Hello everyone. I know this chapter is pretty confusing so just stick with me. I have a pretty complex plot...But it's good! I promise. Haha.
Thank you for the reviews also. You all are amazing.
Chapter 4: Welcome to Hopeland
Twenty One Hours Earlier
This was starting to get really, really annoying. All of it was annoying: his brother's absent state of mind, his freezing numb fingers, his greasy hair, and now his growling stomach.
He turned his head away from his laptop's screen to his older brother. He was lying on the bed, wallowing in self-pity and funk, plucking at quilt fibers. He kept his gaze locked on Dean and slanted his eyes.
"That's it." He stood up and slammed his laptop closed, probably harder than he should. He grabbed his heavy hiking boots and pulled them on, slamming his foot into the heel. He made more noise than necessary, thudding around like a two year old with a tantrum. Stupid, stupid Dean. Sometimes Sam felt like the older brother. He was more responsible, he had all the brains, he took the initiative in tough situations, and he could figure things out… All Dean could do was pout and wallow.
"I'm going out to eat. Want anything?"
"Nah. Not hungry." Fuck this. He stormed outside, gathering up the car keys before he left. He muttered under his breath.
"I've had it with you, Dean. Get it together. Just get it together." He slammed the door shut behind him. Gravel crunched loudly under his boots. The dust plumed as he intentionally dragged his feet across the lot. He looked up to the bruising sky. Blotchy clouds loomed above the pine trees and concealed the sun completely. He reached into his pocket at pulled out the Impala's keys, hurriedly climbing inside the car.
"Food, here I come." He cruised out of the parking lot, cooling down his aggravation. His separation from Dean was already helping him calm down. He rolled to windows down in the car. The wind was freezing but also refreshing. This is what he needed, a nice car ride. He needed an escape.
He meandered his way through snaking, two-lane roads. This place was oddly magical. It wasn't often when he could relax and enjoy being. Through his many years of being a hunter, he had never had a chance to breathe and to explore. He wanted to see the world and study cultures. Hunting wasn't in his blood like it was Dad's or Dean's. His dreams were different. He was simpler. Being a lawyer would have made him successful, sure, but now he wished he'd went to school to become a teacher. He liked history.
Sometimes he wished this wasn't his life.
He wouldn't change anything though. He belonged with Dean. He was a hunter. This was his duty—his responsibility.
After several miles more, he rode onto an interstate. Snow peaked mountains loomed in the distance. Street lamps hung over the roads on rusty posts but they did not glow, even though the sun was setting. Two lanes grew into four and there was not a car in sight. He turned on a random exit and it dumped him into a small town. He slowed down his pace and studied the stores and buildings, scouting for a diner or burger joint.
The streets were void of any lights or cars, which was weird. There weren't any people out either, which was really weird. He slowed down even more, paying close attention to small details. He passed a children's toy store. All the lights were turned off. There was a train set display in the window, box cars frozen on their rout. A robot dinosaur was on its side, mouth open in mid-roar. Other toys which were supposed to be in motion were all frozen in unnatural positions. They were all petrified.
Restaurants had half-eaten dishes lying about, all abandoned.
This place was a ghost town.
On impulse, he reached down and flipped on the radio. He twisted the dial back-and-forth, searching for any kind of signal. All that came through was static. Oh shit.
He gripped the wheel with both hands.
The car mysteriously slowed to a stop. He stole a quick glance to the gas tank—there was still plenty of fuel left. He didn't even touch the brake pedal.
"Crap, crap, crap, crap! This can't be happening." He suddenly wished he knew as much about cars as Dean did. He'd know how to fix this. Why was the car stopping, damn it?
Unless…unless something supernatural was going on. It wouldn't surprise him.
The car stopped to the right of a cemetery. A towering wrought iron gate guarded the dead land. The iron stakes ended in hideous points and dull green ivy coiled around their rusty bases. Weeds grew around the gate uncontrollably. Welded into the wrought iron was the name of the cemetery.
"Hopeland Cemetery." Sam scoffed lightly when he said it out loud. He tried to lighten the bleak atmosphere that surrounded him. It seemed everything was in gray-scale. All life was gone. All color was gone.
"Aw, man. This is freaky. This is definitely freaky. Why am I talking to myself? This is crazy. Stop it Sam. Just relax." He gathered up his confidence and guts and opened the car door. He wanted to know what was going on. If was happening had anything to do with the supernatural, he was going to find out. He stepped out of the car and his feet were met with soggy grass. Cautiously, he approached the gate. The iron felt like icy scales under his soft fingers. He clasped them tightly around the rods. The cemetery laid silently beyond, blurred by a tranquil fog.
