The demons hadn't lied, which really contradicted one of the basic truths about demons, but what could you do? Ruby had been able to pinpoint the house they wanted as soon as she laid eyes on it. She'd said something about a heavy aura, which made Dean picture stink lines coming off it like in cartoons. It was a white structure, though it glowed orange in the only available light, with three stories and an attic set right off the main road. It carried itself with an aged dignity, as though its floorboards creaked with a southern drawl that the young cookie cutter neighbors could only imitate in farce. One side of the porch had a swing, and there were wildly growing trees and bushes tucked in close to the walls. The front door opened northwest, granting a picturesque view of a park across the street and large oak tree that had been greeting inhabitants for some hundred years.
Streetlights struggled to push back the darkness, clouds, and rain, but they met with little success. Their glow shrank, defeated, so that they resembled flickering candles instead of monuments to even modern man's perpetual fear of the dark. The Winchesters and their companions skirted the circles of light and drew themselves up alongside the old house.
Dean kept the incantation Ruby had given him looping in his head as he crouched amongst wet bushes by the porch. He had turpentine and a rag in one hand and kept the other free so he could scale the railing. He'd brought his pistol, just 'cause nobody liked getting shot in the eye, and a small knife, because a hunter was always prepared. Sam stood beside him, reaching for the railing and trying to find a good foothold. Gabriel could just as easily have stayed in the car, but he protested letting them go alone and so stood bone dry behind the both of them, trying to haul his presence in as much as possible. The physical manifestation of his effort had him hugging himself tightly, as though he were freezing. It was kinda pathetic. As planned, Ruby approached the front door, wearing her black demon eyes for maximum effect.
They all tensed as her feet clomped on the steps. She tossed her hair to fling off some of the water and knocked loudly on the heavy door. She braced one hand against the door frame and planted the other on her cocked hip, letting the lines of her body align into allure. Somehow she made the drowned rat thing look sexy. For a minute, it looked like she'd have to knock again, but she saw the handle jiggle and finally turn. She kept her eyes downcast as the door swung open, and then lifted them slowly to look through long lashes.
The demon who greeted her had taken up residence in a trucker, an older one with more gut than brains and a wardrobe full of flannel.
"What do you want?" he grunted.
"Good food and a good time," Ruby lilted back, lifting her full lips in a smile.
"We ain't—"
"You know what I want," Ruby said, shifting her stance so she stood straighter. She motioned with her head. "I want in. On Inanna's showstopper."
The shift was the signal. Silent, Sam swung himself up and over the railing, pressing right up against the wooden siding.
The trucker demon chuckled like shook gravel. "You and every two-bit demon in this town. What makes you think you're special?" He leaned forward, shoving his grizzled face in hers.
Ruby placed a hand lightly on his cheek. "Oh," she said with a sweet smile. "I'm special. Might even say, I always come prepared." She puckered her lips and kissed at the air.
Sam attacked like a viper. One second he was pressed against the wall, and the next he was in the doorway, thrusting a blast of his power in the demon's direction. The trucker had time to howl and stumble back before Sam's control truly took hold.
As Sam did his demon puppetmaster deal, Dean scaled the porch, sloshing a bit of turpentine from the open bottle. Sam and Ruby stormed through the door, shoving the trucker back, and Dean came swiftly after them. He soaked the rag in the cleaner and swiped furiously around the door frame as he kept his litany going to preserve the spell. Behind him, the trucker cried out louder as Sammy turned on the juice.
Sam held his hand in the air, palm toward his foe, and let power rush through his veins. It bubbled inside like tar and burned down his arms, but it felt good and thick. He could feel the demon's darkness, and he wrapped it with his own. His heart pumped anger madly, and releasing it felt like glee.
The trucker staggered and sank to his knees as Sam squeezed. With quick steps, he bore down and slowly, purposefully, closed his open palm into a fist. The demon tried to scream, but Ruby was suddenly there, clamping a hand over his mouth. He thrashed and clawed at her arm, eyes rolling and body spasming beyond his control. His essence flickered under the onslaught, crumpled. Sam's fist vibrated with effort until he felt the last morsels of the soul turn to powder.
The body slumped from Ruby's grasp. Sam dropped his hand.
Behind them, Dean said aloud, "Exi, macula exitiosa, inquam, exi!" and set the turpentine down.
A slight ruffle a feathers accompanied Gabriel as he appeared just inside the doorway next to Dean.
"Guess that worked," Dean muttered with a slight smirk.
The archangel stood poised for a fight, his eyes surveying the living room into which he had stepped. The house had been remade for this purpose. There wasn't a stick of furniture in the living space, not a decoration on the walls—except for the demonic symbols painted in what could only be blood. In great swirling arcs, they covered the walls, the floors, the ceiling. Black candles lined the baseboard, providing ample but eerie light.
Gabriel offered a slight nod to Sam for his successful kill and turned slowly to Dean. He lifted his right hand a little and opened his fingers wide. As he closed them and issued a force of will, his sword appeared in his grip, plucked from the very air. Deftly, he swung it up in his hands, supporting the hilt and blade on his fingers, and held it out in offering.
Dean's eyes flicked over the burning blade. "You realize it's on fire, right?"
Gabriel half-grinned. "It won't burn the righteous," he said, and offered the sword again.
