"Yes, I did. Let's be honest here. I failed. Spectacularly. But... by some miracle, Inias was still alive and he was listening and he was there to stop you... to save him when I couldn't." Despite the weary sadness in his frame, he smiled. "That's the thing... I'd lost hope. And now I've found it again."
Castiel looked happy for him, but at the same time, still confused. "Then why are you working for Crowley?"
"Hedging my bets," Ion shrugged. "And I've been waiting for him to make a mistake. Which he just did." Castiel frowned and Ion smirked. "He left me alone with his prisoner."
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"But we're heading somewhere. The end."
Dean would have said something. He'd even taken a breath, ready to open his mouth, but his eye caught something and he hammered on the brakes instead. The Impala swerved and skidded, coming to a halt with its headlights bathing the two figures in the road in light.
One—the one on his feet—wore a suit with a bullet hole in the sleeve. He looked youngish; dark hair, unshaven, but there was something in the way he carried himself that screamed 'angel'. The other one was more familiar.
"Cas?"
Castiel looked up. There was blood on his face and hands. "A little help here?"
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"I can't find Cas." Sam meandered back into the foyer. "You think he blew town?"
"Sounds like him," Dean grumbled. "So it—"
"Actually, he went to fetch you some things." Ion fluttered into the room, dropping two plastic bags on the table in front of Dean. "Despite your grousing." He flicked his wings in irritation and Sam could swear he saw a shimmery outline of feathers where the air was disturbed.
"Alright, if he's so concerned, where is he?" Dean didn't look impressed, though as he started digging through the bag his expression changed.
"He's with Metatron. I think they're planning to close the gates of Heaven, but I didn't go along."
Now that got Dean's attention. "Closing the pearly gates. Well, gotta say, that'd be an improvement." He took a swig of his beer and started in on a spiel about Father Thompson and recordings. Ion said nothing about his previous remark, but Sam saw him droop. He looked hurt. There was nothing like being told that locking you away in your home would be an improvement to make you feel unwanted.
Not that Dean would care, even if Sam talked to him about it. He hated angels even more than he hated demons these days. But then again, Dean hated almost everyone these days.
Sam met Ion's eyes and tried to make some sort of apology evident without words. He wasn't sure how successful he was, but Ion gave a sad half-smile which seemed to indicate understanding. Because Sam had been there; been the guy no one wanted around, and it sucked. So he wasn't keen on inflicting that very thing on anyone else.
He'd talk to him later, when Dean wasn't in the room.
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"Dean, you know the point of these trials is to cleanse the earth of all evil, so it stands to reason that you'll need a demon who doesn't want to be cured."
"The tablet said nothing about consent issues," Dean snarled, glaring at the bloody chair that, up until ten minutes ago, had held Abaddon. The phone at his ear crackled and wavered as he paced. The reception in the warehouse was shit.
"Believe me, I'd love to do this. I would happily be me again. But I don't want to screw up your trials. We need a demon who doesn't want this. What happened to Abaddon?"
"She blew Jonestown. We need a plan B."
"Nice to know you boys can work a devil's trap."
"Bite me, Meg."
"That can be arranged." Dean could hear the smirk in her voice. "Look, give me twenty minutes and a nest of demons and I'll get you what you need."
"Don't worry." Dean glanced at Sam, who was packing the last of their supplies. "We're heading into a trap right now; should be able to bag ourselves a demon."
There was a snort on the other end of the line, accompanied by the sound of coffee beans grinding. "Okay, well, call me when you screw up."
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"You want to keep these people alive. I want complete and utter surrender. The tablet, the trials—you'll give them up, or we'll keep doing this dance. Your choice, my darlings."
The phone clicked and Dean hurled it against the wall in a rage, where it shattered. Splinters of plastic sailed across the room, glass clinking on the floor. And there, sitting in the middle of the detritus, was the hex bag. So much power in such a small innocuous package.
Dean and Sam stared in horror at the little bag. There were tears on Sam's face; sprawled on the floor helplessly next to Sarah Blake's motionless body. Ion stepped forth silently from the corner of the room, surveying the damage. Content that there was no surveillance, he cleared his throat.