Silence. Pure silence.
"Good day, Samuel."
A sultry, rich male voice penetrated the stillness. Sam snapped his head to the left and his gaze fixated on a monster.
Its eyes were golden and sharp, oblong pupils piercing into Sam's. Its face was a black horse head. The fur was glossy and slick, much like its voice. It was wearing a very fancy suit with a red bow tie. As it turned its head, it smiled. Instead of bearing flat, herbivore teeth, it had small, pointed, fangs. They reminded Sam of teeth on a zipper—they fit together perfectly. Being in this being's presence was chilling. The thing's eyes were locked on his. He couldn't help but feel like a rabbit under the stare of a mountain lion.
"What-what are you?" Sam had never seen anything like this beast.
"What am I?" It flared its nostrils. Steam strewed from it nose and into the cold night air forming artistic, ethereal wisps. Sam stared at it, wondering if it had possessed any hidden messages. Native Americans used to communicate through smoke clouds. They'd form patterns, shapes, and words. It shook its head lightly as it spoke.
"It would be proper to ask who I am, dearest. My father named me Aka Manah." Its spectral mane swished, slicing the fog with its thick, silky tendrils. Its top half's mannerisms were definitely animal-like but its lower body maintained a suave, human stance, left leg propped over the right. It perched on the edge of an ornate concrete sarcophagus with its shoulders squared and back poised. Polished leather shoes gleamed beneath the hem of fine, pinstripe pants.
"You're a demon." He spit it out, instantly recognizing the being's name. "What are you doing here? I have no business with you."
Its eyes glinted as if struck by a piece of flint. "We do have business, young one. Your subconscious wished to form an agreement with me." Sam casted his eyes downward. He seriously didn't want to get involved with any more demons.
"No. I know I've had my fair share of deals with demons but I would never summon you. You're the demon of evil intent. You sneak into people's minds and make them doubt their morals. I-I have enough trouble with my feelings already. Leave me alone." Sam threw his hands up and turned around to head back to the car.
The car was gone. Surrounding him was a blanket of white nothingness. The town was gone. Even the mountains and trees had disappeared completely. "What the—What did you do?" He whipped back around.
The graveyard was gone. The fence was gone. Everything was gone except for Aka Manah, who stood a few feet away. The world was white and he was alone with one of the most powerful demons in hell.
"I never enter anyone's mind without their permission. You may not have called upon me but I heard your intentions. You wanted me here, so I acquiesced." Aka Manah stood a foot taller than Sam. It was unbelievably tall, boring down onto Sam. The hunter narrowed his eyes.
"You are in my mind."
"You are wise, Samuel. You surpass your brother in many ways." Sam grunted in agreement. Cold sweat prickled at his skin when he realized he had just agreed with a demon. This particular demon fed off fueling anger. He had to be extremely careful with his thoughts.
"Stop. Stop. What do you want from me?"
"We have a prophesy." The evil being focused on Sam's eyes intensely, suddenly taking on a gravely serious attitude. It demanded attention and respect. "Listen without speaking. We are gathering armies. The angels are many and we sense something is ascending—something very powerful. You will remain here, traveling back and forth between dimensions. You must be guarded."
"Are you telling me I'm trapped here? You can't do that!" Sam began to shake.
"Yes I can."
"I didn't ask for this!" He spat, teeth clacking together. The demon stepped forward, expensive shoes clacking, resembling horse shoes. The hollow sound echoed in the nothingness. The evil spirit tilted its head, focusing one eye on Sam. It was hypnotizing. Gold flecks swarmed in liquid fire, setting Sam's mind aflame. The white nothingness that surrounded them exploded into flames. Mad red colors flashed in the space, sending his skin on fire. Smoke formed invisible hands and wrung his neck, yanking out every ounce of clean air out of his lungs. His eyes erupted hot tears. Agony.
The demon's words reverberated in a low menacing tone. "You don't have a choice. You belong to me now."
The being and the flames evaporated. The smoke coagulated in Sam's throat and trailed down his stomach. Oh God.
He promptly threw up. Grey matter spewed across the floor. He stumbled forward and gripped his stomach.
"Dean, Castiel…I need you." He groaned. "Castiel!" He screamed into the void of his mind.
Blood spotted saliva dripped sluggishly out of Castiel's busted lips. He hung motionless from thin silver threads. His arms were pulled over his head and his feet slicked across blood puddles on the stone floor. He was spent. He had given up and quit fighting. His tattered wings were limp. It took all of his energy to just breathe—to just exist. The world around him and the world from under his eyelids was black. Black was his present and future.
Castiel…I need you.
He fluttered his eyes.
