A/N: Welp, this has to be the most depressing fic I've ever written. There's a reason I've always avoided "The End" verse before now, but it just fit the song so well. For those of you who follow "Raising Amy," just read this fic first and then go get a happy fix from today's very fluffy chapter of Dean hanging out with his niece.
Song: "World War Me" by Theory Of A Deadman
Setting: 5x04 "The End" verse
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Summary: As the world falls apart, so do the heroes.
"World War Me" - Theory Of A Deadman
Wooh oh oooh this is world war me
Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace, I'm the only enemy
There's a child crying in the corner. If he doesn't quiet soon, those things outside will hear him, and then they'll all be lost.
The man shoots a glare over his shoulder, but there are no parents to receive it. Just other huddled bodies whimpering in the dark. Scuffs and rattles echo from outside, from the roof.
They are coming.
The man glances down at his arm where he was bitten, the skin red and inflamed. And he knows.
They're already here.
I'm the king of doubt, I fight it out all on the inside
I'm the poster child of denial, there's nothing I can't hide
Dean stood before a dozen weary, terrified faces, all looking to him for answers, for hope. But it was the end of the world. There was no hope. Only survival.
The Croatoan virus was spreading, sweeping through cities and leaving them ravaged so demons could descend and take care of the rest. There was no government anymore, no infrastructure. Somewhere out there, the Devil stood on his mountaintop of victory and drank in rivers of blood.
Dean steeled his jaw and started barking orders like he was John Winchester. That was who he had to be, on the outside, if he was going to get these refugees out alive. There was a camp they could go to, a place far enough out it shouldn't attract the attention of demons or those infected with the virus. Dean took charge because no one else could.
While on the inside he felt himself shriveling up day by day.
I'm punching holes in walls because, I let it build up way too long, sabotage
Everything I ever had, and now I'm seeing red, there is no one else to blame, but the voices in my head
Dean punched the wall in his cabin. The wood didn't give under his anger, though he managed to chip a few splinters off into his knuckles. He turned his back against the wall and slid to the floor, a bottle of scotch in his other hand.
He had to shoot one of his men today. The kid had gotten infected while out on the supply run. He'd tried to hide it, but Dean could tell. He'd developed a sixth sense for these things. And he couldn't risk taking the kid back to camp. So he made an excuse about checking an adjoining building, took the kid with him like it was some great honor to watch Dean Winchester's back.
And then Dean shot him in his.
He stared at the blood on his knuckles. So much blood on his hands. He couldn't protect these people. He let the world fall apart. He let Sam go.
Dean threw his head back and screamed for Michael to get his ass down there, that he was ready to say yes, to end it all.
No one answered. The angels gave up and left a while ago.
Dean lost his chance to make it right.
Wooh oh oooh this is world war me
Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace
I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become
'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done
I'm the only enemy in world war me
Dean loaded his rifle and cast a quick look around to survey the building. There were supplies in there, but there were also sightings of Croatoan infected, too. Dean ordered two guys to go around and cover the back, two guys who had no business carrying those semi-automatic weapons. One of them pissed his pants the first time he had to shoot a Croatoan. They were liabilities.
And Dean knew that sending them off could get them killed, but he needed capable people watching his back right now.
He stood, catching his reflection in the side mirror of the jeep. The visage was terrifying in how unrecognizable he seemed to himself. He saw more of his father every day.
Thus was war.
Dean cocked his gun and signaled to move out.
I know you tried to show me the light, I feed on the darkness
I've lost control, I'm down in a hole, I'm broken and helpless
Castiel sat on the cabin's porch, head tilted back to look at the black sky. The stars were hidden from him. Or they'd shunned him. He had once been a creature of celestial light, but now he was nothing. Just a wretched, pathetic mortal wallowing in the mud.
At one time, Castiel had thought he was doing the right thing. That choosing to fight alongside Dean Winchester and defending free will was God's will. Of course, he'd also thought that about bringing on the Apocalypse.
The truth was there was no God. And perhaps they'd preserved free will, but they'd lost the war, and all that was left to do now was slowly perish.
Castiel grimaced at the pain in his splinted foot. He'd broken it. When the angels left, Castiel's grace had withered up and died. He could no longer heal himself. He could no longer help in the fight with his powers.
He was hapless and hopeless, and could never go home.
