"It's kind of ironic to find you here, Dante," said Dean, stepping to make a circle around the Fallen while Dante did the exact same thing, taking to the opposite direction. "Here of all places. This slum is where it all started."
"It started in the basement of that manor," Dante spat back. "Or have you forgotten?"
"I have not forgotten," said Dean quietly. "But that's one version."
"There is only one version, Dean. The one where you broke Dominion and made all this happen. I'm sick and tired of playing 'blame-game' with you people. I didn't break Dominion. You did. You broke him. You started a cascade of events that put several thousand lives in jeopardy. Millions, if you want to be technical, but I'm feeling nice today," said Dante.
Dean stopped directly in the altar now where Dante had just been. The shadowcrawler that Dante had made out of Father Bobby remained behind him, stoic and still, not yet attacking. "...I'm not blaming you for anything, Dante. Blaming you was a ruse to get Castiel to cooperate with me, see things my way. You and I ...are not so naive."
Dante smiled at him without humor. "If you're drawing similarities between you and me..."
"We are alike, despite what we were created for. Opposite in power, but alike in so many other ways," said Dean. "For example, there's no need for pretense here, Dante. You kill as easily as you breathe and so do I. You and I have never stopped any mission just because lives would be lost in the process. I inherited that way of thinking, you could say, from my Father."
"Lucifer was selfish swine. I wouldn't be proud of yourself," said Dante scathingly. "I would know. I met him. Virgil and I were as thick as thieves in the past. But we were some of the few Fallen who did not swear allegiance to the crown. Lucifer was aware of the fact, but he never held us in high regard for it."
"Not proud. Just stating fact," said Dean. "He was selfish. He cared only for himself and securing his place-"
"Not true," Dante interjected. "He also favored you quite highly. He did love you, despite what you may believe. Our allegiance was not important to him, but yours was. He would have done anything and everything to persuade you to think his way. He'd be proud of you right now, Dean. For all you've done. Again, though...Not really something you should be proud of."
"My dear Dante...It almost sounds like you've renounced your old ways. Has Balthazar been influencing you? Guiding you back to the celestial path? That's so sweet," said Dean mockingly, clasping his hands together.
Dante pressed his lips together tightly. "No. I haven't renounced anything. But I can believe this world would be better subject to nothing than be subject to you."
"I think you're biased based on the fact that I'm trying to kill you," said Dean. "What gives, Dante. You made our lives miserable in Treachery and now you want to stop? Leave us alone? Am I really supposed to believe you wouldn't do what I'm doing if given the chance?"
"A thirst for vengeance can only go so far before it becomes tiresome, Your Majesty. You should heed that advice," Dante answered him quietly.
"Are you tired, Dante?" Dean took a step towards him, and at the same time, so did the shadowcrawler. Dean didn't know if it had an independent thought inside its brain, but it seemed to have an instinct to protect Shadowalker. Despite that, Dean had killed many of these creatures before. And one made no difference to him, whether it was someone he knew once before or not.
"Aren't you?" Dante scoffed. "Aren't you tired of fighting? Aren't you tired of...all this?"
Dean came closer and raised a hand to grip Dante's chin. "No. I'm just getting started."
Dante didn't shake off the grip, but he never looked away from Dean's eyes. "It doesn't have to end like this, Dean."
"Don't get emotional, Dante," said Dean, smiling, raising his sword level to his face. "You mean nothing to me. Any last words I should keep in mind for your eulogy?"
"Maybe at another time...I don't think you're ready to hear what I have to say," said Dante.
"Good, because I didn't care much for your last words anyway. I was just being polite,"
Dante shoved him hard on the chest and Dean backed away chuckling.
But the smile on Dean's face was soon gone as he began to concentrate. It didn't show physically unless you were really looking for the signs. His eyes were dead on Dante's, eyes intent and focused. Fire began to spread from his body, burning the church benches, seeping under the walls beneath the stained glass. The heat was unbearable. Almost ten times as hot as the fire that humans did. This, however was tainted by Will. The same fire that fanned the flames of Hell surrounding Dean like a cocoon. He raised his head a few inches until it started to radiate from his form, and his eyes blazed the same color, his hair seeming to dissolve into it as well, until he looked like that, like a fiery soul.
Dante remained standing, just watching him. The roar of the fire deafened all the other sounds. Dean was right before, when he said it. Fire didn't die. It consumed. And that was the presence that Dean had. It was not just Law. It was Dean himself. it was the King of Hell. He simply looked at the shadowcrawler behind Dean and the creature moved, crawling on the wall behind himself for balance before he leaped off, jumping straight towards Dean's unsuspecting back.
The demon turned, but not in time, to find the shadowcrawler atop him. The flames did not die, nor did the power surge, but he was distracted. Frantically, the crawler began to grab Dean's face with semi-invisible hands. He dodged and weaved its attempts until it got a hold of him. He managed to draw from the fire spell he had already created and use it to purge the shadowcrawler on top of him. It screeched and flailed, rolling off him while it was set ablaze.
"Amateur," said Dean, struggling to his feet and letting the black ooze settle on the ground where he had thrown Father Bobby. "Is that the best you have? Letting your servants do you dirty work for you?! COWARD."
"You should talk," said Dante from the entrance. " I was just using reverse tactics, Your Majesty. Don't take it personal."
"Reverse tac...," Dean broke off in a growl. The gathered flames concentrated into a single stream of fire shooting straight for Dante.
