AN: The end! For serious! There's a little epilogue, but this is about it. So thanks for joining me on this loooooong ride!
Chuck was not a hero. Chuck was really fucking far from being a hero. But he thought he'd been getting better, since he'd met the Winchesters. And he'd felt good, really good the night before, when he and Sam had stood down Michael. Well, when Sam had stood down Michael. He'd been looking in the cupboards for sugar.
And that had been pretty defiant, too, writing that false prophecy. Going against heaven. That was pretty darn heroic, too.
Still, when the Winchesters had said that they were summoning Lucifer and Michael, he'd just about wet his pants. Because that was one showdown that he really didn't want to be a part of.
Not that he had a choice. Not since he was their newest little angel-summoning toy. He was getting really tired of having guns pointed at his head.
The instant the two men had appeared – correction, two really creepy men, in identical suits and expressions – he'd run away.
More specifically, he'd run into his house, up the steps to his bedroom, and cowered under his bed.
He waited for the Apocalypse. He figured it had to happen soon – the devil and angel together, their meatsuits waiting, and besides, he'd seen it. He hadn't told the Winchesters, but he'd already felt that compulsion to write. He'd seen the play –out. He knew the plan that Sam had – trick Lucifer into trying to get in his body, only to find it was too full of love – then have a nice little chat with the two angels.
It would never work. Not in a million years. Chuck knew, that, too.
No, what would happen was that Lucifer would try to force his way in, wouldn't be able to. Would back out, but too late. Dean would have seen the submission, would have said yes to Michael, who promptly would have smote Lucifer on his way out.
The whole thing was going to end with Sam obliterated on the ground, his head a mass of brains and other. . .stuffings. . .and Dean as a gibbering idiot left on the side of the sidewalk.
And then, Chuck was pretty sure, there would be trumpets soundings, earthquakes happening, the weirdo chick next door dying, and overall the end of the world. He thought there was a meteor on its way, too.
He expected all of this to happen in about five minutes. Though, when he thought about it, his bed probably wasn't much protection from an asteroid.
When nothing happened, not in five minutes, not in ten, he snuck out from under the bed. His fingers twitched. He wanted to write again. But his brain was blank. Why was his brain blank?
He crept down the stairs, peered out the window. He couldn't hear anything. Maybe there was no noise? Maybe he'd gone deaf. How did the world end? Not with a bang, but with a whimper?
He'd assumed that the world was going to end in fire, hell and brimstone. Maybe not. Maybe it ended in ice, everything freezing over. Including his ears. He stuck his pinkie in the left one, wiggled it around. Couldn't feel anything blocked. He opened the front door. Wind gushed by. Oh. Sound. Right. Not deaf, then.
They were all still standing out there, Lucifer and Michael in their creepy expressionless suits, Dean and Sam looking banged up and scared, and their angel friend floating in the air.
Wait a second. . .angel friend. . .Chuck frowned. Where had he been, in his vision of the future?
Sam hadn't said yes, yet. Chuck could tell. Mostly because the creepy Blues Brother twins were still glowing, clearly still possessed by a pair of angelic hitmen.
"Yes," Dean said, to Chuck's ears, sudden and without precedent. "Yes."
And holy FUCK but that wasn't how it was supposed to go at all? Dean was never supposed to say yes. It didn't fit with anything. Chuck as Prophet knew it wasn't supposed to happen, and Chuck as Writer knew it wasn't supposed to happen. It was completely out of character. Apropos of nothing. Deus ex machina, only the deus in this case was supposedly still missing. Chuck crept forward a little.
Goonie on the right glowed, brilliant for a moment and then. . .exploded. The glow shifted to Dean. Light poured out of his eyes, his nose. He stood up straight, dropped the sling. Before Chuck's eyes, the wounds on his face healed over.
"Shit," he said. Sam was a sobbing mess on the ground. That, Chuck thought with some satisfaction, made sense. He'd never been good at keeping emotions inside, and he had to be feeling pretty guilty and useless at the way his plan had backfired. Castiel stood, swaying, a lost expression on his face.
Dean as Michael turned to Goonie 2. "Summon Raphael." He said.
"Do it yourself," Goonie 2 said, sounding almost petulant. "You have your vessel. You do it."
Dean as Michael swelled up , and even more golden light poured out from his skin. Huh, Chuck thought. That was strange. He'd thought that angels didn't glow when they were in vessels that fit well. Lucifer rolled his eyes, lifted his head and
Holy FUCK THAT HURT! Chuck could feel his very being pulled apart, loose molecules. His ears were bleeding, he just knew it, they were bleeding, and this was why he had never wanted to be a hero, this was why he had wanted to be under his bed, this was why
"DO YOU WANT THE PAIN TO END?"
Yes, he thought, babbling incoherently. He didn't know where the voice came from. He didn't care.
Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes
And. . .oh, that felt kind of nice, a warmth suffusing him. A little tingly, a little. . .oh, this was not so nice, now, he was getting shoved back, compressed, and it didn't hurt exactly, but he was being folded into weirdo little origami pieces and his brain was so tiny and what the
Raphael swatted irritably at a dust mote in front of him. He could still hear the tinny presence of the prophet inside him. He was a weak vessel. He would not stay long. He walked outside to greet his brothers.
"Why did you summon me?" he asked.
Michael turned to look at him, and there was anger in the angel's face. Intense anger. Angel-smiting anger.
"You set the fires."
"Yes, of course."
"You brought the fires into their hearts."
"Yes, of course."