Before his lizard brain could tell him otherwise, Dean closed his hand around the hilt. The blue flames spread over the back of his hand as though they were a mirage. They felt like nothing, like air; unlike the sword itself, which felt a whole lot heavier than air. He hefted it, backed up to make room, and tried swinging it. Something about holding a blazing sword felt incredibly badass, he had to admit. Stand and look menacing? No problem. But sword fighting hadn't exactly been part of John Winchester's boot camp for boys.
"Not sure I know how to use this," Dean admitted and gave Gabriel a worried look.
The angel arched an eyebrow back. "Can you fight with a knife?"
"Psh. Yeah." Dean tried not to look too offended.
Gabriel turned away, driving his attention into the house. "It is a very big knife," he said, and walked away without waiting for Dean to respond.
Dean tracked his back, lips pursed in a deadpan expression. Ha. Ha. Stupid angel. Then he started after him, falling in next to Sam. Ruby followed last.
The brothers stepped over the trucker's corpse, doing their best to move in silence. Dean's breath rushing in his ears sounded like a tornado compared to the stillness of the house. He tested the weight of the sword again, trying to find the right grip. Pointy end goes in the other guy, how hard could that be?
In front of them, Gabriel came to a stop and cocked his head. The Winchesters watched with lively fear and anticipation winding like a windlass.
Just as Dean was about to ask what it was, the archangel turned enough to see them and whispered, "There's chanting. They maintain the spell."
The brothers nodded.
"Are you ready?"
"As we'll ever be," Sam muttered back.
"Brace yourselves."
It took a second before they knew what they were bracing themselves for, but then it hit. The aura of raw power and mountainous danger sliced sharply on their skin. Gabriel's presence was an assault on their bodies, a thunderousness, a felt sound that made soft tissue vibrate — like heavy bass at a rock concert. They both shivered at the sudden racing of their hearts and sweat on their palms. The air thickened with water and smelled like leaves. Adrenaline suddenly exploded through their systems, making the urge to run nearly impossible to fight. In compromise, the Winchesters moved back.
Dean sniffed deeply and let his breath out slow. There was no way the demons didn't know they were here now. He glanced at Sam, who was working his shocked fear into a scowl.
Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe.
Then Gabriel was moving forward, not stalking through the hall and into the kitchen but storming, nearly tearing the air around him with the force of his presence. The brothers kept pace. Beyond the kitchen was a dining room with a sliding door. At least it had been a sliding door. A flick of the archangel's fingers, and the house was filled with a cracking and splintering of wood. The door flew inward, smashing a chanting demon into the wall.
The room erupted in sudden chaos.
Twelve demons in dark robes stood around a dining room table turned altar. A map of the city was spread open, with the voodoo curse traced out in blood. Their chant ended with an enraged holler and power began to fly.
Gabriel and Dean went right; Sam left. Ruby hung back.
The archangel's first punch sent a demon aloft and into the wall with a crack. Just clearing space. Next, a left that connected to another's jaw and flattened him to the wall with supernatural force. Violence loosened Gabriel's muscles, flushed his human body with excitement. These were true foes, and he could let his spirit roar, fight like he was meant to fight, fulfill the destiny God had crafted him for. A demon threw energy his way, trying to toss him. It bounced off the Legatus like a tossed doll, and the demon's shock gave Gabriel the only opening he needed.
He rushed, ducked a punch, and slammed a hand against the demon's forehead for smiting. It screamed under his power. He pressed the shrieking man against the wall to keep him still and let anger guide the cleansing.
To the left. A blur of black. Gabriel flung his free hand wide and snatched the newest attacker in a web of power—held him in place by the throat with a thought. While one demon jerked in death throes, the other struggled to pry himself free.
As one of the demons tossed aside in Gabriel's wake hit the wall, Dean made his attack. Quick and dirty, he gripped the sword hilt with both hands and shoved forward, aiming straight for the demon's chest. He felt the blade hit flesh and sink in with a series of punctuated cracks as rib bones snapped. The woman under the black robe let out a scream as the sword's blue flames ignited her demonic soul.
Which presented an interesting question. How was the sword supposed to do its thing? Did he leave it in? Was a touch of the holy fire enough to kill a demon outright? Dean leaned in harder on the blade, driving the tip into the wall at the demon's back. Better overkill than under.
A calculated move, but a mistake.
A robed demon across the table struck out with a whip of telekinetic power, and Dean was ripped from the floor. The hilt opened slices down his palms as he was torn away and flung. And he cracked his head hard when he landed.
For a second, all he saw were feet, and he instinctively rolled under the table to get himself out of the way. He heaved as black spots blotted out his vision and crouched like a cat, prepared to bolt as soon as he was good enough to see. Around him, demons roared their fury and screamed as they died.
He blinked; he made a run for it.
Gabriel's sword still blazed where it had been, impaled through a demon and into the wall. He closed a hand around the hilt and drew the sword out of body and wood like a young King Arthur. Another dead demon lay beside his kill where previously there had been none. He looked, and Gabriel was again dealing with two foes, though he was all deadly concentration and effusive power.
Sam, then. Dean spun and found his brother backed into a corner, both hands held out either to keep the demons at bay or rip apart their souls. The way they kept flinching and reacting in tandem made him think a little of both.
He gripped the sword hard and charged the length of the room. Calculated. A stab could hit Sam. A slash...
