The Show Must Go On

"Wake up dipshit!" the harsh, nasal voice rang in his ears, followed by the predictable sound of the baton banging against the bars of his cells.

These humans were so petty.

"It is still two hours before wake-up call," Virgil responded calmly.

The guard grinned and elbowed his partner. "Yeah, genius, two hours, sure, but let us hear the rest of it,"

Virgil turned over and opened one eye, regarding them with open disdain.

"How many minutes and seconds?", the guard asked, leaning in, his knuckles tightening meaningfully on his baton. "C'mon, out with it."

Virgil eyed the baton and sighed. He hated these pitiful mortals.

"Three minutes and twenty two seconds," he muttered, turning back over and onto his side. "May I return to my rest now?"

"Check it, " the guard said to his partner, who was looking down at his stopwatch in disbelief.

"I don't freakin' believe it..." he muttered.

"Ha!" the first guard shouted, slapping his partner on his chest. "Told ya' so. Pay up, rookie!"

"How'd he do that...?" the guard with the stopwatch muttered. He leaned up to the bars of Virgil's cell and rattled them with his keys. "Hey! Inmate! How'd you do that?"

"Oh man, you don't wanna go down this path, Carlo, believe me..."

Virgil rolled over and smiled tightly. "If I tell you, will you leave me be?"

"Ah hell..." the first guard muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah...tell me," Carlo asked.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord, you pitiful mortal maggot," Virgil sighed. "I know the number of the stars in the sky, and the grains of sand on a beach. Also the limited days in your short, mortal life. Down to the last minute and second. Now, let me sleep."

Carlo blinked in confusion and leaned back, looking back and forth between his partner and Virgil. "Wha...what does he mean by that... Julio?" All Julio did was chuckle into his fist, pretending to stifle a cough. Carlo narrowed his eyes and glared back at Virgil. "Hey, freak-show! I'm talkin' to ya'! Whatd'ya mean by that?!"

Julio put a hand on his partner's shoulder and nodded back at the door to the cell block. "C'mon, man, it ain't worth it...believe me..."

Carlo pulled his shoulder away. "Nah, I wanna hear this..."

Virgil was staring at the guard now, angry. "As I said, human, I am an Angel of the Lord. Or...I was, before I came to be trapped in this wretched place. I was the Weapons Master of Heaven."

Carlo blinked. He turned back to Julio, who shrugged, an 'I-told-you-so' expression on his face.

"He for real with this crap?", Carlo asked, jerking his thumb back at Virgil.

"'Fraid so," Julio answered. "Can we get goin' now? You owe me a twenty."

Carlo turned back to Virgil, meeting his eyes. He shivered, but did not break the stare. "What'd this guy kill...? Like five people back in Vancouver? That was seven years ago, right?"

"Good memory," Julio answered.

Carlo continued his stare-down with Virgil. "Ain't hard to remember, it was all over the news. This whack-job goes off on a TV show set...what was it? Oh, yeah, Supernatural. Cuts one guy's throat, an actor, Mikkie something..."

"Misha."

"Yeah, that's it. Then he shows up on the set after robbing a gun store. Shot a random customer. Then he goes and shoots the show producer and director. A couple of crew members. A couple of actors took him down. Made 'em nice and famous. Real-life heroes and crap. The family of the director, Singer, wasn't it? His wife..." he closed his eyes, remembering. "...Eugenie...was all over the news, too...successfully petitioned the court to have his ass extradited here to NY...sound about right?"

Virgil continued to glare, unblinking.

"Where he's getting the chair. Insanity defense fell short. What you got left, freak? A week?"

Virgil's mouth twisted up in a mocking grin.

"It appears so."

Carlo smiled evilly in return and leaned closer.

"Yeah...but how many minutes and seconds left there, 'Weapons Master'?", he whispered. He shook his head and turned away back to Julio, who was watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. "C'mon Julio. We're done here. Good riddance to bad trash."

Virgil watched them go, then slowly closed his eyes, trying to drift back to sleep.

He did, in fact, welcome his end.

Anything to get off of this magic-less, God-less planet.

"Cut!", the director Charles Beeson yelled, squinting down at the monitor. He hit rewind and checked the shot again. Take eight. Jensen and Jared were pretty flawless...but the new guy playing Castiel this year...Lyons...the studio was on their fifth Castiel after Misha had been murdered. And if the fans didn't like him...

Let alone that this Hollywood prick couldn't act for shit. Charles shook his head. This new guy had had all of one movie to his credit, and he acted like his shit didn't stink.

