Angel Killer

2. jesus and rock and roll couldn't save my immoral soul

Dean parked the Impala under the awning and cracked his knuckles after he turned the car off. Sam got out of the car and wearily fumbled with the key as he unlocked the door to their apartment. The sound of the news filtered out through the door and Sam turned to Dean.

"Dad's home," he said, a tight look on his face.

Dean shrugged. "Whatever. Let's just get some sleep, do the tracking spell, then hunt this son of a bitch down."

They walked into the apartment and closed the door behind them. Their dad, John Winchester, wasn't home very much. It was code that hunters always had a partner but ever since Mary died, John was a solo hunter. Unlike Sam and Dean, who were certified and hunted for the demon generals, John did his own thing. He traveled the country in search of angels and killed monsters if he couldn't find any featherheads. As it was, he wasn't home very much.

The only person who hated angels more than Dean was John. But nobody had killed more than him.

"Hey Dad," Sam said, approaching the tiny living room where John sat on the couch watching the news. "Killed six ghouls today."

John made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgment. Dean rolled his eyes in disgust and went down the hall to the bathroom to scrub his face.

The once great John Winchester was nothing more than a sad old drunk who'd raised his sons with the same amount of affection as a drill sergeant. When Dean said he was scared of the monsters under his bed John gave him a shotgun and said the monsters were out in the real world but the worst ones were in your head. When Sammy asked where Mommy was John said she died saving him so he'd better not waste what she gave him. Father of the year, he was.

Sam was more lenient on him than Dean was. He was always saying that John did the best he could after losing Mary.

The best he could - Dean hated that saying. Because more often than not your best wasn't good enough. Especially in the eyes of John Winchester.

"Got a new assignment tonight, too," Sam continued earnestly. "It's another angel."

Dean heard the news turn off. The man didn't care about his kids, about the warriors he'd raised. Only angels. Only ever angels.

"The name?" John asked.

"Castiel," Sam said. "Angel of Solitude, Dean said. He's part of the resistance."

"You'll ask him?" John asked. "When you get him, you'll ask who killed her?"

"Yeah, of course we will," Sam replied. "We always do."

There was a beat of silence and Dean turned the faucet on to try to hide the fact that he was listening in.

"So what have you been up to?" Sam asked. "Found any leads on who it was?"

"If I did, do you think I would be sitting here talking to you?"

"No, no, of course not, sorry, I - right," Sam stammered.

Dean dragged the cold water over his face and resisted the urge to go out there and sucker punch his dad. But that would upset Sammy, and Sammy was more important than Dean's grudge against their deadbeat father. Sammy was most important.

"Well, we're heading out in the morning," Sam said. "We'll see you later."

There was a pause and then the news turned back on.

"Right. Okay. See you," Sam mumbled, then came down the hall.

Dean turned the faucet off and rubbed his face with a towel. He stood up and saw Sam standing in the door. Sam's face was cloudy, his eyes on the floor. Dean wished, not for the first time, that Sam didn't have this life. Sam should have been raised by a mother with hugs and kisses, not by a father with salt and guns.

"Did you drink your demon blood today?" he asked, instead of saying, "Sorry Dad's a dick like he always is."

Sam shook his head. "No, I forgot."

"Well we can't have you getting soft," Dean replied, reaching out and grabbing Sam's shoulder firmly. "Drink some blood and get some sleep."

He tried not to think about how weird that sentence was as he moved past Sam and out into the hall, making his way to his room.

"And cut your hair!" Dean called over his shoulder.

He heard Sam laugh and smiled to himself, feeling triumphant. As long as he could get Sammy to laugh, things weren't too bad.

SPNSPNSPN

The tracking spell revealed that the angel was in Kansas.

"Fucking Kansas," Dean grumbled as he pulled on to the highway. "Why is it always fucking Kansas?"

"Come on, Dean, at least we don't have to go to Lawrence," Sam said.

Lawrence. Where the burned remnants of the frame of their childhood home still stood, the place where their mother was killed and Sam had almost died. Yeah, it was a good thing they didn't have to go to Lawrence.

A few hours later they were parking in the dirt outside of some dirty old barn.

"Doesn't this feel a bit odd, Dean?" Sam asked, eyeing the barn. "I mean, most angels hide out in city basements under our noses when they're on earth. What's this one doing in a barn in the middle of nowhere?"