Dean raised the blade across his body and swung in a powerful arc, opening a deep gash through one of the demon's robes. A human would have fallen, spine cut, but the demon whirled, focused its black eyes on Dean, and launched himself. He came with a quick right hook. In a knife fight, Dean would have blocked the punch and driven the knife toward the gut.
The sword was a really big knife.
He hopped just out of reach, held the blade out in front of himself with the tip aimed at the guy's middle, and let the demon's own momentum from the swing carry him into the blade. Once it had cut through skin and a little muscle, Dean lunged, driving it through and out the other side. As with the first, the flames burned out the demon's soul as efficiently as any exorcism.
Sam couldn't see quite what happened, but there had been two demons throwing power and punches in his direction, trapping him in a corner, and then there was one. He didn't stop to see where the other had gone, just gathered his strength and grasped the soul of his remaining opponent. With only one to focus on, he could squeeze the life out.
As the body fell, he looked for his brother. Dean kicked a corpse off his sword with one booted foot and looked up. Their gazes said it all: You okay? Peachy.
The quick assessment: five left.
Sam readied another shot of power, allowing the darkness within to flow to his fingertips. Dean started forward around the corner of the table, trying to bypass his brother and beat him to the fray.
But, two old demons coordinated their strike.
Dean felt it like a hammer to his chest. The air wheezed from his lungs as he hit the wall behind him. The power lifted him up by the throat, and he struggled against invisible hands trying to gasp and finding nothing. His muscles convulsed with the effort; he beat his free fist against the wall.
Sam hadn't prepared a defense. The demon's power thrust caught him before he could grab its soul, and like Dean, he was tossed. He grunted as he hit the wall. Started to curl his lip at the old man and build up enough energy to break himself free.
The Winchesters both kicked and clawed, Sam straining to use his powers. A third demon joined, and the younger brother felt pressure closing on his throat as well. Dean's body screamed for air. He beat the sword pommel against the wall in useless thrashing and thought briefly that his ribs would break from the pain and sharp panic. His lungs burned almost like hellfire, and he had a stabbing desperate moment of realization that hellfire was exactly where he was headed.
As the world blackened, he saw a tumultuous flapping of robes like scattered leaves, and the world spun.
Gabriel held a woman in a head lock, banishing the demon within. Even her enhanced strength was nothing against his might, and not a muscle budged as she kicked, pulled, clawed, and beat against him. A demon he had tossed over the table came around for a second try. With a careless flick, the archangel sent him back, sprawling on the floor.
He assessed the room with a glance. Sam and Dean both were in peril. Dean slumped and barely moved, the sword slipping from his hand. Sam's face had turned red, but he glared down his attackers.
Movement: the persistent demon again. Gabriel concentrated on the exorcism taking place in his arms, looked up at the charging foe, the brothers held trapped.
He let the demon come and instead threw a bolt of energy down the length of the room. It collided with the three demons holding the brothers and sent them slamming into the wall. Then with a graceful twist, Gabriel spun and snatched his attacker by the face.
The woman, dead, slipped from his grasp, and a smiting began anew.
Sam took full advantage of the break in the demon's grasp. Extracting was faster than killing, so he gripped the nearest demon's soul and began to reel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean drop to the floor in a heap. Panic shot to the very top of his head, spreading like cold water.
"Dean!" Flickering looks between demons and a fallen brother. Sam nudged him with his foot. "Dean!"
Dean groaned.
Sam's control over the one demon slipped, and the black smoke the old man had been spewing rushed back into his mouth.
"Dean, I need your help here!" The other two demons had recovered themselves. It was too much. Two had been too many to handle, three and they were doomed.
Sam's plea broke through Dean's hazy grip on consciousness. He looked up at a looming Sammy, then over at three robes. Had to move. Had to fight. For a moment, his limbs were too heavy. But he forced himself up, looking dazedly at the sword he had managed to keep.
He blinked and focused, staggering to his brother's side. "Line 'em up, Sam."
It took a second, but Sam caught his brother's plan. He switched targets and rather than extraction, used his powers to pull and shove. Two hit the wall together.
As Dean surged toward them, Sam grabbed the remaining demon and tightened a murderous grip on its soul.
For a minute, there was nothing but pained screaming and curses. Dean held the sword and leaned his weight in, just to be sure it speared both bodies. Sam watched his enemy's soul flash and die. Gabriel dropped another dead body to the floor.
Silence fell, and Dean jerked Gabriel's sword out of the slain. He panted and swiped a hand over his face to clear away the sweat.
"Now they definitely know we're here," he muttered, glancing at the other two.
Sam scowled, shaking slightly with the effort to control the power within him that enjoyed the slaughter just a tad too much. He wanted something else to kill, and quickly, and the realization left him unsettled.
Gabriel stalked around the table and over the dead with a detached calm. He touched the blood-marked map on the table with his fingertips, and the whole thing was instantly on fire. The Winchesters watched in silence.
Then, "Sam..." Ruby's voice. She stood in the doorway staring straight out the back windows.
All three men looked at her and then followed her gaze.
"I think I know where your angel's being held."
During the fight, the blinds had fallen from the windows, revealing the back yard beyond. Set into the ground was a domed skylight, and bright light illuminated the glass.
Dean stared, trying to imagine what went on underneath that glass, trying harder not to imagine it. Slowly, he turned to find Gabriel already gazing at him, shocking his insides with that deep regard.