"Destroy the hex bag," he commanded, moving around the bed.
"Little late, don't you think?"
The angel rounded on Dean with a withering scowl. "Your father taught you a thousand ways to kill and yet told you nothing of resuscitation?" His tone was thick with disapproval. "Destroy the hex bag."
Dean scowled right back, but obeyed nevertheless. The little velvet bag burned blue and crumbled at a touch of Dean's lighter. Ion felt the ever-present EM buzz fade.
"Much better." With an absent-minded grin he reached down, pressing his two fingers gently to Sarah's forehead, extending his grace along dormant nerves and stiffening muscles. There it was. The one thing he needed. And while it was true that humans were terribly fragile, they were also easy to put back together.
With the slightest of sparks, Sarah's heart sputtered to life; only a tiny push necessary to coax her lungs into their old rhythm. Within seconds she was doubled over, coughing, Sam's arms looping around her heaving shoulders. For a while the only sound in the room was her harsh breathing and Sam's whispered apologies and reassurances. Dean nodded in silent approval at Ion.
Sarah turned and through her coughs and hard breaths demanded "What are you?" She was still flushed and shaking but she didn't look scared. There was a steel in her eyes that Ion wasn't accustomed to seeing in humans. Sam and Dean turned to look at him.
"I'm an angel."
She processed that for a long time, her mouth working silently, her eyebrows climbing. "O... okay. That's... new." She started to rise, wobbling slightly, and Sam eased her to her feet. "Angels, huh? What's next? Unicorns?"
Dean smirked. "Well, there was that one time."
Sarah closed the distance to Ion and stopped just short of hugging him, as if she wasn't quite certain of the boundaries. "You just saved my life."
Ion bowed his head. "It was no great feat."
"It was for me," Sarah insisted. "I was dead and now I'm not. No hospital bill. I'm pretty sure that's some kind of miracle."
Behind her, Sam still looked like he was in shock, and he looked at Ion like he was some kind of godsend. Dean was still quiet, like he couldn't quite bring himself to actually thank Ion, but at least he didn't look as angry as he had before. Seemingly determined to break the tense silence, Sarah continued.
"This'll be an interesting one to explain." She looked around at the warding symbols and the smashed phone. Cushions were all over the place; drawers pulled out and bedsheets flung off.
"I'll repair everything," Ion volunteered. "No one will know."
At least Dean looked impressed with that.
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"All right, listen, this is a secret lair. You understand me? No keggers."
Kevin frowned. "I don't have any friends."
"Yeah, well, just lay low." Dean fidgeted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and looking around. His breath fogged in the morning chill. "Ion's gonna stay with you, and who knows? You'll be a mathlete again before you know it."
Dean turned to leave, following Sam and Meg back toward the car, but Kevin cleared his throat.
"You guys?" He swallowed. "You're doing the right thing."
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"Look, Cas, that's all well and good, okay, but you're asking me to leave Sam, and we've got Crowley in there tied and trussed. Now if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam."
Meg rolled her eyes and Dean shot her a look that dared her to contradict. Castiel didn't seem to want to get involved in that particular conversation, which left just enough of a frosty pause for Sam to speak.
"You should go."
It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes and Meg smirked.
"Seriously," Sam insisted.
"Oh, what, and leave you here with the King of Hell? Come on!"
"I can stay," Meg offered. "I'd rather tangle with numbnuts over there than angels."
A grin teased at the corner of Sam's mouth—a proper one, too. Mirth, not smug satisfaction or murderous glee. Dean, on the other hand, was a study in murderous, but it wasn't glee.
"Yeah, 'cause the last time I left Sam alone with some demon chick it went so well."
The fact that he used the word 'chick' rather than 'bitch' was flattering. Meg counted it as a win for her, because he certainly wasn't saving his venom on Ruby's account. But whatever; small victories.
"I promise I won't get him wet and I won't feed him after midnight." She crossed her arms. "How's that?" Dean didn't stop scowling.