He smiled grimly to himself. Well, at least that's onething he can actually pull off, acting-wise, he thought sarcastically, wincing at the myriad of mistakes in the last scene.

"Season Thirteen..." he muttered. He looked over at the producer looking over his shoulder and shook his head. "How'd I get dragged into this again, Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "Because you said 'yes'" after Bobby got shot?" Jim replied bluntly.

"Oh yeah. That was it. Thanks," Charles sighed, leaning back from the monitor. "OK, folks! Not bad!", he shouted. "Jared, a little stiff, but serviceable. David?" he said, turning to the 'Castiel' character, now being played by David Lyons. The prick was flirting with one of the set assistants, a pretty blond with thick glasses and a clipboard. He sighed. "David?!" he repeated, louder. David jolted and looked over, smiling.

"Yeah, C.B.?"

Charles smiled humorously. "The voice again, David. The damned voice. It's high. Again. Way. Too. High."

David grimaced. "C'mon, boss, you telling me you can't use it?"

"Yeah, David. Sorry. We need to go again." He watched Jared and Jensen groan and head back to first positions.

"Action!"

"Supernatural, Season 13, Episode 15, take nine," the assistant droned, clapping down the marker.

A few hours later, Jensen leaned back in his trailer and flipped the channel to ESPN, watching the football scores flash by, paying very little attention to them.

God, that new Castiel is bad, he thought bitterly, pulling a cold beer out of his fridge. It had taken almost twenty takes to get that last scene, and Charles had finally called it a wrap for the day. There was a knock on his trailer door. He frowned at it before walking over and opening it.

Jared stood there.

"Can I come in?"

Jensen frowned. "Are we...talking to each other?"

Jared smiled sarcastically. "Cute. Seriously, though,"

"Something on your mind?"

"Yours too, if I can guess."

Jensen smiled. "Yeah, man, c'mon in. Want a beer?"

"Sure."

Jensen got him one as Jared stretched out his large frame into one of the beige plush leather chairs. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

"Man, I'm thinking this is a sign," he said to the ceiling.

Jensen sighed. "I know. But...are you serious this time?"

Jared picked his head back up and watched Jensen for a minute. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I think...this time I'm serious. But...it's like we said, I won't leave unless you do too."

Jensen nodded slowly and took a long swig of beer. "Man, this new guy..."

"Dude, I'm tellin' ya," Jared answered swiftly. "It's a fucking sign."

Jensen grimaced. "You remember the backlash after Season Nine?" he asked, gesturing with his beer.

"Don't remind me. Brutal."

"Exactly. And this guy...this guy is worse...let's face it man, this show doesn't work without Misha in it. Man, we have got to cut out now..."

Jared nodded. "See? I knew you were thinking the same thing..." He paused, thinking. "I mean, we've said this before, though..."

"I'm serious this time. It's so time to go...you talked to Gen about this?"

Jared nodded. "She's all for it. More time with the kids. No Canada;" he smiled. "I mean, maybe I can pick up a gig in a couple of years or so. You?"

"'Bout the same. Except..."

Jared raised his eyebrows. "Except what?"

Jensen smiled mischievously.

"Oh man, you already got something lined up?" Jared exclaimed, leaning forward. "Oh shit...it's Marvel, isn't it? Don't tell me you finally nailed Marvel?"

Jensen's grin widened and he winked and took another swig of beer.

"You dick!" Jared shouted, throwing a pillow at Jensen.

"Hey man! Watch it!" Jensen protested, swatting it away. They both settled back in their chairs, thinking to themselves silently.

"What about Mark?" Jensen asked finally.

"'P' or 'S'?"

"Oh please man, you think I give a crap about 'P'? 'S', naturally," Jensen snorted in response.

"Shit, Jensen, you think Mark can't find a job in less than a minute? He makes like two calls, max, and he's in."

Jensen nodded. They remained silent again for a while the TV droned out the last night's scores.

"Man...we're really gonna do this, aren't we?" Jensen whispered.

Jared nodded, then raised his beer high into the air. "To the end. Of Supernatural. Finally."

Jensen nodded and held his own beer up. "'Bout damn time."

There was another knock on the trailer door and Jared looked over questioningly at Jensen, who shrugged in confusion. He got up and answered it.

"You got a minute?" a rough voice asked from outside.

"Mark? Whatcha need man?" Jensen answered, surprised.