The archangel never moved or glanced away. "There are more coming," he said. Could have been clairvoyance. Maybe he could just feel their demonic stink.
Dean averted his eyes and looked instead at Sam. His brother had recovered himself, standing tall and calm. He wore one of his worried looks, but not one of his really worried looks, so probably he was okay. Probably.
Gabriel turned on his heel and addressed Ruby. "Get inside." He pointed to a far corner of the room.
For a second, resentment flashed across her face and she was about to tell him what he could do with his orders, but his glare was one of royalty, his tone the bark of a general. And he'd just cleared half a room of demons on his own. She relented and picked her way over to a safe spot.
The archangel approached the doorway and stopped about two feet away. He shoved the table behind his back with one hand and surveyed his flanks. "One of you stand on either side." With only a quick glance at each other, the brothers complied, Dean on the right, Sam on the left. In front of them was blank, solid wall—they looked to the angel, because as battle formations went, this one seemed to need some work. Gabriel widened his stance and kept his eyes on the kitchen and space beyond. "Take a step back," he ordered.
Sam and Dean stepped back.
"Gabriel," Dean started.
"Shh."
That earned a glare. "Shh," was not an appropriate battle command. He would have said as much had the angel not spared him a look that begged for indulgence. Dean gave him a shrug that said "crazy angel" and stretched his arms and shoulders, shaking out the aches.
Gabriel could feel the demons' anger coming their way. There were too many too prepared for the three of them to take them all at once. He needed chaos, space, and time.
His arms and shoulders tensed, and his hands curled slightly into claws, as though holding a ball. Then, he started to gather power. It came from his true self, from God, from the power in the Earth on which they stood. He called it up from his legs and outward from his chest and stomach. It gathered in his hands like gasped thunder, waiting, building.
Demons burst through the cellar door and into the kitchen. Shoving, snarling, they huddled like beasts and turned as a single entity in Gabriel's direction. Still more feet on the stairs, pushing up until they crowded the room. Old women, old men, and some as young as teenagers, white, black, latino, Indian.
The archangel lowered his chin and glared. The effort to restrain his power made him suck heavy breaths. Lava melted and churned with his anger. Hate colored his perfect face. He was a portrait of fury.
But he waited. The demons came closer, giving unsure looks to each other. Still, their foe didn't move. Another heartbeat, to get the best shot.
"Get him!"
There.
Gabriel moved in a blur—brought his hands up like he was rolling a boulder, stepped his weight into it, and released. A concussion ripped the air—an explosion! The kitchen wall the length of the room blew inward, hurtling wood and stone countertop, demon and dirt into and over counters, back into the living room. They bounced and broke like rag dolls, crying out in terror.
The brothers both ducked from the explosion, their jaws slamming painfully and teeth aching from the impact. They stood in awe as they were coated in drywall dust. But it was momentary, and when Gabriel charged through the dust cloud, they were quick to follow. Sam went for a demon still picking himself up off the ground. Dean shoved the sword through a woman whose back was broken against the counter.
In the large space of the living room, a demon dusted himself off with one hand and brandished a sword with the other. The sheer novelty of his foolishness caught Gabriel's attention, and he left lesser foes for a more entertaining engagement. The two circled, pacing the floor, while others groaned around them and found their feet.
The demon held his sword with confidence, a broad smile plastered to his face. It was enough to give the angel pause. He gave his foe a calculating look.
The demon attacked with amazing speed. Twice the sword arced through the air. Twice, Gabriel swirled from its bite.
His enemy charged. He dodged the body slam, but the demon struck out with his blade, and the tip sliced Gabriel's forearm. The sheer shock of it made him gasp. Pain, real pain, shot up his arm, aching and burning with a quality he recalled from Hell. Gabriel dropped his eyes to his arm, the sliced leather, the bleeding flesh beneath. How...?
Crack!
He doubled over from a blow to the head from behind, his vision going blurry. The demon with the sword wound up for a fatal strike—he assumed, that's what he would do anyway—and Gabriel swiped an arm, thrashing out with unfocused power. It sent his enemy into the wall.
Crack!
A second blow to the base of his skull, and he was suddenly on his knees. Panic gripped his senses, and he looked up. The sword again.
An arc of blue.
What was the demon's head thudded on the floor in front of him, its body falling to the side. Dean.
Gabriel dropped completely and rolled onto his back—because someone kept hitting him and someone was going to die. An Indian woman held a board in both hands. She raised it again for a third swing, but he lashed out with a gripping hold. She struggled to move and screamed impotent fury down upon him. Dean shoved the sword through her chest and held it there until she was silent. He pulled back, and Gabriel let her fall.
The two men exchanged looks of acknowledgment, and Dean pulled Gabriel to his feet. No time to sit around, play time wasn't over.
Sam made heady progress of his own. With each demon he killed, it felt easier. The anger flowed more quickly. He found the soft parts of their souls where he could dig in and grip tightly, which made it easier. Small joys made him smile as they died—like the way their defiance turned to begging at the end. He thought using his power should leave him drained. Instead, it made him high.
Gabriel and Dean were already in the living room, fighting at each other's backs. Only able to focus on one at a time, Sam risked being outnumbered if he didn't join them. Strategy demanded he get his ass over there, necessity said otherwise.