"I got this." Sam was still grinning, despite that little flicker of hurt in his eyes. "And if you guys can lock up the angels, too... That's a good day."
Meg glanced over at Castiel, but if he was hurt, it didn't show. He seemed resolute enough. Easy to be resolute when you were just going home. Not that she thought Castiel was all that attached to Heaven these days. As for her... Well, what could you say about the idea of being locked away in Hell for eternity?
She didn't want to go back; especially not with all those bastards down there knowing that she had helped the Winchesters. She wanted to stay. Her every fibre was howling at her to find a way. Hell had nearly made her a monster and it had taken the death of her whole family and years of living topside to bring her back from that brink. She was afraid that being sealed away there forever would rob her of the sense of self she had so carefully guarded.
She wasn't worried about losing earth, or the bunker, or Castiel. She was worried about losing herself. But no matter how much she dreaded that final slamming of the padlocks, she wasn't about to back down or sabotage the Winchesters. Her father had taught her a lot of things and the most important had always been loyalty. Backing down now—stabbing the boys in the back—would have been the kind of betrayal her father would have been ashamed of.
So, yeah, it was going to suck, but this wasn't about her. This wasn't about what she wanted. This was about what was best; what was right. Which she figured was exactly what Cas was thinking.
"Look, I... I'm down with sending the angels back to Heaven, just 'cause they're dicks. But the demons? This is on us." Dean looked from Sam to Meg. "Start the injections now. If I'm not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation."
"Yeah." Sam nodded and Meg gave one of her mock salutes. It was going to be a long night.
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"Crowley, I will pay you to stop singing," Meg snarled from her place by the altar, arms crossed and watching the window. If anything, the bastard sung louder, now with a smirk splitting his face. She rolled her eyes. "You know, I used to like—"
She stopped, meeting Sam's eyes. The floor was vibrating under their feet. Even Crowley had noticed, his raggedy rendition of 'Changes' fizzling out. The vibration became a rumble and Sam figured they weren't lucky enough for it to just be an earthquake.
The floorboards jumped, the sound of snapping wood advancing across the empty church. A crack yawned open, creeping closer and closer to the devil's trap. Meg cursed, pulling her gun as the crack split the red paint. Crowley looked smug.
"Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice?"
Sam backed toward the altar as the doors burst open. Meg was sighting along the barrel of her gun, but didn't get a chance to fire before being flung unceremoniously against the far wall. Sam knew who it was even before he saw the backlit halo of red hair.
"Hello, boys," Abaddon purred.
There was a barely audible "That's my line," before Crowley cleared his throat. "Abaddon? They told me you were dead."
"So not." Abaddon sauntered toward the chair where Crowley was chained, smirking at the pained groan from the corner as Meg groped for her gun.
"And the rest of the cavalry?"
"Oh, no, it's just little old, unkillable me."
Sam turned, reaching onto the altar, where his gun lay loaded and cocked, as quietly as possible. Abaddon was focused on Crowley and he knew he had the tiniest of openings. If not for himself, then for a distraction while Meg recovered her bearings. His hand closed around the grip of the pistol, he whirled, squeezed the trigger, but by the time the gun went off he was in midair. The bullet flew wide and buried itself in the wooden floorboards.
Sam's head spun as he slammed into the wall, his vision greying at the edges. The gun clattered away and he heard a second shot—this one from Meg's Glock. She didn't miss.
Abaddon jerked as the bullet pierced her shoulder. It had been a well-aimed shot—straight through her heart—but unfortunately it didn't stick. The gun was too powerful and the bullet—devil's trap and all—blasted clean through. A flick of Abaddon's wrist sent both guns sliding away and a heartbeat later, Meg was flat-backed and pinned against the wall.
"Brilliant," Crowley snarled. "Why send in a few grunts when you can send in a knight? Say your prayers, Moose."
Another flick of a wrist and Sam was out of the window, disappearing in a shower of broken glass. Meg winced. She really hadn't missed the knights. Bullies, the lot of them, and Abaddon was the worst.