The latter didn't move, instead he conjured a barrier that was held an inch from his own skin like a black bubble that Dante conjured out of his own power. It was much smaller than Dean's show of power, which came as no surprise when he was pushed towards the entrance doors. But he was successful in one thing...he could feel the heat from the fire Dean produced as if it was already inside him. And yet none of it was actually touching him. He was holding Dean off, if only just.
He struggled under the spell. It wasn't going to be long before it completely engulfed him. Already some of the flames were coming closer and he realized too late that it was because Dean himself was stepping closer. With each push his power was giving, the closer he was coming.
Dante faltered onto one knee just as Dean was standing over him. Close enough to address. His eyes found Dean's over the fire. "You're good, Dean. You always had a talent for this."
"Just give in, Dante. You'll make life easier on all of us,"said Dean.
Dante ground his teeth together and struggled against the spell as best he could. He felt a tiny stream of fire sear across his cheek. The quick-hot pain would have been enough to throw the barrier off, but he held fast, just as Dean took a few steps closer.
"Yeah, you're good...but I'm still better," said Dante, emphasizing the words with a sing-song intonation at the end.
He released the barrier, which might have been the biggest mistake of his life, pulling out his sword in the next second. For one terrifying second, he felt searing pain across his right side, where fire touched too openly on wounds that were fresh and more apparent less than an hour ago. The ghost of that pain was still there. He managed enough strength to raise his sword and catch the flames with his blade. The fire seared all the way down his blade, straight to the ground below.
"It came from the church!" Crowley was leading them up ahead with great speed. Yet still, Balthazar and Castiel couldn't help but scowl. It'd be much faster to fly. It wasn't their fault that the demon was incapable of that.
"This place," said Castiel slowly.
"What?" Balthazar looked over.
"I've been here before. Wait. Stop. Stop," said Castiel, loud enough for Crowley to catch it as well, stopping dead in his tracks as he looked around. They were very near the church now, feet away from the entrance gates. "It looks a bit different...More cars...but there's some...mist here...I've been here before. This is where..."
This is where I met Dean.
"I tracked Dean for the first time all the way here from the S prefecture long ago. It was where I first...or where I first...thought I met him," said Castiel.
"Paradise Rock. These are the slums," said Balthazar. "You never told me that."
"You never asked," Castiel answered. "It's strange...to be back here...Like I'm getting a sense of deja vu. This was the same church too...The demons brought Sam here for the first time when they were being chased by another renegade demon. Back then, there was a magic barrier over the whole place...that I think Sam placed on it."
"Sam?" Balthazar pressed.
"Vessel," said Crowley. "He'd have that kind of power. Does it matter now? Can we keep going? Dante's just ahead. I can feel him...and I can feel your boyfriend too. If we don't get there in time, then-"
"What? What will you do?" said a voice from above them. He came from out of nowhere, but when he descended before them, it was clear as day.
Virgil. He landed lightly on his feet, eyes hovering each of them with apparent disinterest. Though he stopped right on Balthazar.
"Oh, look who it is," said Virgil. "Balthazar, Balthazar, Balthazar. So good to see you again."
"Virgil," Balthazar snarled under his breath.
"Who?" Castiel asked.
"It's a Fallen," said Balthazar.
"Oh, right..Virgil...," said Crowley in a mild voice. "Aren't you dead?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Doctor McLeod?" Virgil answered. "I'm surprised you've managed to survive this long, Crowley. Still hanging on Dante's coattails, I see."
"Get. Out. Of the way, Fallen," Castiel snapped. "We don't have time for this."
"Oh, I forgot. You two are not as morally encompassed as the rest of Heaven," said Virgil. "You two..are renegade. Your faith has been shaken but Heaven grants you its power. Tell me, though. What use is all that power to be forsaken by the Host itself?"
"We don't need the damn host," Castiel growled. "Get out of the way."
"You're a fiesty one, Retribution," Virgil remarked. "I didn't get the pleasure of knowing just how much of a spark plug you are. No pun intended."
"How do you...," Castiel shook his head. "Never mind. I don't care. Let us through, or die here. Your choice."
"You're that confident you can kill me?" Virgil asked, holding out his fists so that two blades burst out from under his sleeves the length of a normal sword.
In turn, Castiel pulled his own sword out from his waist. "I've spent time as a Fallen. I know how it is. I know how it feels. I know the gratification everyone gets after every kill. It's a beautiful feeling. But it's also false comfort."
"Being a Celestial is a good comfort is what you're saying, then?" Virgil smiled. "You're a fragment, Castiel. I can't kill you even if I wanted to. You're an essential part of a balanced breakfast."
"Stay back, Castiel," said Balthazar. "Go on ahead. Get Dante out of there. I'll take care of this."
"Balthazar-" Castiel began to protest.
"Sorry kiddo, but this is personal now," said Balthazar with a small smile as he stood in front of Castiel. "He may not have caused all of this, but he played his part."
"Yes, I played my part. Just like the three of you are doing. You're all just...playing your part," said Virgil.
Before anyone could respond to him, there was a loud sound and the crucifix at the head of the church began to smoke. Crowley stepped forward, his jaw dropping. "Smoke on the cross. That's not good."
"Looks like they're having a gay old time in the-" Virgil began but he broke off. The entrance doors burst open and a flash of golden light blinded them all. It was the last thing they saw before the entire church was engulfed in the same light. Not light. Not really. It was flames that shot upwards in a ring of fire until the building seemed to cave in on itself and collapse, consumed inside of a fiery maelstrom forming at the bottom of a massive crater that had formed from the explosion.
Castiel, Crowley and Balthazar were all thrown backwards from the force of the blast, off their feet and sinking into the pavement in all different directions. The explosion had broken several parts of the cement, debris and smoking wood was strewn everywhere.
