Bouncing Around

A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic

Part Thirty Six - In Conclusion

Silence reigned, or at least come verisimilitude of it. Dust filled the air as Dean struggled toward the mass of broken, half-rotted boards and crumbling brick that was once a place of worship. He swallowed convulsively. "Sammy! Sam?"

He ignored the people around him, ignored the angels moving from their protective crouches over the humans or the scoured earth that had been revealed in the wash of power. "Dean?" A voice coughed and beams shifted. Dean's heart leapt to his throat in relief as he caught sight of his banged up but alive brother.

Sam's shaggy head whipped around, there was a flutter of movement, and he stumbled backward over an overturned pew. Dean made a strangled noise in his throat and watched wary as a man shifted through rubble, dark eyes burning like coals. When he finally straightened he held a limp body in his arms.

"Micheal?" Someone called hesitantly. Hunters all over took deep, calming breaths. "Is that... is that really Father?"

The dark haired man said nothing, just cradled the still form to his chest as he climbed down the pile of destruction. "...yes."

"Hand him over, Micheal." A new voice spoke up, breathless but full of confidence. Dean instantly knew he did not like the voice, and turned with demon killing knife in his hand. It wouldn't work on the angel, if indeed it was an angel, but it was a comforting weight.

The speaker was tall, male, and had a long dark braid snaking down his back. He screamed well-to-do lawyer and the great big silver angel killer in his hand did nothing for anyone's confidence. Dean felt more than saw Castiel show up, looking confused, but took heart. Had the poor guy died and been brought back... again? They really needed to start getting frequent flyer miles for the river Styx or something.

"Raziel." Micheal the archangel called with a smile, though he still held God's body/vessel/what-ever-you-call-it to his chest protectively. "How nice of you make it."

"I was detained."

"I'm sure you were." Micheal bobbed his head to the side. "Even Gabriel made it, and he's missed every family function since the Fall."

The new dick of an angel ground his teeth, composed himself, and held out his blade free hand. "Give Father to me, Micheal. Please. We can free him." The silver edge of the knife glinted, and Dean felt his brother reach them, breathing heavily, while holding his side. The sun had just started coming up.

The sky looked like diluted blood.

Micheal was moving, but not toward the new guy. "I don't think so."

"He should not be caged to that body! We can get rid of it, free his spirit from this endless cycle of reincarnation, and he can come back to Heaven. He'll be with us again. Don't you want that?"

Dean heard Sam bite out with some shock, "Raziel, patron Angel of... Law Makers and Lawyers." Who wanted to kill God. Christ. Err...

With a rush of light and power Micheal stood before them, body humming with the heat, dried blood caked over his bare arms. He was staring at Castiel as if imparting very important knowledge to the lower seraph. Maybe he was. When Castiel held out his arms and the body was transferred Dean knew shit was about to go down.

Raziel sighed. "You know you can't beat me, Micheal. Not while you lack a proper vessel. You don't have the power."

"Nope." The General of Heaven said cheerily as Castiel inched away dragging Sam and Dean with him. Hunters were discretely leaving the field. "I don't. But you know what? " He paused dramatically and gestured all around. "I got a whole fucking army for that."

Recently sheathed blades were re-drawn, shining, from unseen holsters. Wings rippled. Just as Dean worried they were about to witness two archangels going at it the body in Castiel's arms let out a small, pain filled groan, and he, Sam, and Castiel were all in the Impala.

"Dean." Castiel spoke. "We need to go to the hospital." Dean hit the ignition and checked the rear view mirror. Blood was leaking from God's mouth. No way that was good.

They pealed off the side of the road just as the clouds let loose their payloads, rain falling like a shower of small pebbles.

Shawn was drifting in and out of consciousness. His body felt like it had been ripped apart, put through a wringer, and then glued back together with crazy tape. He hurt. All over. Thousands of voices were buzzing in his head calling for attention. Prayers.

Thousands and thousands and thousands of prayers. Of people. Maybe he should just let it all go... drift away...

"Father..." Someone was touching him. Warm and cold at the same time. Shawn swallowed and focused on that and the rain pounding the roof. It was real, solid, something to think about besides the pain and the death of the world. But the pain and death was okay. It was all part of life. It hurt but it got better.

Shawn really wished they could skip to the get better part. His hands felt like they had burst into flame, but it was the only way to keep his body and channel the power. Blood had to be spilled.

Someone was patting his hair, gentle waves of power rumbled over him. It was nice. For once, someone else could do the protecting, the planning, the grown-up stuff. Lucifer had offered but... no. Just no.

Shawn coughed. The hand stilled, uncertain, then resumed its motion. Was it worth it?

Shawn thought about all the lives he ever lived. How many times he was pushed, by circumstance or obligation, to be the dutiful one. The responsible son. It was nice to hand over the reigns just for a little bit, in this sweet ride, and let someone else make the decision. He could rest. For a bit.

Totally worth it.

Shawn slipped into full slumber, heedless of the battle taking place in the skies overhead.

Chief Karen Vick stared down the federal agents that were demanding entrance into Shawn Spencer's hospital room to, she assumed, abduct the man. While she wasn't sure what they wanted with the unconscious psychic, she was certain he wouldn't like it. Shawn was annoying at times, and tiring, but he always came through. He kept everyone in the station from turning into the kind of cops you read about in books: depressed, dead, or dirty.

And he had just managed, somehow, to get in contact with people she didn't even know to organize a mass sting operation combining state and local forces to take out some terrorist 'demon' group, he himself going against orders to take out the leader. From the preliminary data they were able to get from the hospital examiner whatever biological weapon the terrorists were planning would have been incredibly lethal and insanity inducing.

She wasn't even going to think about the group of Hunters that they had reinforced, it was galling to think that without Spencer's 'vision' the small civilian militia would have been the only ones aware of the national threat, or the unexplained phenomenon that was going on around the world.

Vick stood her ground against the big-wigs, planted herself firmly in their way, and ignored the way every eye in the area seemed to shift to her. "I don't care who you are, or who you work for. You come within TEN feet of MY psychic and I WILL personally turn you to swiss cheese."

She mentally grinned at the sound of guns moving from their holsters. Everyone was still jumpy and tense from the shoot-out. Lassiter had moved down the hall, closer to Spencer's room, and several of the militia shifted for their own weapons (she wasn't going to think how many state and federal laws each person was breaking).

Agent number one removed her sunglasses with a sigh. "Please, it is imperative that Mr. Spencer is brought in. He will receive the best treatment-"

Vick felt her lips twitch into a smile as a very audible *click* sounded in the room. One of the hunters, arms wrapped in bandages, had his pistol pointed expertly at the speaking agent. Another was whispering something to him but she couldn't make it out. Looked like the militia men didn't have any love for the feds.

"You are out of your jurisdiction." She spoke coolly, controlled. "I suggest you leave, and come back with the sheriff, or a cepina, because I think we beat you in the intimidation department."

It was childish, but it felt damn good to see the group of spooks leave. The applause coming from hunters, police, and hospital staff alike was just a bonus.

"Lassiter!" The detective holstered his gun and walked up. "Find a ride. We need to get Shawn back in Santa Barbara ASAP."

End.