"That'll do." Crowley was smiling, looking from Abaddon to Meg. "Undo these. I'll kill them myself." There was anticipation in his voice and she knew him well enough to know that he relished the idea of butchering them. Especially her. The thing was, Abaddon wasn't exactly rushing to comply and Meg wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing. Better the devil you know...
She circled him, stalking like some jungle cat. "That was an order, was it?"
Crowley finally managed to look affronted. "I am your King."
"About that..."
Of all the things Meg had expected, she had to admit that Abaddon hauling off and punching Crowley in the face was not one of them. Expected? No. Entertaining? Yes. She would have applauded, but she still didn't particularly want to draw attention to herself. That and she couldn't move her arms, but, technicalities, right? No matter how badly she wanted to make some wisecrack, her best chance of getting out of this alive was to be quiet and hope Abaddon forgot about her.
And anyway, the beat down was the best thing on TV.
"Do you know what I find the most shocking about time-travelling through a closet and landing in the year 2013?" The punches came like rain; one after another, after another. It didn't take long for the chair to give out, toppling over and taking Crowley with it. "Someone thought it was a good idea to make you the King of Hell."
"You know what the boy's trying to do, right?" Crowley's tone had turned desperate. "He's trying to shut the Gates of Hell. And the whore's helping him."
Abaddon's eyes flicked to Meg, intrigued. Damn, there goes invisibility. "Helping him? Helping a Winchester lock you up...?" Crowley looked relieved to have been momentarily forgotten as the knight stepped closer to where Meg was pinned like a bug. She studied her as if she were a specimen; eyes roving over her face and body and settling on her eyes. "You're Azazel's little whelp, aren't you?"
"Depends. Does it buy me any favours?"
Abaddon laughed. "It just might." She glanced down at the bloody wound in her chest. "I could use a demon like you. Strong, fast, smart. You're a survivor." She was close enough that Meg could smell the lingering scent of soil and gunshot residue and blood. "A survivor that doesn't want to spend the rest of eternity locked in Hell running from those she's betrayed."
Meg swallowed, but kept her confident tone. "Doesn't take a genius to figure that out. Do you know anyone who actually likes Hell?"
"And yet, here you are, trying to lock us down there... forever." Abaddon moved closer, until there was barely a breath between them. "Now I don't know what they offered you, but I do know that I can offer you so much more. Come with me and I can make you a queen."
"What's the catch? Time shares?"
Abaddon snared Meg's jaw, fingertips digging in enough to bruise. "You want a catch? The catch is, you work with them and you'll spend eternity as Hell's favourite plaything. I'm sure my boys could find a good use for that pretty face."
Meg huffed. "And what's behind door number two?"
Abaddon smiled like the shark that got the chum. "You kill that boy out there, help me skin Crowley, and I return that crown to your head. The one you lost when daddy bit the dust."
Abaddon's back was to the door and the floorboards were thankfully silent as Sam crossed them. Crowley had seen him, but the smarmy little shit hadn't made a sound. By the looks of his face, and his current position on the floor, the cavalry hadn't been the rescue he'd been hoping for. But Sam wasn't concerned about Crowley. He was worried about Meg. He'd heard enough of their nose-to-nose exchange to know what Abaddon was asking and offering. He wouldn't have blamed her for being tempted. He and Dean weren't exactly offering her anything in return for her help.
And boy did she look tempted. Her face was impassive, but there was a look in her eyes. One that looked as if she were seriously considering the offer.
"What do you say we finish off these apes and take Hell for ourselves? Who knows, maybe we'll take Heaven next," Abaddon snarled. "I always wanted an angel for a concubine."
Meg smiled, and for one tiny, dark second, Sam thought Abaddon had won.
"You know what? You're right, you can offer me more." She paused and Abaddon looked triumphant. "But for once in my life, I feel like I'm doing the right thing. So you can take your crowns and your concubines and shove 'em up your ass."
Abaddon's fists clenched, her body tensed and ready to strike. "Have it your way."
"Hey," Sam barked, comfortably close and ready with the jar of holy oil. Abaddon turned, managing to look both annoyed and impressed, and got a face-full of oil for her trouble. For a second she looked shocked, but that second was all Sam needed.