Castiel!
They snapped open. Blue eyes blazed in the dark.
Sam Winchester was calling him.
A fury of devotion and loyalty collided with his gut, gifting him a burst of energy. He reached inside himself and called upon his grace. Previously, he had shoved it far away to shield it from the torture. He was unsure if he had pushed it into the cosmos or just deep inside himself but it was depleted and insignificant now. It had been scraped at, clawed at, stabbed at, and violated through the most revolting kinds of sins. He frantically dug at it with his psyche. He needed to reach it. He needed to get to Sam.
He was getting closer. He dug at it faster, faster, faster. Get it, get it, get it.
CASTIEL.
Get it, get it! His stretched out his psyche as far as it could reach, envisioning tendrils of light illuminating the dark corners of the galaxy. They flew past suns, planets and wormholes. They flew into millions of heavens, hells, and in-between dimensions. They sped by faster than light and faster than laser. He was getting closer.
The light stopped. He had found something… but it wasn't his grace.
It was Sam. He had found Sam. Good, that's good. But where's the grace? He left some of the light wrapped around Sam and the rest sped off. They tumbled and twisted though space and he felt grace tugging at him. It was familiar and welcoming, although tiny.
And there it was. It was beautiful, so beautiful—a beautiful thing in a dark moment. But there is was. He dived into it.
Home.
The light knotted together in a perfect shape of organized chaos and then it burst into tiny pieces of star dust. It was a reunion between a heavenly host and an angel. The light pierced through Jimmy's eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. His finger tips and toes also emanated beams of heavenly light. Now he could get to Sam.
He pulled his heavy wings off the floor, fresh blood dripping off of the feather tips. He beat them, mixing the vitality of a body and the essence of a divine phantom in a rush of vibrant colors. Then he was off. His arms were still bound together but his wings flapped as fast as they could go.
When he found Sam's spirit—stuck in an astral form—he drug it through the millions of layers of dimensions and time zones until he reached the year of the apocalypse. He found Dean's spirit projection and Sam's body. He transported the Impala near to Dean's location and Sam's spirit back in his body. He was becoming weaker, draining the energy in the second set of lungs he managed to find. He was able to place Sam's body in Dean's hotel room.
Finally. He was becoming weaker and weaker but still flying fast. He lost control of his movement and his wings cramped up, partly from injuries and partly from exhaustion. He then realized he wasn't flying at all…He was falling. He tried to guide his falling in Dean and Sam's direction as he plummeted downward. He lost consciousness.
The door burst open.
"Holy FUCK. What the hell happened?" Dean burst in with a massacred, lifeless body in his arms. He jumped off the bed and rushed towards his brother. He felt an instinct to touch the body. The being's energy was hurt, so very hurt. He wrapped his hands on the body's shoulders and smoothed them over the man's limbs. Dean lowered him onto the bed slowly. He glanced down at the man's face.
Castiel. Oh my god.
Six Hours Before Present
Dean and Sam were asleep. They had previously stitched up Cas's back slowly, stunned into silence. The word "weak" was a complete mystery. Castiel didn't have an inkling to who or what caused it. The only thing he could do now was rest.
He was oblivious to the world while healing. The atmosphere was somber and quiet. It was perfect. Sleep was silent before the dreams crept in.
It was strange because…well…Cas had never dreamt before.
It started with the hollow sound of pounding hooves. Cas remembered watching thousands of battles over the course of his existence. He remembered the sharp clashes of metal, the whirring of arrows, and the screams of men. But over the bleak sound of war, the echoes of horse hooves were always the loudest. Horses have more grace than man ever will.
Phantom black horses galloped behind his closed eyes. They thundered across his dream scape in a blur, ethereal forms cascading around his vision. Although wraith-like, their muscles rippled with raw energy. Eyes flashed like evil lightening bugs as they danced. They started to sing to him. It was high pitched and haunting. Their dancing became faster and faster. They cantered around him, occasionally snapping at him with sharp fangs.
Cas realized they were taunting him. They drew closer and closer with malicious intent. They whinnied louder and the sound started to pierce into his brain. The sound waves grew and grew sending tremors down his spine. It became painful, so painful.
He felt like he was crying out. They started to bite him, their fangs diving into his skin with ease. The pain cascaded into raw, unbridled agony. He felt his body writhe. He clawed and scratched and screamed. Get it OUT! GET IT OUT!
It spoke to him, whispering about a dark plan. It was driving him insane.
Vaguely he sensed warm hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him.
Dean, oh it's Dean. Dean, please make him stop.
"Dean!" He sobbed.
Here you go! Man, I really write a lot of whumpage don't I?