Balthazar was the first to try to stand. He coughed as he breathed in a lungful of air. "Everyone...accounted for? Crowley...? Castiel..? Are you... all right?"
He heard Castiel's assurance closer and Crowley from below him, nearer to the ruin. he didn't see Virgil or hear him anywhere and he didn't care. He hoped a jagged piece of wood was lodged in the Fallen's stomach or something.
"Why is it...that every time...your...boyfriend...goes somewhere...That place is...doomed...to blow?" Balthazar said between coughs.
"I don't know," Castiel hacked a little bit too, crawling towards Balthazar. "Maybe you should ask him. Where are they?"
Dante emerged from the wreckage first. But from this distance, he looked almost like a speck. Wings extended from his back and he took off like a huge black crow. He didn't remain airborne alone for long. A few seconds passed and another speck followed him, this one with no wings whatsoever.
Dean.
"Damn it!" Castiel jumped up. "Wasting time. Balthazar, stay here! I'll take care of this!"
"Castiel! Wait!' Balthazar called after him, reaching his hand out. But Castiel had already taken off after the other two. "Damn it. The three of them...in one place...Nothing good...I hope Castiel can stop it."
Heaven - Prison Cell
Michael was through waiting. It felt like years...the damn time difference in this place to the mortal realm or Hell was vastly different. Perhaps he had become too accustomed to the place where age mattered and eternity didn't. It would have been barely any time at all down below when it was much longer where he was. Sitting here, sulking in this cell.
He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know what was coming. What Metatron planned and where she had been was anyone's idea. He didn't know what was going on down below, but it couldn't have been anything good. He yearned to know. The urge to simply break out just to see the Truth Mirror. He wanted to see for himself what was happening with Dean...It wasn't anything good. The state of the world must have been in chaos...and his son needed him now more than ever.
They never were on good terms. No one could ever attest to that. Even while Dean was human under Michael's false 'life' he had created for him through his memories. He still rebelled against him, still went against his wishes and wanted nothing more than to be free. The humans would term that as a free spirit...and Dean defined that more than anyone Michael had ever known. His mother was almost the same way, though exercising some degree of control over different aspects of her life. With no humanity inside of him...Dean's "free-spirit" would wreck more mayhem than Dante ever could, that was for sure.
But that didn't stop Dean from being his son, no matter what he had become now. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find his son.
What Michael kept inside of him was not easy. Even now, he could feel the ache and desire to depart from this realm increase tenfold.
If execution was his sentence, then he'd rather get the sentence over with. Metatron usually didn't like drawing out anything. She had always been direct and to the point. Whatever information she was recovering from the Scripture must have been important. He'd know if she would leave. He'd feel it. As disconnected he was from Heaven as a whole, even while being in it, he still had some sense. And he would surely sense a massive presence like Metatron leave the realm. Not to mention, she probably wouldn't forego the chance to gloat at least once more to him. Direct...but still a bitch.
Right on cue, he heard the dungeon doors open from the top and he stood upright, approaching the cell bars.
There stood Metatron across from his cell.
"Michael. Michael. Michael," Metatron mused in a voice that sounded like he had done something very naughty. She put her hands on her hips and eyed him in an exasperated sort of way. "What am I to do with you, Michael?"
"The chain of command has faltered indeed if my fate is left in your hands," said Michael.
"You hold me in such low confidence. If it had been Raphael or even Gabriel, you may as well have been executed," said Metatron.
"You obviously failed to get to know Gabriel very well," Michael noted.
"Maybe. That's not to say he didn't have his own moments that would have brought pride to the legion. You, however...Your crimes are grand in nature. What you've done can't be repeated," said Metatron.
"What I've done is in the past...and I do believe I managed the legion very well when I returned to Heaven. With a soul or not," Michael countered.
Metatron sneered. "You call this situation a job well done? I didn't blame your soul, Michael. I blamed you. I blamed you for allowing a monster like Dean Winchester be born from you. I blame you for not doing a single thing while Dominion was being broken...and lastly, I blame you for lying. You had us all under the belief that Father had not abandoned us and we were acting under His orders. That could not be further from the truth, could it? God has abandoned us to this fate. And it is up to us now to fix it...so that He may return."
"Father left us before all this began. Has it occurred to you that He lost faith in us on principle? Heaven is not the best candidate for righteous means. I am a farcry from what I should be...Raphael was too. These are all examples of the corruption that's taken root in Heaven, Metatron," said Michael, shaking his head. "I was wrong...I was wrong for what happened with Lucifer. It was my attitude that drove him from this plane...it was not his belief. What we're doing here...our methods...they're wrong."
"Blasphemy, Michael," said Metatron. "These methods have been constituted since before your existence. You have no right to question them, regardless of who you once were."
"I'm still Michael. I believe in this realm. I want Father to believe in us the same way that I do," said Michael quietly.
"You are hardly a saint...so your belief means very little to any of the legion, Michael," said Metatron, looking him square in the eyes.
"My son-"
"Is about to destroy the mortal realm, Michael. I hope you're proud of him," said Metatron. "I hope you still find him...worth it."
"Did you come here to mock me, Metatron or did you come here to finally kill me? If either, please get on with it. I don't have time for either," said Michael irritably.
"What exactly do you have time for in a prison?" Metatron questioned, leaning close. "I've spent a lot of time in isolation with the Scripture, Michael. I've learned a few things. I've learned...the truth...on a lot of things too."
"Did you," Michael replied mildly.