A woman came at him, swinging a fist decked out with a large wedding ring toward his middle. He grabbed her arm, spun her, and shoved her back. As soon she was gone, a second came swinging, a man this time. Sam blocked and punched back. He might as well have punched a wall. The guy was a mountain. He grabbed Sam's forearms and shoved, using the full force of his weight to throw them up against a wall.
Hell no. The hand motions were just a point of focus. Sam's mind did all the work. He reached for the demon's soul. Something else reached for his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman. Shit. The grip of the man holding him slackened as he crushed the demon's soul. But the woman cut off his air, and his chest heaved in agony.
He switched. Held the woman, released the man.
A meaty fist hooked him across the jaw, cracked his skull against the wall. He cried out and blood splattered from his mouth. A second hook to the other side, and the world spun. His power slipped. His body jerked from the impact of a punch to the stomach, but they held him in place and wouldn't let him fall—squeezed the air out of him so his ribs hurt and he bucked involuntarily against being throttled.
He heard his name above the beat of his pulse and ringing pain.
His throat released, and he almost had enough time to draw a cleansing breath before another punch knocked him sideways and he fell. It hurt more than the first one, throbbed with his heartbeat. The demon was coming in for another blow, and he reacted instinctively, throwing up his hands for protection. The motion was followed by a will for death, and Sam found his powers roaring outward, tearing the demon apart with feral claws. It died more quickly than any of the others.
Sweating and sucking shallow breaths, Sam staggered up to standing. Ruby was holding the woman for him like a present. He half-smiled, though it hurt and his lips were painted with blood. Even dazed, he conducted the kill with pleasure.
When the drywall dust settled, another fifteen demons lay dead, scattered through the kitchen and living room. Gabriel's arm had healed, but it still pained him in a way he couldn't describe. He kept looking at it, his worry growing deeper. Dean had managed to escape heavy injury. Sam looked by far the worst, bruises already darkening on his face. Cuts on either cheek wept blood.
They stood in a circle around the doorway to the basement, shaking from adrenaline and exertion.
Dean watched Gabriel check his arm again. "You okay?"
The archangel reacted slowly, as though he had been dredged up from deep contemplation. "I think so," he said, though his voice was breathy and lacked conviction.
Sam touched his face gingerly, wincing. "So that thing you did," he said to Gabriel. "You can do that again, right? Because I'm thinking"—he motioned down the basement stairs—"that maybe you should go first."
The archangel offered a slight grin in reply.
Unlike the last basement they went creeping into, this one was devoid of putrefying corpses. Bit of a selling point, that. It did, however, smell heavily of blood and sulfur. There were crude bunks stacked two high filling most of the dry, cold space. Not the worst dorm Dean had ever been in, to be honest. He kicked through the detritus of slovenly demons living far too many in far too small a space.
"They're like gremlins," he muttered, as they all spread out to look for a door. The blazing sword he carried illuminated the dark corner under the stairs as he approached. The well-used handle attached to a heavy metal door glinted in the light.
"Hey, guys!" he called. Within a few seconds, they stood in a semicircle the same way they had outside the basement door.
"Bomb shelter?" Sam offered, making a face at the pain it took to talk. And then another one at the pain from the first.
Dean nodded and moved back. "Door opens out, so someone's gonna have to haul it open." He turned and gave Ruby a pointed look.
She narrowed her eyes. "Who says chivalry's dead." She stalked over and gripped the handle in both hands. It looked more like an industrial lever than a door handle, but the structure was meant to survive a nuclear hit, so heavy duty was the order of the day.
Gabriel gave the Winchesters each a look and then positioned himself just outside the arc of the door. "Inanna will be in there. Get my brother out. Get yourselves to safety." He sounded distant. "Leave the rest to me."
"Gabriel."
The archangel turned to Dean's voice and gazed at him, his stony face momentarily softening. "Get him to safety." This time it was more a plea than an order, and Dean dropped whatever protest he'd been preparing to make. Snatch and grab. Dean had more than enough memories of powerful demons to elect to face one if he didn't have to.
He checked Sam. His face was going to be a mess by tomorrow, but he looked fine. Eager, actually. If his eyes looked a little darker than usual, it was just a trick of the light.
Dean readied himself, gripped the sword tighter, and gave Gabriel a nod.
The archangel looked at Ruby. "Open it."
They burst into the bomb shelter and right into a melee. Inanna decidedly knew they were coming. Gabriel plowed headlong into the demonic throng that stood like a wall in front of Inanna and her altar. He lashed out with quick blows, both physical and telekinetic. A popped knee, a shattered eye, he spilled blood to keep them angry, keep them occupied. While demonic ability might slide off his armor like sheeting water, though, real assaults hit just as hard as ever, and by sheer number the demons were landing punches and kicks of their own.
Dean surged into the room with a singular purpose. Find Cas. He had to—
His heart skipped in his chest at the sight, and he went cold.
Cas stood in a bright circle of light, covered in blood, some of it still wet enough to gleam red. Blood pooled around his feet. He beat his fists against the sides of his magical cage with renewed vigor, though even from across the room, Dean could see his arms shaking with the effort. He looked sickly, and a black collar screamed like a bruise around his neck.
Their eyes met even as Dean moved across the shelter toward the Celestial Cage, heedless of any possible danger. Castiel was here, alive, his big blue eyes filled with too many emotions to read at once. But suddenly, they crystallized into a single one: alarm. And flicked to the side.