"I love the suit."
She didn't see the match drop until it was too late. By the time the gravity of the situation hit home, fire was racing up her oil-drenched body and all that came out was screams. She staggered and struggled and waved her arms, but there was no dousing the flames. A few seconds more and she was smoking out; abandoning her meatsuit to deep-fry.
With a muffled thump, Meg dropped from her spot on the wall, collapsing in a heap. For someone who'd been tossed around an old church, she picked herself up pretty quick. "Well, it's never really a party until somebody's set on fire."
Sam gave a little huff of a laugh. "Come on; let's get Crowley off the floor."
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Some part of Meg still anticipated some sort of demonic rescue attempt, though she knew demons well enough to know that if they hadn't come by now, they weren't coming at all. Still didn't stop her from being on edge. Especially now that they were at the 'fires from whence it came' stage.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra lustra," Sam intoned, closing his fist around his knife as his arm started to glow a bloody sort of orange.
Meg's heart thudded in her chest. Moment of truth time, she thought. Last breath of fresh air forever. Good god, she envied Crowley. Evil bastard got a free pass topside just for being a prick enough for the trial. Meanwhile, helpful old Meg Masters got eternal damnation. But wasn't that just her luck?
She was almost tempted to close her eyes. She didn't really want to see the world melt away—or drop away. She wasn't sure how it would happen, but whatever way it went, she didn't want to have to watch as the earth vanished from sight. Sam stepped toward Crowley, hand bloody and ready, and Meg took a deep breath, feeling like she was going to be sick. Should she say goodbye?
"Sammy, stop!"
They both whirled around at the sound of Dean's voice. It was the last thing either had expected to hear when they were so close. They were almost done. It could all be over with a single slap to the face, but Dean was in the doorway, hand held out as if he were begging.
"Easy there. Okay. Just take it easy. We got a slight change of plan."
Sam looked from Dean to Meg and back. Meg couldn't help but think that this was uncomfortably reminiscent of another time Sam had been in an old church on a mission with a demon and seconds away from finishing it and Dean had been there, trying to stop him. Ruby had made sure he failed. If she was thinking it, she figured Dean was too, so she stepped back and gave Sam some room. Crowley's face was a strange mixture of disappointed, relieved, and confused.
"What?" Sam's voice was ragged and tired. "What's going on? Where's Cas?"
"Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam."
Meg blinked, joining Crowley in confusion. She wasn't all that surprised that Metatron had lied to them. He'd seemed a bit... off... to begin with, but Sam dead? Since when did curing a demon kill someone?
"So?" Sam shrugged. Dean looked stricken, but Sam continued, pointing at Crowley. "Look at him. Look at him! Look how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this!"
"Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from Hell, curing demons, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you."
"You can barely do it with me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try." Sam was shaking. "You think I need a chaperone, remember?"
"Come on, man. That's not what I meant."
"No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down." Sam paused, took a breath, and shivered. "I can't do that again."
"Sam—"
"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? I mean, who are you going to turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another... another vampire? Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just—"
"Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that?" Dean had fully closed the distance between himself and Sam. "Because none of it—none of it—is true. Listen man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some shit that set you back on your heels. But Sammy... come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you."
Dean was doing a good job of holding in his emotion for a man so close to tears as he was. Meg gulped. She wished she'd had a chance to say something like that to her brother. The last damn thing she'd said to him was 'I can't believe you shot me', and in typical sibling fashion they'd spent the last few hours of his life in a cold silence, daring each other to speak. It wasn't exactly one of her crowning moments.
Sam looked at her, expectant and lost. "Meg?"
"This is your choice, Sam." She bit her lip. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do. It's your life."
"Sam, please..."
"What would you do...? If it was you?"
Meg took a deep breath. "I'd do it. I'd finish it, no hesitation. But I don't have anyone left to give a crap about me. You do."
Sam was well and truly tremoring, clutching his glowing arm. It briefly occurred to Meg that they might already have reached some point of no return. Sam didn't look like someone who was ready to bounce back from whatever these trials were doing to him.