"Yes...Are you so surprised?" Metatron raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. "The Scripture is almost completely powerless. All it contains now is the memory of the sentient being known as Dominion. He did not wish to speak to me, needless to say...but he did inform me of a way to get out of this current...predicament."
"I'm surprised. I would think self-preservation is first on Dominion's list," said Michael.
"This Dominion is dead, and you know it. He died when he broke," said Metatron impatiently. "This is a memory. He knows the catastrophic power that he once held...and yes, he wishes to make amends for it."
"You sound like a mother trying to justify a child's actions," said Michael. "Dominion was made from deceit and hatred the moment Lucifer laid a hand on him. He feels no such regret."
"I wouldn't expect you to understand regret, Michael, since you have none," said Metatron pointedly. "Regardless. He told me of the way to dispense the problem, as I was saying. The simplest method is through you, Michael."
Michael's jaw tightened. "Is that what you heard."
"Your sword, more specifically. You always taught me that the blades we make are unique...They can be used by another, but it simply would not be the same. They're augmented after all according to our own Will. Yours...More so...After all, your weapon was the first sword augmented by Will since the creation of time. Yours...is so infused by you, that any other who wields it...wields Michael, so to say," said Metatron. "And that sword infused by you...is so powerful, it can destroy anything. Completely and utterly. Not kill. Any sword can kill. Yours destroys. And to destroy is different. Your weapon...can very easily destroy these three fragments we have on our hands."
"You honestly think you can get close enough to any of them, best them, and use my sword?" Michael asked. "Really now. I hope you have a better plan than that."
"I have every confidence in my own ability to best any of them, Michael. None of them have learned what I learned," said Metatron coolly.
"You underestimate them. Seriously," said Michael.
"I don't have time to chat with you about this. I'm going to do what I intend, one way or another. And you're going to do as I say, Michael," said Metatron, tilting her head just slightly. "There's no sense in killing you...yet."
She pulled on the cell bars until they seemed to melt in her grip and become nothing more than vanishing matter in her hands and the way was clear.
"Now...Step out and give me your weapon, Michael," said Metatron, stepping back and holding out her hand to him.
Michael looked at her for a long time, then he stepped forward as she told him to. He was still wearing those civilian clothes, yet here in Heaven, he could not hide the weapon from mortals because there was no need. The golden sword was still strapped to his waist.
Metatron eyed him up and down and shook her head in disapproval. "How you could mingle with humankind for so long and not go insane yourself. I've understood the concept. We protect them, and they are oblivious to us except for what they read. But you...You actually became one. I wasn't blaming your soul, Michael...but only something like a soul could make an Archangel crow like a human."
In response, Michael stepped right in her face. "You're too trusting, General. I don't think I have to remind you that I taught you better than that, do I?"
"What-" Metatron began.
Michael shoved her, elbowed her right in the face, clipping her jaw and sending her flying into the cell. She screamed in rage, rubbing the purple spot that was beginning to blossom on her cheek as she rushed the cell bars that began to appear with a wave of Michael's hand.
"I learned a few tricks in the mortal realm," said Michael, actually taking out his sword and twirling it around in front of her. "I'm fairly confident you can break out of there, Metatron. As you said yourself...You know things that the others don't...You spent enough time honing your skill...But you know, Metatron.."
Michael lowered his head a little so they were of level height. "You missed out on much. I take responsibility for some of it...because I trained you myself. But...you are the definition of how demons view us. They view us as spineless, robotic creations meant only to mindlessly follow orders without a thought of our own. In a way...they're not wrong. We don't function without orders. And without our Father or a leader that can truly lead us with the best interests of Heaven in mind, we are lost."
"Let me out of here, Michael," said Metatron, rattling the bars of the cage. "Let me out, NOW!"
Michael took a step back and pulled his sword out and held it level with her face. "Don't do anything brave."
"Let me out of here," said Metatron venomously. Her eyes slid down on him where she spotted a strange symbol on the inside of his wrist. She squinted at it and the symbol became apparently clear in her mind. "Is that...? Michael, you didn't."
Michael rolled up the sleeve but the symbol merely glowed in the darkness of his sleeve. He then gave her a quick quirk of his eyebrow before he turned away and ran for the stairs leading up. In the span of ten seconds that it took him to reach the top, his civilian clothing vanished altogether, reforming golden armor with a flowing cape that would have held his wings. But he did not hold them, not here.
There was no one there when he emerged. He preferred it that way. He took off, heading high into the sky and looking down at the realm as a whole. It was such a relief to be free, but he didn't have time. He knew where the gates of Heaven were. It was here where he had left before voluntarily to stop Lucifer from damaging or changing the Scripture after he had taken it...and it was here where Lucifer...Dante...and so many others had Fallen.
He couldn't linger on that either. Instead, Michael shot straight for the gates, flying past the gardens, the generated heavens of souls that became nothing more than blurs to him. He was off at speed beyond any other celestial. And when he stopped, he landed neatly on his feet in front of the gate.
The pearly gates were closed to him, preventing his departure. This never happened. Heaven was almost always open access to the souls that belonged here...that could only mean that Metatron had closed it off...closed off even the righteous from entering Heaven...and he could only guess that the numbers were in the millions after what was rumored to have happened in Chicago.
How could Metatron do that? How could she ever get it into her twisted mind that that was okay?
Michael made his way closer to the gate, and then he felt something tingle at the back of his head. It was a familiar sensation. The sensation traveled all the way to his ears and heard the prayer break out in his mind like a song from the past.