Dean whirled, but never made it fully around. The demon didn't even bother with telekinesis. He threw a quick jab into Dean's face, knocking him off balance. Dean stumbled into a chair by a card table, and fell face first onto the floor. He hit with a slap and quickly rolled, getting the sword out from under his body and up, defensively.
The demon was gone.
Or rather, he wasn't inches away, ready to pound Dean's face into the concrete as expected. Instead, he was running toward the group giving Gabriel a raucous pummeling. He grabbed something off of Inanna's altar, turned, and ran straight for Cas.
Dean scrambled to his feet, but it was like watching a movie in slow motion. He saw a black dagger outlined in the glow of the industrial lights. Watched the demon swing it down with full force, crossing through the Cage's barrier as the angel could not. Watched the blade sink into Castiel's left pectoral, just above his heart.
"Cas!" Horror tore Dean's voice as he shouted and made a mad dash. The deed done, the demon tried to run, but there was only one direction to run, and that was through Dean and toward the door. Dean tossed strategy aside and fought on pure rage. The two met at a full run, and Dean simply let the sword find its mark in his enemy's stomach. He let go the hilt and kept running, until his hands passed through the Cage's wall and he gripped Cas by his shoulders.
The angel gaped. He stared at the knife in his chest like it was some ludicrous new growth and mouthed nonsense words. Blood pumped out of the wound and ran a river down his already sullied form. Castiel's head lolled unsteadily as he lifted his gaze to Dean and concentrated.
"Break the Cage," he rumbled and fell forward against the invisible barrier.
Heart in his throat, Dean made his hands let Cas go so he could see the symbols of the Celestial Cage. The floor was smeared with blood, obscuring more than a few of the binding sigils. He looked up, panting like he'd run a race. A second symbol circumscribed the skylight, and that was one was intact.
He needed—
Dean turned, and his eyes fell on the table and chair he'd gone crashing through. Hurriedly, he hauled them over. Now something to obscure a symbol... With each heartbeat, his left hand ached, and he turned it over to look. Long gashes from the pommel of Gabriel's sword wept blood, but not enough. Easily solved. He pulled a knife from his belt, grit his teeth, and sliced a gash on his right arm. Dean smeared the blood onto his already cut hand and mounted the chair and table in two quick leaps. He held his hand high, jumped, and swiped blood across the Cage's final binding.
The spell snapped, and Dean caught Cas in his arms as he landed. His eyes went right to the knife, and a second later he closed his hand around the grip.
It took a fraction of a second to register the pain. The handle burned his human flesh, seared it red and then blistered like red iron. Dean screamed behind closed lips and then screamed out loud, even as he pulled, but the knife refused to budge.
Unable to even feel if his hand was still gripping, he let go and shook with the pain. Tears squeezed out his eyes. Still holding Cas close with his good hand, he craned around, looking for the others. The angel's shallow breath dusted his face, and that one sensation was more important than the screaming pain in his hand that was turning his knees to rubber.
The pile of dead bodies around Gabriel grew as he thinned Inanna's loyal herd. Thinned it enough that she finally deigned to enter battle herself. Ancient language Dean had never heard battered the walls with a disharmony of voices, and the shelter itself began to shake, raining dust. The sound cut his ears and made him see stars. Gabriel's head vanished below his line of sight. And then he saw him again as he was tossed into the concrete wall. Get my brother out. Leave the rest to me.
Sam and Ruby had gone straight for the other humans in the room. They were chained to the wall, all handcuffed to the same heavy length of links. Ruby had taken firm grip of the lock that kept the chain closed and twisted. Even a lesser demon could bend metal, though she had strained to do it, and the lock had broken with a loud snap. Sam had waved the hostages out of the bomb shelter, deflecting enraged demons as best he could while trying to keep them moving. He had debated whether it was wise to leave, but these people could handle themselves far less easily than Dean, so he followed them out and up. Ruby hung in the doorway, about to follow, when she heard Dean shouting her name.
"Ruby!" he called again, desperate, and this time she whipped around and came running. "The knife," he panted as she came close. His arm twitched, and he curled it against his side. Cas raised drowsy eyes and lifted his head.
Ruby gave them both a quick look and then grabbed the knife handle. As Dean had figured, it didn't burn. She drew it out quickly and gave him a questioning look.
"Cut the collar." His voice was gruff, filled more with pain than anything. He tightening his grip on Cas's hip and turned them with brute force so Ruby could get a good angle. He watched her press her lips into a thin line and work the knife carefully into and through the leather strip. Score another brownie point for Demon Hotpants.
When the last fiber let go, Castiel gasped and surged. He flung an arm around Dean's neck and drew a breath of sheer relief. His powers returned like a waking limb, but the aches and cuts continued to cause him pain.
Dean gave Ruby a look that was all gratitude. The sincerity was unexpected enough that she forgot to smile or smirk in triumph.
"Time to go!"
"But—"
"Go!"
Dean's gratitude was short-lived, and he fought the urge to kick her into gear. Thankfully, Ruby's sense of self-preservation kicked itself into gear, and she ran for the exit without so much as looking back to see if Dean and Cas were coming. Which they were, slowly.
Despite having his powers back, Cas was weak, oddly and disconcertingly weak. Dean took as much as his weight as he could and shuffled them along, avoiding Gabriel's roiling fight. Inanna screamed something harsh and guttural, and Gabriel cried out, dropping to one knee.
Castiel's steps faltered as they got to the door.
