AN: Hey chickadees! Thank you for the amazing response last chapter, you guys are rock stars. :-D
Ok, so, question: I have written an eight-chapter, super-dark story based on the alternate timeline of "The End," but the one described in this chapter (aka with Eli). I can't post the whole thing now, because there are major spoilers for the rest of Of The World after chapter one, BUT would you like me to post chapter one to get a glimpse into what it's going to be? I promise zombie apocalypses and refugee camps and the collapse of society (and that's just in the first chapter!) ...so let me know what you think.
Please remember to review!
Chapter 7: Welcome To (The End)
"I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now." Dean shifted the cell phone to his other ear as he peered out the motel window onto the dark street. Outside, he could still see the preacher fervently praying, his bushy beard fluffing around his face like some kind of weird, skinny, religious lumberjack.
"Well, I hear differently," Castiel said, raising his voice over the rush of cars on the highway. "And if it's true and if you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it."
"Okay," Dean finally agreed, sinking onto the bed. "Where do we start?"
"Where are you now?"
Dean stretched out across the mattress, grabbing the motel room keys from the bedside table. "Kansas City. Century Hotel, room 113."
"I'll be there immediately," Castiel said, and started to hang up. Dean stopped him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on, man. I just drove like sixteen hours straight, okay? I'm human. And there's stuff I got to do."
"What stuff?" the angel asked suspiciously.
"Eat, for example. In this case, sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?" Dean's voice took on a pleading tone. He could almost hear Castiel's solemn nod on the other end.
"Yes."
"Look, Eli's down at the bar on the corner. Why don't you go spend some quality time with the Missus and pop in tomorrow morning."
"All right." The angel sounded pleased. "I'll just –"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, hanging up and instantly falling asleep.
The rest of the day was, to put it lightly, a nightmare.
Dean awoke to the lovely sight of a post-apocalyptic city. The smell of burning tires lay heavily in the air. The streets were deathly silent, power lines downed, cars smashed and flaming. Glass crunched under his boots. The people were rabid, like something out of a zombie movie, moving in packs, hunting, screaming, calling for blood. On nearly every available surface the word Croatoan was scrawled.
He got a surprise visit from Zachariah in the car. He made his way to Bobby's house, but only found a bloody wheelchair, two bullet holes ripped through the back, and a photograph: Bobby in the chair, Eli with short, dyed brown hair sticking up around her face, and Castiel, who was dressed in oddly casual clothing, all with guns, standing before a sign that read Camp Chitaqua.
And then things got weird.
Dean stood in the doorway of a cabin, peering through a beaded curtain as Castiel, barefoot and unshaven, sat cross-legged with a bevy of beautiful women and preached something vaguely new-agey to them. Dean's eyebrows shot up at the word 'orgy.' He cast his gaze around, but Eli was nowhere to be seen.
"What are you, a hippie?" Dean demanded as the women filed out of the room. Castiel stretched leisurely, his bones cracking, and laughed a little, a strange, hollow laugh.
"I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me."
Dean stepped into the room, his voice low and urgent. "Cas, we gotta talk."
Castiel finally turned around, letting Dean see just how bizarre he looked. His dark hair was a little too long, falling messily into his eyes; he looked unwashed, with scraggly stubble, his skin paper-thin and somehow older. His eyes were hazy.
"Woah," he said, staring at Dean with confusion. "Strange."
"What?" Dean demanded, still studying the angel with interest.
"You...are not you. Not now you, anyway." Castiel shook his head as if to clear it, his hair curling slightly around his ears.
"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly," Dean said, excited that someone could see it. Castiel cocked his head, watching his face intently.
"What year are you from?" he asked.
"2009."
"Who did this to you?" Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Is it Zachariah?" Dean nodded in confirmation. Castiel stroked his fledging beard. "Interesting."
"Oh, yeah, it's fuckin' fascinating," Dean said impatiently. He clapped his hands together, desperate to get back home and out of this nightmarish future. "Now. Why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?"
Castiel tilted his head back and laughed strangely, his eyes squeezed shut. "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry, no dice." He giggled again, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. Dean stared at him, incredulous.
"What, are you stoned?"
Castiel shrugged lazily, looking more and more like a hippie every second. "Uh, generally, yeah."
"What happened to you?" Dean noticed a silver chain around the angel's neck, two battered gold rings dangling from it. "And what's with the horde of women? Where's Eli?"