"So I don't ask for much. And you haven't been answering me thus far, because you're an asshole and I'm not surprised. But I got a request for you. Your son. You know that apple of your eye, sunshine of your life, good old boy of yours? Yeah, he's really being kind of a dick lately. I know, so surprising, right? So can you do me a huge favor, Michael? And just grant me one wish. I don't ask for much, and you...you kind of me owe me y'know? For...all that business back in the day. So my wish...getting back to the point here...my prayer. My prayer to you, 'Saint' Michael, is this. My power has been severely weakened, in no small part due to Dean Winchester. If you want a planet to come back down to from your prison, I suggest you do the right thing for once in your life...and heal me of the affliction that's draining my life.
Make no mistake, Saint Michael. I am not your servant and I swear no fealty to Heaven or you...nor will I ever do so again. But between the two of us, you'd be better of banking on the one that will at least allow the rest of you guys to live after I'm done.
I don't want a planet, you see. I don't have some sick, twisted notion like him that the world is wrong and I need to take it upon myself to rebuild it. I don't have the God-complex, but it looks like he does. Looks like he's taking after Daddy just nicely.
So do me the favor. I won't ask you for anything else. Think of it as a surefire way to begin your road to forgiveness. I think that's fair."
Michael dropped his hand after the prayer was finished. He deliberated for a moment. Checking behind him, he felt more than he saw Metatron on approach. The gates opened with a wave of his hand. And he pressed his palm to his lips, kissing gently and releasing a glowing white orb that twinkled in his hand. He released it the next second, letting it hover in front of him.
"All right, Dante," said Michael. The orb flew past the gates, down to the mortal plane below just as Michael turned.
"Stop where you are!" It was not Metatron's voice. Though she was there, standing among five other angels including Gadreel, her right-hand man. "Archangel Michael, you stand accused of treason and conspiracy. You are not permitted to leave this realm."
"Ask your General why she wants to keep me here before you speak of the law here," said Michael coolly, eyes on Metatron. "You will not control my actions. My actions are my own. As they always have been. My choice."
"Stop him," Metatron snarled. "He possesses a so-"
"I'm going. I've made my decision. If you wish to stop me, that's yours. I'm not fighting any of you," said Michael to the group as a whole. He stepped backwards cautiously, keeping his gaze locked on each one of them. The moment Michael cleared the gate, he felt the cloudy ground disappear underneath him. He raised his hands up eaglewidth, extending his wings to their full wingspan and allowed himself to fall below to the mortal plane.
Gadreel made to follow but Metatron raised a hand to his chest. "Don't. Let him. We'll get what we need from him soon enough. For now...Let's just wait and see. This should be interesting."
Dean lost his patience quick. He caught up to Dante easily. Dante had taken him past the mountains, past forests and into the nearby city. Paradise Rock was a very large region, and Dean had been here before, familiarized himself with it. But when Dante showed the slightest inch, he clashed into him on the next Jump and sent the two of them flying towards towering skyscraper.
The two of them fell through the ceiling, down four floors into the middle of an office campus. The workers jumped at the sight of them, as they landed on opposite ends of it when Dean lost grip of the Fallen.
Blood dripped down Dean's face from various cuts across his cheeks and forehead from the shatter of glass during the fall. It felt like his spine had been cracked in two. He felt his own heated blood wrap around the area and fuse all of his broken bones back together. His appearance was haggard and disgusting and he didn't have the concentration to close every wound sustained. The roots of his hair looked like they had been stained black, blood dried and caked there.
Dean opened his eyes a moment later. He growled as he used his sword to stab into the ground and use the support to stand upright.
"Hey, are you okay?" A brave soul came forward. Woman. Blonde wearing a red pantsuit. She started to walk towards him.
"Get out of the way," Dean growled, pushing her aside. His eyes were swift and searching for any sign of him. "Where is he?! WHERE ARE YOU!"
Dean stabbed the floor again, deep enough that it ought to have cut through the fiber into the next floor as well. He cast a fiery spell that caused the desks, the walls and all other material things around them to blaze. "You want to live?! Get out of my sight."
They didn't need telling twice, at the first sign of magic, they were off, running straight for the elevator and the emergency exit stairs. Just as the floor cleared out, the office furniture and computer tech that Dean had set on fire was starting to create smoke and smog that was thick around him.
"You hiding, Dante? I thought you were through running!" Dean stepped forward, keeping his sword casually loose in his hand. "Don't run from little old me, Dante. It emasculates you when you run from a demon that's half your age."
He began to sing a song. Voice heard just over the sound of crackling fire. "Sweet dreams are made of theeeeese...Who am I to disagreeee? I travel the world...and the seven seaaas...Everybody's lookin' for someone...Some of them to abuse you...Some of them WANT TO BE ABUSED."
Dean turned around and send a blast of fire towards a towering black chair, cursing under his breath.
"Don't run from me, Dante. It makes me feel bad,"
"I'm not running," came Dante's voice from behind him. A second later, his arm wrapped around Dean's neck in a chokehold and he extended his wings towards the broken window.
But Dean fought him, wrenching underneath Dante's hold to clip him in the jaw with his curled fist. The Fallen dodged, but not all of it, feeling the pressure hit his chin rather hard, making him stagger.
Dante rubbed the sore spot and glowered, throwing his sword to his right hand and bringing it down on Dean with both hands gripping tight. Dean met his blade evenly, the loud clang sending sparks flying. The pressure seemed even on both ends until Dean kneed him in the groin, causing the Fallen to lurch forward just as Dean caught him by the air and planted another knee in the same jaw he had already hit, nearly shattering it.
Dean had grand satisfaction of watching the Fallen spit out a couple of loosened teeth. He charged Dean again, clashing wildly. Dean met each strike, and each aimed to kill, with precision. It was clear, as it was abundantly clear in Treachery that Dante's skill far surpassed Dean's.