"Cas?"
But he wasn't paying attention. His blue gaze was locked on his brother, who threw a blast of power in Inanna's direction and then turned to look him. Dean watched as the angels communicated something to each other in that look. And then Cas was tugging on him, urging them both forward and out through the door.
Dean and Cas emerged into the predawn, clinging tightly. Sam and Ruby had gotten everyone out and stood waiting in the street, looking anxious and unsure up at the sky, which was already clear of clouds.
"Get everyone to the oak tree," Cas said lowly into Dean's ear. The man spared him a questioning look, but Cas's gaze was set grimly on the tree across the way. Dean suppressed his need to know all the whys and wherefores and just went with it for the simple reason that Cas was alive enough to be giving any orders at all.
"Sam!" Dean called out. His brother perked. "The tree!" He lifted his head to indicate. "Get everyone to the oak tree!"
No one seemed much in the mood for complaining, not even Cas as he stumbled barefoot over the wet, biting stones. Dean's arm hurt from gripping him and holding him up. His hand throbbed from the burn. But he pushed them both on until they stood just in front of the oak's wide branches. The Impala sat on the street close by.
Cas put forth the effort to stop Dean's advance and stood under his own power, turning to face the house. He squared his shoulders but wavered. In the space of a breath Dean was there, pressing up behind him and wrapping his good arm across his stomach to keep him from falling.
The angel's eyes never left the building. He was waiting, Dean realized. Behind them, he could hear the captives muttering and talking to Sam. Sam spoke calmly and evenly back, surely saying something placating.
What Castiel was waiting for? It didn't take long to find out.
A shaft of white light like a solid laser beam erupted suddenly from the roof, followed by the sound of splintering wood and screaming metal, then a boom like a cannon shot. Everyone gasped, some of the women squealed. Even Dean flinched. House bits rained down.
A second passed, and there came another. Another section of roofing died from a shot of light.
Then it was like fireworks. Beams shot up and out in rapid explosions at wild angles, tearing the through the structure and scattering it to the wind. A titan's giant hammers beat upon the earth, filling the air with a wall of sound.
Dean clutched Cas closer and shouted into his ear. "What is that?" He leaned over the angel's shoulder to get a look at his face. Cas's lips were drawn into a broad grin. His eyes shimmered. Dean watched him mouth a reply, the words lost in the thunder: "Gabriel."
The elder Winchester's jaw dropped slightly, and he turned his attention back to the house and the strobed explosions that had become one continuous, seizure-inducing lightshow. He felt the angel move and loosened his grip. Cas was raising his arms above his head. He stood rigid and spread his fingers, letting his eyes fall closed.
The cacophony suddenly ended as abruptly as it had begun. And that's when Cas tensed.
It came soundless. A beam of light three times the width of any of the others shot straight down out of the sky, out of Heaven.
The world lost its breath and then beat out with a concussion unlike anything Dean had ever felt. It shook his body cavities, shook the dirt under his feet, knocked him windless, and hurt his eyes. The next house over peeled apart like it had been eaten like a hurricane. Cars tumbled and crumpled from the explosion, struck far more harshly by the blast than Dean knew he had been.
Then the light. A dome of whiteness flashed outward from the building. It was the whiteness of Cas's true self, the searing light of God. Dean buried his face in Cas's shoulder to blot it out and staggered at what followed.
The fires of Hell followed. He could feel the heat as it flowed around them, drying the air, threatening to set the hair on his arms on fire. He knew it was close because he had a long and intimate relationship with the qualities of fire. But he also knew that it was not as close as it could have been. They had passed through the heart of an inferno.
Dean lifted squinted eyes and peered around.
Everything was black. Beneath their feet, the grass was green. He checked behind him and saw everyone huddle together beneath the tree, which also lived. Beyond that, beyond the small bubble he realized Cas had been projecting, everything had burned. Except the car. A sweet pain hit in Dean's stomach. Cas had thought to save his car.
The angel's arms fell heavily to his sides. And then he sagged. His sudden dead weight dragged Dean down to the ground with him.
"Cas?" Dean cradled the angel's head his lap as he knelt, using his good arm to hold him close. He shook him lightly. "Cas!" Sudden panic gripped cold fingers in his chest. Oh God, no, no no.
Cas's eyelids fluttered.
"Cas, what's wrong!" Dean leaned over, awash with dread. He could barely draw a breath. "I don't know what's wrong!" Please, God, don't. Why was he so weak? He had his powers back, he should be healing. And he wasn't. And something was wrong.
His angel was dying, right here, right now. He didn't want to think it, but he knew it and trembled with the terror of it.
Castiel made a small sound and lifted one hand. He brought it ponderously slowly up and back, aiming for Dean's face. He didn't have the strength to move it farther, and so it hung in the air. His hand shook and wavered, strength spent.
Tears stung at Dean's eyes. Because this? This was not fair. They'd made it. They'd found him, and he couldn't just leave like this, not for no reason. He focused on Cas's outstretched fingers. His only free hand was the one he had burned. He slid it into Cas's with a muffled scream and squeezed anyway.
"Tell me what to do," he said, voice thick with saliva and hopelessness. A shadow crossed over him, and Dean looked up to see Sam. He didn't have any words. Seemingly, he didn't need any, because Sam took off a second later running full bore toward the burned out skeleton of a house.