Sam looked to Dean, torn. It was like it physically pained him to stop when they were so close, but eventually, something gave.
"How do I stop?" Blood dripped onto the floor and the glow started to fade.
"Just let it go."
"I can't," Sam breathed. "It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like."
Dean was strangely gentle as he wrapped a bandana around Sam's sliced hand. "Hey, listen, we will figure it out, okay. Just like we always do. Come on." He pulled Sam into a tight hug.
Meg would have smiled but something didn't feel right. There was a buzz in the air. It washed in like some kind of wave as Dean and Sam continued talking and it made Meg's skin crawl. It was EM, it was powerful, and it was weird. Even Crowley shivered. She was on the verge of mentioning it when Sam doubled over.
"Sam?"
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"I don't think you should go. I really—"
"Yeah, I know. You said so a million times."
Kevin marched up the grating stairs, backpack over his shoulder. He was studiously refusing to meet the angel's gaze, but Ion was persistent, if nothing else.
"Kevin, please. This is the safest place for—"
"I know!" he snapped. "But I am done being chained to a frigging desk translating some stupid rock! Dean said I was out; I'm out."
Ion opened his mouth in protest, but whatever words he would have uttered were drowned out by an obnoxious, wailing alarm.
"What did you touch?" Kevin asked, eyes fixed on the table in the foyer below whose bulbs were flashing to life.
"Nothing," Ion replied, tucking his wings in close, just in case.
Kevin forgot about escape for a second, an ominous feeling settling in his stomach. That table had a lot of lights. "Whatever it is, it's everywhere... Maybe this is what happens when you close Hell."
Ion shook his head. "No. This isn't right." He looked nervously from machine to machine as they all hummed to life. "Something's wrong."
Kevin backed away, toward the hatch. Toward freedom. "I'm out of here." He turned away, reached for the latch, but in an incandescent flare of light, his world dissolved into screams and acrid smoke.
6&6&6&6&6&6
Looking up at Inias, lost in the honey timbre of his voice as he sung, Samandriel almost didn't register the bright flash of light outside the window. But when it happened again, he frowned and turned his head.
"Did you see that?"
Inias stopped mid-verse and turned to the window. "What?" He watched for a moment, seeing nothing but snowflakes blasting along the glass. He opened his mouth to ask what his mate had seen, only to catch the third bright flash.
They both scrambled to their feet and headed for the back door. They weren't due for any meteor showers and there weren't any normal phenomenon that could explain the flash. Samandriel was second out the door and he gasped as he looked up.
The sky was streaming with lights. Thousands of falling stars lit up the night from horizon to horizon. But they didn't streak across the sky at the blistering pace of meteors and space debris. They fell in slow motion and straight down. And they were burning.
A cluster of three was close enough for Samandriel to see properly and his breath caught in his chest. They weren't meteors. They were angels. And they were falling.
Really falling.
"What's happening?" Samandriel breathed, transfixed. He watched as the orange-yellow streaks of light descended, gaining speed as they neared the ground.
"I don't know," Inias whispered in reply as the nearby cluster roared in and slammed through the ice of the lake, sending up geysers of cold water. They'd hit hard, and Samandriel winced. They'd also come sailing straight through Inias' wards, which made Samandriel worry, not for himself, but for them. There were only a few reasons why the wards would have let them pass... none of them pleasant, considering.
"Stay here," Inias ordered, gently pushing Samandriel toward the door. "I'll go fetch them."
With the sky still lit up like some sort of Christmas display, Inias took off, soaring over the frozen lake toward where their siblings had fallen. Samandriel almost went inside, but a blinding flash directly overhead drew his attention. Another sibling plummeted down somewhere amongst the trees. A crash and the sound of shattering pine echoed over the forest.
Close. Close enough that Samandriel could hear the splinters of wood falling. He bit his lip and glanced over toward the lake. He knew Inias would be exasperated, but he couldn't just ignore a sibling in distress.
"Hang in there, I'm coming," he muttered, trotting across the garden and darting into the trees.