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean said, loading his gun full of angel bullets. "Maybe this one's just stupid. Or he got kicked out of the fluffy clouds. Why he's there doesn't matter. What matters is bagging him, taking him to Alastair, and getting a nice big fat paycheck."

Sam sighed as he grabbed his guns. "I still don't like it."

"Yeah, well I don't like it either," Dean snapped. "I like sex and pie and massages and I'd like for you to shut up and get this job over with."

"You're in a bad mood today," Sam muttered.

Dean deflated. "I'm sorry. Seeing Dad yesterday must've set me off."

"Dean, it's okay, I know how you get," Sam said. "Let's just get this over with, okay? Then we go home."

Dean nodded and slammed the Impala's trunk closed. "Why does Alastair want this one alive, anyway?"

Sam shrugged. "Interrogation, I guess. Maybe he's high up in the resistance. He could have information that could help us end this war."

"Wouldn't that be a miracle," Dean muttered. He gave Sam a wry grin. "But I guess that's what angels specialize in, huh?"

"That's what they say."

Dean patted Sam's back and then started moving toward the barn. They didn't really have a plan; they did their best work when they improvised. Dean had killed over a hundred angels in his lifetime. What could make this one any different?

His blood hummed with anticipation as they approached the barn. He couldn't wait to add another notch on his belt of angels he'd killed. The best part was seeing the wings burned into the ground. He didn't even know if angels really had wings, the lore didn't say. (The lore had pretty much zilch on angels, actually.) But something happened when they died and for whatever reason there were always scorches in the shape of wings on the ground after they died. He wondered if this one would die screaming like some of the others. He wondered how big the wing burns would be.

They pushed the barn doors open with rusty screeches of protest and saw a dark-haired man in a dirty trench coat standing in the middle of it. Just...standing there.

The Angel of Solitude was standing by himself in a barn in the middle of nowhere. Dean thought it was funny.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," came a surprisingly low, gravelly voice. "I expected you much earlier than this."

"Yeah, well, sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart," Dean growled as the angel turned around.

Instead of taking hosts and vessels like the old stories say, angels simply manifest into human-like forms when they were on earth. Something magical happened and they got bodies, which was good because seeing an angel in its true form could burn your eyes out at best. Dean had come across angels that looked like frail old ladies, five year old boys, and there was one that had manifested as some middle-aged guy with a pot belly and a bearded double chin.

But this angel had manifested as a man in his late twenties with lightly tanned skin and really nice bone structure. His dark hair was messy and stood out from his head, like he hadn't brushed it after getting out of the shower. And his eyes were blue - so blue that Dean could tell what color they were from several yards away. He wore a suit and an ugly trench coat, which kind of made him look frumpy, but the expression on the angel's face made Dean swallow reflexively. This angel radiated intensity, like a storm encased in a body.

Bottom line, he was drop dead gorgeous and ridiculously hot.

Too bad he was evil.

Dean fired his gun but Castiel deflected it with his angel blade.

"Quick one, aren't you?" Dean asked with a grin.

"Yes, but it appears you're out of time," Castiel replied, slipping his blade back up his sleeve.

"What - "

But then there was the telltale sound of angels arriving, several of them: the flap of invisible wings but no movement of air. Suddenly they were surrounded by seven more angels. Sam backed up into Dean until they were back to back.

"Well now it's a party!" Dean exclaimed, but inside he was panicking. Angels never traveled in packs. They were always on their own. This was a set-up.

"Dean," Sam said testily. "What now?"

"I'm working on it," Dean ground out, but really they were sunk.

"A party indeed," said a creepy bald guy. "And you're the guests of honor." He smiled at them and then turned to the other angels. "Take them."

"Let's at least go down swinging, Sammy," Dean said, but inside he felt like absolute shit. He and Sam had gotten lucky in some tough scrapes before, but none like this. He didn't even think Sam's psychic powers were going to help them much now.

He and Sam were going to die, and they were going to die pathetically, ambushed by eight angels, but he guessed that's what they got for killing so many of them. He always figured he'd go out fighting an angel, but this wasn't what he wanted for Sam. He wanted Sam to live a long life. But now they were going to die, and there was nothing Dean could do to save Sam, and they'd never find out what angel killed their mother.