When Dean caught him in another clench, Dante pulled Dean forward by the wrist in one fluid movement, at the same time raising his wing to swipe across Dean's back, cleaving through his jacket and shirt and cutting through flesh easily with a long vertical gash. Dean cried out in pain, grasping his shoulder, but not quite touching the bloody wound through reach.
"Cheap shot," Dean muttered.
"Really," said Dante, flashing him a smug smile from above. He rubbed his jaw almost pointedly, wiping the blood that had formed there.
Dean narrowed his eyes on Dante. He measured the distance between them and the window that was shaking behind Dante. Dante followed his gaze, and Dean took the distraction. Sheathing his sword, Dean yelled as he got up and speared Dante through the stomach, sending the two of them straight for it.
They tumbled out with Dean in a tangle of limbs with Dean gripping Dante's arm tightly as his eyes flashed down. This building had to be at least thirty stories high, with them hovering near the twenty-sixth floor. Dante's wings extended before they could fall far, gripping Dean with his elbow curled under the demon's chin, pinning him with hard pressure to his body to keep him from flying.
"It must be such a handicap as a demon to be unable to extend any sort of wings and fly. All you can jump and you need a flat surface on the ground to be able to do that, don't you?" Dante tightened his hold on Dean and leaned down to press his lips very lightly in Dean's hair.
"Let go," Dean was snarling, struggling to see over Dante's arm.
"Not a good choice of words, Dean," said Dante, and he actually loosened his arm a bit. Dean scrambled and held on tighter. "I can let go and you can fall. You won't survive it. No Will on this earth, no power you possess as Dominion's fragment will save you. You understand this, right?"
"I don't need your mercy,"
"You're restricted by the laws of the land, Dean. That makes you weak. How does it feel to know that it just takes a simple fall to kill you. All that burning and razing of big cities, sitting on a throne and claiming power, and all I have to do...is let you go. And it all ends right here. You'll be bloodsplat,"
Dean growled in response. Dante loosened another inch.
"But I'm offering you a choice. You're all for choices, if you remember," said Dante. "Exile or death. You leave me alone, you walk away from all this and never look back. Or you die here. Your choice."
"Even if you kill me...," Dean was struggling to say it. "Even if you do...My soul will just travel into a circle of Hell...and the moment I get out-"
"Yes, but it sure is an inconvenience to be trapped as such, don't you think? You and I both know that," said Dante with a smile. "And say I'm feeling productive. Say you die and I decide to trap your soul in a single part of Hell. What can you do to stop me? It's a little poetic too, if you think about it. Lucifer, in the stories was chained in the ninth circle of Hell under a lake of ice. How's that for you, Dean? Does it sound like a good vacation spot?"
Dean stopped struggling for just a second, raising his head to meet Dante's dark eyes. He stared for a very long time, seeming to deliberate something. Their eyes stayed on eachother for a long time. From this high up, they could see everything. They were oblivious down below, but they wouldn't be for long. The fire inside the building continued to expand and flame.
And then Dean hocked back and spat right at Dante's face. The Fallen shut his eyes before the saliva made contact. Dean was breathing hard after, harder to hold onto wit the rise and fall of his chest.
Which was only too convenient for Dante. He dropped his arm and released Dean. The demon fell with velocity. His own Fall had felt so slow to Dante while it was happening. He could only imagine Dean was feeling the same thing. The bright green eyes met his, wide and horrorstruck as proceeded to meet his final end.
But a split second later, Dante's spectacular view was shattered as something bright and blue zoomed straight for Dean, intercepted his fall when he was barely twenty feet down from where Dante had dropped him. Dante grit his teeth together, flapped his wings almost indignantly and followed them just as Castiel directed Dean to another building, much taller than the first one. The celestial set the demon down gently.
"All this and still you save him," said Dante as he landed, stepping towards the two of them.
Dean scrambled away from Castiel's embrace fast as the latter continued to kneel. "Keep your damn hands off me."
"You've gone too far, Dean...This is enough," said Castiel as he stood upright.
Dean looked from Dante to Castiel. "Look at this reunion. It's almost like old times. Can you feel it?"
Dante drew out his sword and pointed it at Dean, keeping it level to Dean's throat as he held it low. Without looking away from Dean, he addressed Castiel and began to walk to the side from Dean. "I should have known you'd save him. I should have predicted it. A power-hungry animal exists and wants to destroy the world and you can't find it in you to kill him like the dog he is."
"And what makes you so different, Dante?" Castiel rounded on him. "What makes you better than him? You think your crimes aren't as great? You think you deserve redemption?"
"You think you do, you celestial chewtoy?" Dante countered. "Seriously. You people. It's you madly in love with Dean, and Dean madly in love with power. And neither of you gives a damn who the hell is caught in the crossfire. That...inherently makes the two of you...selfish."
"You're going to die," said Dean venomously, raising his own weapon. "I wouldn't concern myself with him and I for long, Dante. You won't be around for much longer to care."
"Oh come on, Dean. A second ago you were saying you wanted us to become lifelong partners. Don't get prudey now," said Dante sarcastically. "Sad isn't it...When I'm the most morally encompassed one out of all of us."
"YOU'RE DEAD!" Dean shouted and he charged him, but before he could even get close, Castiel slid between them, his hands out, blocking the way to Dante completely.
"I can't let you, Dean. This isn't you. I know you. I know you well. I don't have to be another fragment. This. Isn't. You," Castiel enunciated slowly. "You don't want to do this."
"I very much want to do this, Castiel," Dean snapped back. "Get out of the way."