Castiel's face went dark. He stuffed the necklace into his shirt and turned away from Dean, reaching for a bottle on the table. He took a long swig.
"Cas?" Dean pushed. "What happened? Where's Eli?"
"Eli's gone," Castiel said harshly, then lowered his voice until it was nearly a whisper. "Has been for a long time now."
"What do you mean, gone?" Dean asked, feeling sick to his stomach. "She's dead?"
Castiel let out another strange, aching laugh, turning back to Dean with reddened eyes. "Oh, right, you're from 2009. You sweet, innocent boy. You still think she can die." He dropped his eyes, taking another long drink. "You know nothing."
"If she's not dead, where is she?" Dean took a step closer to the fallen angel. "Cas, you're not making any sense."
"She left," he choked out. "About two years ago. Just got up in the middle of the night and…" He made a running gesture with his fingers. "Scampered away."
"Ran away where?"
Castiel was silent. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked it roughly away, finishing his bottle with a gulp.
"To Lucifer," he spat out. "She went to Lucifer. She betrayed us. She betrayed all of us."
Dean soon discovered that Future Dean was, to put it lightly, a dick.
"Torture?" he asked incredulously, leaning forward from his perched position on a back table. They were gathered in the 'war room,' a beaten shack of a place with long wooden tables and maps tacked to the walls. On the center table lay the Colt, newly discovered, its long barrel still gleaming after years of being shuttled around among demons. "Oh, so we're torturing again. No, that's good. Classy." He shot himself a sarcastic wink. Future him just glared, an icy, level look that plainly said you have no idea what you're talking about, you fucking idiot.
Castiel snorted, and Future Dean's death glare swung to the fallen angel. Cas held up his hands and shrugged, an oddly giddy smile on his face, not at all deterred by Future Dean's glower. "What? I like past you."
Future Dean sighed a little and leaned over a map. "Lucifer is here," he said, pointing to a small red x on the ancient paper. "Now. I know the block and I know the building…"
"Oh, good—it's right in the middle of a hot zone," Castiel interrupted again. Dean noticed that when Cas had nothing to do with his hands he toyed idly with the rings around his neck, rolling them between his fingers like a child would a safety blanket.
Another patented death-glare was sent his way. "Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?"
Castiel rocked back in his chair, his booted feet propped up on the top of the table. "Are you saying we walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?"
"Yes," Future Dean said shortly, crossing his arms, circles like dark gashes under his eyes, his green military jacket battered and a bit too large for his thinner frame. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and guns and booze, a sharp contrast to Castiel's dim scent of opium and dirt and sex.
Castiel rolled his eyes up into his head and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Okay, if you don't like 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe."
"Are you coming?" Future Dean barked, highly annoyed. Castiel sighed.
"Of course. But why is he?" He jerked his thumb to Dean, who was watching the bizarre proceeds through wide eyes, still trying to process the fact that prissy, immaculately clean Castiel had his dirty boots on the table. "I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"
"He's coming," Future Dean growled.
"One more thing," Risa interjected, leaning forward so that her elbows were resting on her knees, her pretty face tense with worry. "What about the Dog? Lucifer's there, she's bound to be there too, right? What are we gonna do when she shows up?"
Castiel's face was suddenly closed. His hand dropped from the rings around his neck as he jerked his feet off of the table and stared hard at the floor. Future Dean shot him a glance, then moved with terrifying confidence to grasp the Colt.
"I hope she's there," he said, hefting the gun that was rumored to kill anything in existence, "because I'm just dying to see if this thing works on traitorous bitches."
There was silence for a moment, before Castiel roughly shoved his chair out and marched from the room, shoulders slumped. Future Dean didn't even seem to notice, just put the gun back on the table and surveyed the rest of the group with cold eyes.
"All right, everyone, come on. We're loaded and on the road by midnight."
Future Dean was going to sacrifice his friends for once chance at killing the devil with the Colt. When Dean tried to talk sense into him, tried to reach any shred of humanity left inside the battle-wearied soldier, Future Dean knocked him out, leaving him unconscious on the ground as the battle went on around him.
He awoke to a cool hand on his forehead. Long hair brushed his cheek. A familiar voice said: "Hey. Hey there, Dean. It's time to wake up now."
He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the curtain of hair that shone with an unearthly light, like the sun, and realized that someone was crouching over him. "Eli?" he croaked. The person leaned back and placed a soft hand in his, helping him to his feet.
"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you again."