There was no longer a door. There was a bit of porch, which opened down into a deep hole in the ground where the first story floor used to cover the basement. The place was all cold ashes and charred wood, what was left of it.
The image of flat out fucking despair carved on Dean's face urged Sam to action. The way he held the angel's hand and curled over him like he could shield him from the world ripped Sam's heart in two. Sam never slowed. He grabbed the edge of the porch and swung himself over the side, dropping into the darkness of the basement. He shoved broken beds and melted metal out of his way. Jumped wreckage and wood. Broken sheets of drywall charred black.
"Gabriel!" Sam shouted into the darkness. He hoped he was here. Hoped he hadn't sent himself back or... or something with his nuclear solution.
The door to the bomb shelter was still open, and Sam stumbled his way inside. "Gab—"
The archangel was on all fours, steam or smoke rising off his body as his whole frame heaved. His jacket and shirt lay in shreds on either side of him. Great wings, white and mottled with tan, shivered and flexed on his back. Panting, he raised his head as Sam came near.
For a second, the human forgot why he had come. He simply stared at the wings in shock, in awe. He was seeing an angel's wings. And holy fuck they were glorious.
"Sam," Gabriel's unsteady voice jolted him into speech.
Sam shook himself. "It's Cas," he said breathlessly. "Something's not"—Gabriel was on his feet—"right, I don't—" Sam was talking to an empty room. He blinked and stared around. "Oh, come on! Couldn't have beamed me up?" He tossed his arms in annoyance because this is what he got for trying to help and started slogging back under his own power.
"Cas, please." Dean shook him lightly. "I don't know what to do," he said again.
"Let him die, that's what." A woman's voice sliced into the air. Dean flinched from the unexpected harshness and looked over, unable to comprehend what she'd said far enough to formulate a reply. The woman in a business suit sneered.
"What—"
She hocked and spit on them both. Before knowing he'd moved, Dean pulled his pistol from the holster at his back and had it pointing in her direction.
"Back off, lady!" Red fury colored his vision.
Her eyes widened at the gun, but she didn't back off. She stepped closer, her face flushing red. Tears washed into her eyes and started down her cheeks as she spoke. "Do you have any idea what he did?" She crossed her arms protectively. Dean's eyes flicked briefly to the top of Castiel's head. "He raped that woman," she told him, sobbing. "Strangled her to death! And that boy..." Her voice cut off with a horrified squeak. She drew a breath to recover, still shaking. "He... tore... his... arm... off." She said each word with punctuated disgust, and Dean could tell she was seeing it all again.
"It wasn't his fault," Dean answered, weakly. It wasn't Cas's fault. But no, he hadn't known, either. Not whose blood it was. Not how it got to be caked all over his body.
"I was next!" The woman shrieked and jabbed a finger at her own chest.
There were sudden gasps from the others around them, and Dean watched a shadow fall across the woman's clothes and face. As one, they turned.
Gabriel was striding toward them, great angel's wings extended at his back. The sun had peaked over the horizon, sending long beams of light filtering through his white feathers. He glowed. The sun itself gloried in washing over his bare skin. His beauty alone would have given the group of humans pause. The wings, flicking and pulsing expressively, left them dumbstruck.
Even Dean had never seen an angel's wings before. He stared, raking his eyes up over the archangel's bare chest and eventually coming to rest on his deep eyes. He wondered if a look could express how sorry he was.
Gabriel knelt at Cas's side, his wings covering Dean in shadow.
"I don't know what's wrong," Dean offered in a low, fragile voice meant just for the two of them. "The demons stabbed him with some enchanted knife, but I checked, and the wound healed. There's not a scratch on him."
Gabriel touched gentle fingers to Castiel's barely moving chest. He traced lines over the blood-stained skin, looking perplexed. And then he dabbed at the spot over Cas's heart where the knife had been. To Dean: "It's not his flesh they were cutting, it was his soul."
There was the sound of running and heavy breathing. Dean felt his brother's presence at his side.
"What do we do?" he asked Gabriel.
The archangel shifted and slid his arms under his brother's knees. He wormed a hand under Cas's back. "I have to take him home."
That made sense. Dean nodded and pulled back the tears that had been threatening to spill over. He watched as Gabriel lifted Castiel's limp body. Stared at their hands, still connected. Letting go... he didn't want to let go. What if...
"Dean," Sam said gently. He closed a hand around his brother's wrist.
Dean let his tortured fingers move and jumped at the agony of it. He screamed silently and convulsed.
He let Cas go.
Gabriel stepped back, framed with yellow sunlight. He cradled his brother's head to his shoulder and studied his face. Then he gave Dean and Sam each a look of fierce love.
The archangel lowered his head and spread his wings wide. They drew back in an elegant unfolding and flapped once. The angels disappeared like a swirl of blown mist.
Dean stared at the place where they had been. He heard Sam tell the hostages to go back to their homes. Consider themselves lucky they're alive. Don't tell anyone unless you want to end up in a psych ward. The words seemed to echo in the hollowness inside. Breathing rushed around the empty tunnel, making noise. Maybe they'd been too late. He didn't know.
"Dean, we should go," Sam said.
Yeah.
"He'll be fine."
I failed him, Sammy.
"Dude, look, I'm sorry, but we really have to go."
There were sirens in the distance. If that wasn't wholly emblematic of their lives, Dean would eat Bobby's hat next time they saw him.
He said, "I think you better drive."