"So why," Michael ground out, his teeth gnashing inside his vessel's body. Raphael admired it. Michael had always had good taste. It was a very beautiful vessel, particularly with angelic golden light pouring out of it. "Why is there too much feeling in here for me to fit?"
Raphael frowned. Shook his head. "I burned their hearts out," he said. "I don't know why. . ."
One of the mudmonkeys was scrambling to his feet, his face a mess of snot and tears. "Don't you dicks even think before you do anything?" he asked. "You can't just. . .just. . .tear people's hearts out. We still feel. He still loved, even after your fire."
Raphael turned his gaze upon the mudmonkey. This was attractive as well. Ah. The mark of Lucifer. Of course. His brothers really did have excellent taste. Brothers. . .he turned to look at them. Lucifer. Michael. Raphael. All together, again, in one place. He'd never thought.
The second mudmonkey stood as well. There was no liquid on his face. Just as well. There was, however, something familiar about him. . .Eyes latched on his, and Raphael started. Blue electricity.
"Please," the mudmonkey said, his voice broken, though his face looked carved as granite. "Let him be. Take me, instead."
"Or me," snotface said desperately. "Just let Dean be okay."
"Self-sacrificing twits," A fourth voice, and Raphael turned to see Gabriel, dressed in a strange, horse-faced girl. Gabriel shrugged apologetically.
"Sorry," he said. "It was the best I could find."
He sauntered forward, Gabriel's arrogance shining through the plain girl's countenance.
"Brother," Michael inclined his head. "I thought that you had fallen."
"No," Gabriel ignored Raphael, walked up to Lucifer, placed his hands gently on his brother's face. "I thought I would never see you all together, again."
The mudmonkeys were still making sorrowful, weeping sounds. Raphael considered silencing them, permanently. Except that the one had the mark of Lucifer on it, and he would not harm a brother's vessel. Even if that brother had betrayed all of heaven.
"So this is it," Michael said. "The Apocalypse."
Gabriel chuckled. "In the middle of the suburbs. How wildly ironic."
"It won't work," the taller mudmonkey said. "You're not going to find God by starting the Apocalypse. Besides. Babylons still lives."
"She's just inside," Raphael said, the echoes of the annoying prophet ringing in the back of his head. "Easy enough to smite her. Brother?" he looked at Michael. "Shall I?"
Michael shook his head, glanced at the sniveling mudmonkey. "How," he said. "Do you propose we find our Father, then?"
The mudmonkey looked up. "When our father disappeared, I thought he'd just abandoned us," it said. "I thought nothing of it. But Dean was sure that something had happened, that he was in trouble. So we looked."
Raphael was bored by the mudmonkeys story. He glanced toward his brothers, asking silent permission to smite. Michael, however, had focused all of his attention.
"It turned out that he wasn't in trouble," the mudmonkey said. "Or at least. . .not ordinary trouble. But he'd been trapped into this ring of destiny that we all. . .the thing is, I don't think God is just wandering. I think he's in trouble. I think he hasn't come, because he can't come. I have to believe that."
Michael grunted. The second mudmonkey reached under its shirt, pulled out a medallion on a string.
"Here," it said, holding it out. "This will help you to find our Father."
Michael reached out, clasped it wonderingly. Raphael snarled. To think. A mudmonkey, possessing such a thing. In the hand of the mudmonkey, however, it shone, dimly, barely, but shining. The moment it fell into Michael's possession the light went out. He lifted it overhead. It shone a bit more.
"Marvelous," Lucifer whispered.
"You can go," mudmonkey one whimpered. "Dean couldn't find Dad on his own. But when we were together we found him. Maybe it's the same for you. You have to search together. All four of you."
Michael nodded slowly. Raphael turned. Lucifer wore a distinctly downturned expression on his vessel's generic face.
"The things I have done. . ." Lucifer said. "Only God can forgive me. I know this."
Gabriel, amazingly, was the one with a response. He leaned forward, placed a chaste kiss on his brother's lips.
"I forgive you," he said huskily. Turned to Raphael. "Can you forgive me for leaving the hunt?"
Raphael felt something tugging him toward his brother. Leaned forward. Gentle kiss on the mouth.
"I forgive you," he said. Turned to Michael. "Can you forgive me for believing that Father is dead?"
Michael considered. One long, still moment. Leaned forward. Lips brushed. "I forgive you."
And the circle was complete, Raphael thought. Until Michale turned to Lucifer.
"Can you forgive me for not rescuing you?" he asked, his voice low.
"I forgive you," Lucifer gasped. And now, Raphael knew, as something blossomed within him. Now the circle was complete.
"Thank you," Michael said, turning to the mudmonkeys. "We see, now, why our Father put so much love and trust into your kind. We will stop the Apocalypse."
"Though," Raphael added, not wanting to decide the stupid little mudmonkeys. "The last vestiges remain. Death walks free, still. Babylon lies still within that house."
"That's okay," Snotty mudmonkey said. He smiled a little, the rivers of tears falling around the outstretched mouth. "We can take care of that."
"Then we will leave you," Michael said. He leaned forward, put one hand on the head of the taller mudmonkey.
"You are wise, Samuel Winchester. Do not lose your wisdom in your grief."
Turned next to the shorter mudmonkey, with the electric presence and the absent black wings. "We will miss you, Brother Castiel," he said. "May you never lose your Grace."
Michael unfurled his wings, those vast, glittering golden wings. Beside him, Gabriel's emerald wings covered the sky. Raphael let out a sigh of relief as silver flowed from his back, released by the obstruction of his vessels limited body. Lucifer waited a moment later. Ruby filled the sky.
And so, hand in hand with his brothers, Raphael left earth for the first time in centuries.