Mark Sheppard walked into the trailer and stopped short, noticing Jared there. He raised his eyebrows. "Did I miss the memo about the cast meeting?"

"No man...we were just talking...actually, it's a good thing you're here..."

Mark sat down heavily in a chair and blew out a breath, putting his hands on his knees. "It's over, boys."

"Wait...huh?" Jensen answered.

Mark looked up at him, and also turned his head to Jared. "I mean, I just...look, fellas, I know it's bad enough with the Castiel situation being what it is...but..."

"Wait...you telling us that you're walking?" Jared asked, incredulous.

"Um...yeah...I'm really very sorry..."

Jensen barked out a laugh. Mark looked up at him, confused. "Are you all right?"

Jensen shook his head. "No...yeah..." He laughed again. "We just literally decided the same thing..."

Mark's eyes widened, looking back and forth between the two of them. "You are kidding me..."

"No joke, man," Jared smiled. "Want a beer?"

Mark smiled. "Water is fine, if you have it."

Jensen snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "Oh, right, you don't..." he made a motion of drinking, and Mark smiled tightly back in affirmation. Jensen filled a glass with water and handed it to Mark, who inclined his head in thanks and raised it high. "Unbelievable," he muttered. He smiled. "I suppose a toast is in order, then?"

"We were just doing that, too."

Mark laughed. "Appropriate. Then, allow me to join you. Gentlemen! Raise your glasses. To the sudden, but welcome, end to thirteen years of complete and total tripe! Let it live forever on in the annals of television's prestigious history."

"Speak for yourself, ya limey bastard, you haven't been here that long," Jensen grumbled. They clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

"And, by-the-way. I'm Scottish, you Yankee idiot," Mark grumbled good-naturedly.

"And I'm a Texan," Jensen shot back. "Ain't got no use for a damned Yankee."

"Touche," Mark smiled back.

There was another knock on the door.

"The hell...?" Jensen said, getting up and walking to the door. "I swear to god, if this is Pellegrino, I am telling him to fuck right off..."

He opened the door, and a young, blond, serious looking girl with glasses was standing there, clutching a clipboard to her chest.

"Um..." Jensen started, then recognition showed up in his eyes. He snapped his fingers. "Wait...I know you...Angie...Arya..."

"Attie," she smiled. "May I come in?"

"Uh...what...did you need something? I mean, shooting's wrapped for today, right?"

"Just about, I'm afraid," Attie replied, frowning. "No, it's something else that I need to talk to you about."

Jensen hesitated. "Uh...sure...but...I really don't know you that well..." he stopped, a thought coming to him. "Oh shit, don't tell me that that prick did something to you... shit girl, I don't know if we can help you...I mean, short of kicking his smarmy ass..."

"No, actually. I just need to see something. For myself." Her eyes went over Jensen's shoulder to rest on Mark. "With him."

Jensen followed her gaze and the look of confusion got deeper, but he didn't seem to know what to say. "Uh...Mark?"

Mark shrugged in confusion. "No idea, mate."

Attie looked back at Jensen and raised her eyebrows. Finally, he shrugged and moved aside. "Ok, then, I guess...come on in...but...if this is going to be a scene, I'm calling set security..."

She smiled at him as she moved past him. She walked in front of Mark and leaned down looking into his eyes. She sighed in seeming disappointment after a few seconds and straightened up. "It's true then, There's absolutely no magic here. No Angels. No Demons. Completely cut off."

Mark smiled nervously and looked at Jensen and Jared. "Pardon me? Fellas...do you know anything about...?"

Jared held up his hands. "Don't look at me, man..."

"Allright, joke's over, security time," Jensen muttered, moving to his phone.

Attie smiled sadly. "Go ahead. It won't matter in a few moments anyway."

Jensen looked up, alarmed. "What...what do you...are you packing..." he looked over at Jared. "Is she...?"

Jared looked her up and down and shook his head.

Attie met Jensen's eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

As the Darkness fed, it was...surprised...it seemed that there was a child of the Lightbringer in the World that it ate. And it didn't fight. Instead, it seemed...grateful.

"She's losing too many!", a voice screamed in the Void. "We need to bring her back!"
"No!" a woman's voice screamed back, seeming to echo across several wavelengths at the same time, creating a sound not unlike feedback. "Just a few more...I can save them!"

"We're going to lose them all if we wait any longer!" the voice protested.

"Trust me!" the woman answered. "Please!"

"...Allright, Atropos. You win. But for God's sake. Hurry."