All thanks to the Angel of Solitude, who apparently had friends. Who'd a thunk.

So Dean raised his gun and pointed it at Castiel, who was still staring unblinkingly at him as the other angels charged the brothers.

"This is your fault, you evil motherfucker," he growled, then fired and fired and fired, but someone hit him over the head and his vision went black before he could see if his bullets hit their target.

SPNSPNSPN

"Oh, wait, I think they're waking up," said a strange voice.

Dean struggled to open his eyes and for a second hoped he was in Heaven so he could beat some more feathery asses, but the raging headache that was pounding behind his skull let him know he was still alive.

His sight finally cleared up and he saw that he was tied to a chair in some dark room. Sammy was coming to in the chair beside him.

"Sammy, Sammy!" Dean barked, unbelievably relieved that his little brother was still alive. "Oh, thank god."

"You wouldn't want to do that, now would you?" said deep voice.

Dean faced forward and saw three angels standing in front of him. One was the creepy bald white guy from before. Another was a scary lady in a pantsuit and the other was a black guy with a grim smile.

"Thank God?" the voice elaborated. It was the black angel speaking. "Since you are a faithless piece of filth, Angel Killer."

Dean gritted his teeth. "You're right. I don't want to thank God," he said. "I want to spit in his face."

The angel growled deep in his throat and started to step forward, but the creepy angel put an arm out.

"Now, now, Uriel," he said. "Don't want to be upsetting our special guests."

"Of course, Zachariah," Uriel replied.

"Uriel," Dean said. "Angel of the Abyss. And Zachariah, Angel of Remembrance." He turned to the pantsuit lady. "And who the hell are you?"

"Naomi," she replied stiffly.

"Ah," he said. "Angel of Bitterness. Quite the bunch we've got here, Sammy."

"Dean, for once in your life would you just shut up," Sam said wearily.

"You'd do best to listen to your brother, Angel Killer," Naomi said.

"Well if I'm going to shut up, I'm gonna need something to fill the silence so I don't go crazy," Dean said. "So how about you tell us where we are and what we're doing here."

Zachariah bowed his head. "Of course. Welcome to the Men of Letters bunker. This is our headquarters, you could say. This is where all the hunters that work with us live and where you will live from now on until the end of the war."

"The resistance," Sam said, eyes wide. "You mean we found the resistance?"

"I wouldn't say found seeing as we came to you and brought you here," Uriel said. "But yes, we're what you call the resistance."

"In fact, you're talking to its leaders," Naomi added. "Aside from the archangels Michael and Raphael, of course. But you already knew about them."

"You bastards," Dean growled.

Naomi raised her eyebrows at him. "What was that about shutting up?"

Dean glared at her.

"Why have you brought us here?" Sam asked.

"Well that's quite simple," Zachariah said. "You're going to help us win the war."

"Not over our dead bodies," Sam snapped.

Uriel growled at Sam. "You shut your filthy mouth, blood junkie."

"Don't talk to my brother like that!" Dean yelled. "And why would we ever - ever - want to help you win the war?"

"Because we're the good guys, Dean," Naomi said. "The demons have poisoned all of your minds. They don't want peace, they want to rule. Lucifer cares about nothing but himself and his petty grudge."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Even if what you're saying was true, we'd never help you because we know the truth. You're evil. You kill. You annihilate whole cities for no reason, I've seen it happen." He strained against his restraints and met Naomi's grey eyes and put all his hate into his stare. "And one of you bastards killed our mother."

"Actually," said a voice from behind the angels, "that last part's not true."

Dean inhaled sharply.

A woman with silvery blonde hair stepped out in front of them and stared at them. She wore a tan leather jacket and loose jeans and she had two scars just above her right eyebrow. Her face was hardened from war the way many hunters' faces were. And she was older - over twenty years older - than she'd been when the picture in Dean's wallet had been taken, but it was still her. There was no mistaking it.

"Mom?" Sam breathed.

Whenever an angel's dominion is stated in the story I'll post an explanation about it like such -

Uriel: According to the angel website

Zachariah: The meaning of the name Zachariah is "Jehovah has remembered"

Naomi: Naomi in the Bible is known for her bitterness

Please review and thank you for reading!

~Ki