He stood fully, brushing dirt from his pants and jacket. Eli watched him calmly. When he was finished he finally looked up, then stumbled backward, nearly tripping on his own feet.
"Eli? What the hell…what happened to you?"
She was glowing, literally glowing. Her hair was long, tumbling past her waist, thicker and smoother and whiter than it had ever been. She looked inhuman. She was wearing a white dress that draped to her bare feet, and her eyes were a strange, flat green, no white or pupil in them at all. Around her neck was a thin silver circlet of metal.
She smiled gently at him, but her voice was infinitely sad. "I've been like this for a while. Can't say I'm too fond of the dress, or the hair extensions; being a my-size creepy Barbie was his idea."
"His?" Dean asked roughly, stepping closer. "You mean Lucifer's?" She nodded. "Why? What are you? What the hell is that thing?" He gestured to the metal around her neck.
She reached up to touch it with light fingers. "It's my collar."
"What does that mean?" he demanded.
Eli sighed. "Please, Dean, you must understand…" She stepped closer to him and he stepped back, shaking his head.
"Understand what? Why you went to Lucifer? Why you left us, left Cas, became this …this thing? What possible explanation could you have for that?"
"Lucifer had already won," she said, her voice exhausted.
"What, so you just put your chips in with the winning team?" he snarled.
"No!" she exclaimed, real emotion showing on her face for the first time. "No, God no. I fought, Dean, I really did. I fought for three long years. But he'd won, we all knew it. Even you, the you of this time, knows it. You're fighting a losing battle. And you will die. All of you."
"So you left," Dean said coldly. "Way to be there for the people you care about."
"I left because I care about you!" Tears were gathering in her eyes. She approached him, taking his hands in hers. Her skin felt wrong, too smooth and warm, like if he turned her palm over she wouldn't have any fingerprints. "The angels had left. Heaven is…empty. God is gone. The only thing that is left is this…and hell. Everyone goes to hell now, Dean. Good, bad, right, wrong…everyone goes to hell. That's Lucifer's last revenge on the human race."
She paused, taking a deep breath and releasing his hands. She turned her back on him, her shoulders shaking. "He has dominion over all of it now. He told me that if I came to him, if I accepted the collar and became his weapon, then he would spare you from hell. All of you, all of the people I love, all of humanity, would be allowed entrance to heaven instead of burning on the rack for all of eternity. We're all dead anyway. We've already lost."
"So you said yes," Dean said quietly. She turned back to him, chin held high.
"I had to."
"Well isn't this cozy," rang out another, sickeningly familiar voice. Dean turned, his whole body tense and shaking. Eli merely stood there, her face once again impassive. "It's like a family reunion."
"Lucifer," Dean growled. The devil straightened his pure white suit fastidiously. Behind him Dean could see his own body, flat on the ground, eyes wide and staring. His neck was broken.
Lucifer smiled with Sam's face, but it looked strange, like a mask, as if he wasn't quite sure how to use his muscles. "Dean. You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" He shifted his gaze to Eli. "You haven't been giving away any spoilers, pet?"
She dropped her head submissively. "Good," he said. There was a rustling behind him, and Lucifer's eyes lit up. "Oh yes, my little surprise. Dean, you'll probably want to watch this. Such drama. Better than a daytime soap."
From around the side of the house emerged two burly demons, dragging a bloodied and still-struggling Castiel between them.
"Let me go, you sons of bitches!" he was snarling, dragging his feet in an attempt to slow them down. Then he looked up at the scene before him, and his face paled. "Elijah," he gasped.
"Cas!" she exclaimed, surging forward, but stopped after a second, her face flashing briefly with pain, hand on her collar.
"Uh uh," Lucifer said, waving a finger at her. "You stay right where you are."
The demons threw Castiel on the ground hard enough that it took him a few moments to stand up. He looked at her with a mixture of awe and abject misery on his face, taking in her solid green eyes and eerie aura.
"God," he whispered, taking a shaking step forward. "Oh Eli, what has he done to you?"
"You see Dean," Lucifer said loudly, spreading his hands in a god-like gesture. All of them snapped their attention to the angel in Sam's body. "This is how it ends. My world. My heaven. My hell. This is how it will always end. It's…ineffable." He paused, smiling benevolently, then turned to Eli and motioned with a casual gesture to Castiel. "Kill him."
Eli's whole body began to glow. Castiel looked at her with wide, horror-filled eyes. She shook her head frantically, white hair swinging around her head. "No!"