"I can't let you. I won't. I won't let you become a monster," said Castiel. "You can't. You'll have to go through me first."
Balthazar found Crowley after some digging under some deep rubble. He was alive and almost barely conscious. Balthazar slapped him awake when he saw him. "Snap out of it. We have to go. Dante, Dean and Castiel are fighting. There's no time!"
"Gaaaaahhhh my stomach," Crowley rolled over onto his front and used his hands to flatten them on what little flat surface he could find and push himself back to stand. He nearly fell into Balthazar. Half his hair looked like it had been dyed white from the amount of dust and debris that had accumulated on him under there.
Balthazar helped him up and released him, swiping at his coat and clothing to release some of the dust as he turned and extended his wings."There. You ready? More time we waste, then we'll be too late. Come on."
"Wait," said Crowley abruptly, not budging an inch to follow him. "I need to make sure of something."
"Crowley! Aren't you anxious to save him? Dante could be in trouble," said Balthazar incredulously.
"He'll be fine. He's at full power. I may not feel him through our bond, but I feel him outside," said Crowley. "I only need a moment."
"Crowley," Balthazar muttered.
"Just a minute," Crowley muttered, stepping over debris and going deeper into where the church once stood. Piles of wood and various pieces of glass were everywhere he looked. Crowley took care not to touch any pieces before they could cut him.
But he found what he was looking for deep in the ruin. Virgil's body. He wanted to see it for himself. It didn't look much different than himself, he wagered, covering in white dust and debris, cut in different places. The stained glass must have hit him full blast in the face. That kind of pleased Crowley.
Crowley knelt down in front of him and placed his palm on Virgil's neck. No pulse. But he didn't expect one. Angels. Fallen. They didn't have human pulses. Demons did, and everything beat faster and went faster. Who knew why that was.
What was interesting to note was that his wings hadn't burnt on the ground underneath him. Maybe they were all the way down at ground zero...but he couldn't see them. Yet he had to be dead if he got a faceful of stained glass. Even that should have killed an angel. And not to mention...It was through Dean's fireburst that this had happened.
"Look at you, Virgil," Crowley tilted his head, retracting his hand. "You really are...the most pathetic Fallen I've ever had the misfortune to encounter.
He traced a line on Virgil's cheek, a strange, gentle contrast to his words. "I know it was you, Virgil. I know...that you made Dante make me to make a lesson. I also know it was you that Dominion sent. And you that Dominion abandoned in the end. Your desire for revenge...and justice was not...totally hard to understand."
"But what was it that you called me...You called me...," A faint smile flickered on Crowley's face. "Just before I died. You remember, don't you? Petty. Useless. Greedy...Pathetic. Yeah...you remember."
Crowley pulled a stray lock of hair on Virgil's cheek and tucked it behind his ear and began to rise.
A split second passed before Virgil's eyes snapped open and he lunged forward in a sharp blur of motion. There was a sliding click as his blade extended from his left wrist and he plunged the blade deep into Crowley's chest. All the way forward so that the blood blossomed on the other side, all over his back.
Crowley stared at him in shock, mouth hanging open as he struggled to collect air into his lungs where Virgil had pierced.
"You forgot weak," Virgil whispered to him at such close proximity. He pressed his own cheek against Crowley's and extended his tongue to lick a strip all the way up to his temple.
"CROWLEY!" Balthazar shouted from behind him. But he was far. Too far. He barely got six feet before something rose from the ground and wrapped around his knees, locking him in place. He glanced down and saw black vines conjured through Virgil's Will tightening around his legs, stopping him from moving any closer.
Virgil pulled his blade back and allowed it to slide back into his sleeve, standing up in the next second just as Crowley's body fell forward, a pure white glowing substance beginning to rise from the body that Virgil reached out and caught a handful of. He eyed it for a moment.
"Ah, a soul. No transitioning into the next realm for you, McLeod," said Virgil. He took the soul with both hands, brought it close as though clasping his hands together, then he took grip of it hard and pulled from both ends until the soul split in half, until the glow from the soul began to twinkle and fade from his grip.
"NO! Virgil! Virgil...What...What did you do?" Balthazar gasped, barely able to get the words out.
"You can tell Dante from me...that pain is what makes him what he is. He'll never be free from 'll never stop. That goes for all of them. The cycle...will always continue. And he...will always lose. Tell him that for me, will you? He'll know what it means," said Virgil, turning away and extending his wings. He shot off towards the sky in a swirl of black wings, leaving only a cloud of dust behind him.
The second he was out of sight, the bindings holding Balthazar unclasped and he was free. He ran straight for Crowley. Though he knew what to expect...his heart burned with regret and overwhelming...despair.
Clang.
Dante's sword slipped from his grip, falling to the ground with a loud sound. He fell to his knees, his finger clutching a handful of his shirt in front of his heart. "Crowley."
Castiel looked behind him and barely got a glance at Dante's state before Dean brushed his hand aside and Castiel was thrown hard on his back, twenty feet away, nearly falling off the edge.
Dean knelt down in front of him. Dante's eyes were full blown and wide, like he was completely unaware of where he was or what he was doing anymore. Dean touched his cheek.
"It hurts, doesn't it...? This pain...so overwhelming to know that you lost him," said Dean, stroking his cheek. "That you'll never see him again...because you failed to protect him. I took a leaf out of your book, Dante. The curse to extract the fragments...It required you in a weakened state, to say the least. I was going to do it the moment I found you...but of course...Fate intervened in the form of dear old Dad and I didn't get that chance. But I think this moment...Right here. Right now...will suffice just fine."