The noose is getting tight, so tight, will I make it through the night
It's time to surrender to myself and crawl out of this hell, the battles in my head, there is nobody else
Castiel felt like he was suffocating. The lungs in this human shell were too small, too weak. He used to be a supernova stuffed into a vessel, and now he was a mesh of memories and consciousness trapped in one. He lost a vital part of himself when his grace evaporated, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to get it back.
He popped open a pill bottle and dumped several tablets into his palm. He'd taken them for the pain in his foot while it had slowly healed, and they'd had the odd effect of disconnecting him from that pain for a time. More than that, though, they'd made him feel almost weightless…almost like flying.
He knocked back the handful, chasing that feeling again, trying to find the piece of himself he'd lost.
As the drugs took effect, Castiel slowly sank to the floor. Everything started spinning. Was he flying again? He squinted at the lantern light as it scattered into swirling stars all around the room. Castiel felt as though he'd finally shed his mortal skin and was now soaring among the heavens.
But that wasn't right…it was too quiet. Everything was so quiet without the Host, without the song of his angelic brothers and sisters. Castiel wanted to scream. But in the dead of night, he knew the raging sound was only in his head.
Wooh oh oooh this is world war me
Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace
I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become
'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done
I'm the only enemy in world war me
The silent screaming turned to spitting curses, and Castiel furrowed his brow. Someone grabbed his arm and hauled him up. He stumbled as he was dragged outside, the chill night air hitting him like a slap in the face. He moaned, and a few moments later was thrown against cold tile. There was a creak of pipes, and then an icy spray of water assaulted him.
Castiel choked on surprise and discomfort, and tried to get away, but a granite figure hemmed him in and shoved him back against the wall. This time the slap on his face was hard and left a sting.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean shouted.
Castiel blinked blearily, water running down his lashes. "I want to go home," he mumbled.
Dean reeled back, and Castiel slid to the floor of the shower, shivering under the water bombardment. The weightlessness he felt earlier was completely gone, replaced with a leaden chill that burrowed deep into his bones.
At some point, Dean turned the water off and hauled Castiel back to his cabin, stripped him of his wet clothes, and roughly dropped him onto his cot. But rather than leaving, Dean sank to his knees next to the cot and hung his head. If he was praying, Castiel could no longer hear it.
His gaze slid past Dean to the pill bottle left on the floor, then up to the window where Castiel's reflection gazed back at him groggily. What a pitiful excuse for an angel.
Former angel.
But Castiel chose this path, chose to rebel, chose to side with the humans.
And now he would fall like one.
How do you run away when you're the enemy
Knowing there's no way out, nothing's gonna save me now
Wooh oh oooh this is world war me
Wooh oh oooh I will never be free
No matter how much Sam tried not to look, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the cowering people at his feet. One by one, a demon slurped into them, and then he slit their throats and collected the blood to drink later.
Sam slumped in the back of his mind, heart torn to pieces by regret and resignation. He'd said yes to make it all stop—the running, the endless fighting with nothing to show for it. But it hadn't stopped. Instead, he still got to watch Lucifer destroy the world. Only now using his hands.
"Come on, Sam," Lucifer crooned. "Haven't I been good to you? Keeping you strong?"
Sam didn't respond, but he felt the sibilant caress against his cheek, and shuddered. He missed Dean, wondered where he was, if he was even still alive. All he knew was that Dean had remained strong where Sam hadn't, that he hadn't said yes to Michael. Sam was the weak one. And now he'd have eternity to live with it.
Wooh oh oooh this is world war me
Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace
I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become
'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done
I'm the only enemy in world war me
Dean stood on a hilltop, overlooking the town they'd just set ablaze because of the Croatoan outbreak and it being so close to Camp Chitaqua. It was necessary, and the bodies down there weren't human anymore, but they looked like it, in the right angle. The little girl sprawled on the asphalt.
Dean figured he'll go to Hell when this was all over. Or maybe he'd just end up sticking around here, Hell on Earth.
He cast a sidelong glance at Cas, standing beside him. The ex-angel was barely recognizable. In tattered jeans and faded flannel with a few days' scruff on his face, Cas looked bedraggled, beaten, and broken, a shell of the person he used to be.
He wasn't the only one.
Dean drank himself into a blackout at night. He grabbed pills on supply runs and taught Cas how to not overdose, because he didn't know how else to help the one friend who had stayed by him throughout everything, and look what it had done to him. But Dean was too selfish to let him go.
The world may have been ravaged by zombies, demons, and the Devil wearing his brother's face, but it was Dean who had caused it all. Dean, the one who destroyed the world and everyone he loved.