Lucifer's face darkened. He stretched out his hand, tightening it into a fist. Eli began to gag, her hands clutching the collar. "Don't make me ask twice."
She glared at him. "No."
Suddenly she arched up, her whole body racked with pain. She looked like she was being electrocuted. Lucifer looked mildly bored. "Kill him, Elijah."
She screamed in agony. Castiel stepped forward, but was stopped by a wave of Lucifer's hand. "Stop this!" he yelled. "Stop it now!"
Lucifer racked up the torture another notch. Lightning crackled along her skin, stemming from the collar. "I'll stop when she says yes," he said mildly.
There was the smell of burning, like her flesh was being peeled off. Dean tried to intervene but was pushed backward by an invisible force. "You son of a bitch!" he yelled. "You'll kill her!"
"Oh, I don't think so, Dean," Lucifer said, smirking. "I highly doubt that." He looked at her almost kindly. "Elijah? Ready to submit?"
She stared at him with absolute hatred. "I won't kill him," she swore, tears in her eyes. "You can make me do anything else, make me blow up this whole goddamned world, but I won't kill him."
"Oh, I think you will," he said, lifting a finger. She arched in pain again; it looked like her whole body was on white fire. "I have all day." He turned to Castiel. "You know, Cas, I don't think you appreciate the amount of pain she's in. Think of hell, times, oh I don't know, let's give it a rough guess and say five thousand. I've had her wipe out whole cities with less resistance than she's showing right now." He smiled gently. "Man, she must really love you."
Castiel looked at him with horror. "Please, stop…" he croaked out.
"This stops," Lucifer said, "when she says yes and you die."
Through the white lightning-fire Dean could see flashes of bone. She was still screaming, a high, keening wail, but her hands were clenched into determined fists. Dean felt a flash of pride. She was still resisting, still fighting. He wondered how much longer she could hold out.
The sound reached near-unbearable levels.
A gunshot cracked, a sharp, clean sound, and all fell silent.
Eli dropped to the ground, her skin whole and unblemished, her eyes pulled tight with remembered pain. She cracked them open and stared at her hands, then looked up and began to cry, huge, body-shaking sobs. "Oh, no," she whimpered, crawling on the ground in her white dress. "Oh, God, no…"
Dean looked at the scene in horror, at the gun that lay by the former angel's head, at the blood that pooled around his fallen body. Castiel was dead. He had shot himself to end her pain.
"You see, Dean," Lucifer said, turning to smile pleasantly at the man from the past. "I win. No matter how the game is played, no matter what you change, in the end, I always get what I want. So, I win."
"Kill me," Eli's voice rang out. Both men jerked to look at her. She was holding Castiel's head in her lap, stroking his hair, her dress drenched in blood and filth. But she wasn't looking at Lucifer. She was looking at Dean.
"Only an Archangel can," she said hurriedly, her solid green eyes pleading. "Dean, you can stop all of this. I have to die. It's the only way."
"Stop," Lucifer growled, taking a step toward her. She ignored him.
"Kill me, Dean," she pleaded. Lucifer took another menacing step, raising his hand.
Something grabbed Dean by the shoulder. Zachariah whirled him around, placing two fingers on his forehead, and the whole scene melted away before his eyes.
When Castiel zapped him away from Zachariah's clutches, Dean found himself in a hotel room. Castiel was standing in front of him in just his white shirt and black pants, barefoot. Dean breathed a sigh of relief.
"Nice timing, Cas."
Castiel smiled faintly. "We had an appointment."
"Hey, Dean," Eli said, emerging from the bathroom in a bathrobe, a towel around her head, skin flushed from the hot water. She took one look at his pale and flustered face and approached him on swift feet. "You okay?"
Dean put one hand on each of their shoulders. "You two," he said seriously, "don't ever change."
Eli wrinkled her brow. "Dean, what happened? What did Zachariah do to you? What did you see?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then dropped his hands to his sides. "Nothing," he said shortly. "He just wanted me to say yes."
"You sure about that?" Castiel asked, giving him that squint-eyed, vaguely unnerving scrutinizing stare. Dean nodded, looking at his shoes.
"Yeah. Positive." He pulled out his phone, jittery with adrenaline and filled to brimming with the knowledge of all he had seen, of the horrifying future that he still firmly believed he could stop. He knew now what he had to do. "Listen, if you lovebirds'll excuse me, I have to make a call."