Dante was barely responding. He blinked a few times, struggled to put a grip on the overwhelming emotion that threatened to break him from the inside out, and Dean curled his fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, preparing.
"Dominae-"
"DEAN NO!" Castiel cried out, back on his feet. "Stop! Don't!"
Dean looked right at him, caught his eyes and Castiel felt something strange, like a burn in the back of his head. A vision appeared in front of him.
A tree house. Dean was there, much younger. A child no older than five. Before him knelt the Archangel Gabriel himself.
"Wanna know a magic trick?" Gabriel said in a voice that echoed.
"Yeah! Show me! Show me!" said Dean excitedly, clapping his hands together.
"Look," said Gabriel, holding up one finger. "Hold up yours. Come on."
Dean did as he was told, level to Gabriel.
"The closest distance between two points...," Gabriel said slowly, just as a very thin, string like line glowing green connecting their finger tips. "is the line between you and me."
"Ooh...Magic! Magic!" Dean barely held himself from jumping up and down.
"That way you know I'm always close to you," said Gabriel.
Dean's eyes softened and warmed in the same second and he dropped his hand to throw his arms around Gabriel's neck tight. "I love you, Uncle Gabriel."
"I love you, Dean."
And then Dean reappeared in present, one finger held up towards Castiel. His voice was low as he spoke. "The closest distance between two points, is the line between you and me, Angel."
"Dean-"
"And when the line breaks, there's a word for that too," said Dean. He twisted his hand around so his fingers was facing him, raising another and his thumb and snapping once.
"Shatterpoint,"
The moment the word left Dean's mouth, Castiel buckled in agony. The brief sting from the memory was nothing compared to this. He had only felt this once before: when Dante and he were in Hell on their way to Treachery with the latter using a spell to suppress one of the fragments inside of him, compassion. He grasped handfuls of his hair, struggling to keep standing before he fell to his knees and felt the fire from Dean attack every cell inside his body.
He breathed hard, trying to see through it, but he couldn't. He couldn't see anything but Dean's laughing face through a haze of black like he had entered a cavern of spiders.
And then it was over. He fell over, immobile as a doll.
"I'm sorry, angel...but I release you from your debt," said Dean casually, standing up and looking over at him with not a single trace of regret. "I no longer require your services."
"And Dante...Where were we?...Oh yes...Let's get this over with, shall we?" Dean knelt down once more. "I'm sure you're just as tired as me that this is still going on, aren't you?"
Dante just looked at him. "Hey Dean...Go to Hell."
"No, I'm on vacation," Dean replied, giving him a dazzling smile before he raised his hand between them again.
"Do-"
Dean broke off when something grabbed him from behind, pulled him to his feet. He felt the cold steel of metal bracers as they were pressed against his chest, pinning his arms to his side.
Michael's voice was sharp in his ear. "Enough. You've done enough."
"Let me go, you son of a bitch," Dean growled back.
"Not now," said Michael.
But Dean broke from the hold and staggered away, brandishing his sword. "You stay the hell away from me, Michael. You have no right to be here."
"I have every right to be here," said Michael, stepping closer. "You're still my son."
Dean laughed. "You keep on thinking that. I've done things you can't even imagine...And it wasn't because I was your son...it was because I was born into this. And now...I'm going to make it right."
"Don't try to reason with him, Michael. He's completely insane," said Dante in a hollow voice.
"You're doing it all wrong," said Michael. "Please, Dean...Remember yourself. Hold onto what little humanity you have left. For the love of God."
"For the love of God. Why the fuck would I do that?" Dean sneered.
"Dean-"
But before Michael could finish, something black struck Dean hard in the back of his head. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell forward, unconscious.
Michael openly gawked. "Did you seriously bring a frying pan here?"
"Yes," Carmen replied, stepping over Dean and standing proud. She wore exactly the same long black romper and cape she had on as Queen...not a trace of the old wound that Metatron had done to her. "My soul's been trapped inside your body since Los Angeles, Michael...I don't exactly have full access to my goddamn arsenal."
"Carmen...," Dante stared from one to the other. "You're dead."
"Not...really," said Carmen passively, turning her gaze on Castiel. "Is he?"
"It's a shatterpoint spell...He's not exactly...," Dante trailed off.
Carmen approached him and pressed a hand to his neck. "Castiel...Castiel, can you hear me?"
To her surprise, he opened his eyes and peered at her. "You're alive."
"Pretty eyes," Castiel murmured in a small voice. "Pretty. Pretty. Pretty."
"What..?" Carmen asked, taking his elbow and helping him sit up. He frowned like he had just woken up from sleep. "What's wrong with him? What happened?"
"Shatterpoint spells are meant to break the mind," Michael explained quietly. "He's probably not..."
"All there," said Dante with a empty smile.
"Pretty," Castiel said again, reaching for Carmen.
"Goddammit, Dean," Carmen said under her breath, throwing a venomous glance in his direction. "What the hell happened to him?"
"I don't know...but we need to get out of here," said Michael.
"No," said Dante, his voice sharp and abrupt. "Do what you want. I don't care. I need to see him. One last time.."
"See wh-" Carmen began, but Dante had already pulled his wings out and took off into the night sky. Carmen sighed and looked at Michael. "Going after him? I saw a Fallen on the way here...going in the northwest direction. Should we get that?"
"No, we got who matters," said Michael, eyes on Dean's sleeping form. "He won't be asleep long. His body takes less time to recharge than humans. We need to get him somewhere secure."
"And Dante?"
"Let him be alone for now...He needs it," said Michael quietly. "We'll come back for him."