TÃtulo: For There Are Many
Summary: Long before the arrival of Jack and the death of the king of hell, Crowley, the Winchesters faced evil forces like no other. Fighting against an enemy they couldn't win, whose tentacles reached far and wide, the hunters were outnumbered and underpowered in a battle they did not understand nor knew.
Character: Sam, Dean, Crowley, Castiel, Bobby, Cassie, Ruby, and others
1
FIRST DEGREE
Castiel is driving down a dark road in complete silence. The angel had recently discovered that, despite his ability to transport from one side to another, he quite enjoys the ritual of driving. He likes the quietness of it, paying attention to the road, and the landscapes around him. It was a perfect time for reflection, contemplation, and understanding of God's fine work. The more he drives through these man-made roads, the more he grows fond of the wonders Man had made over the years. From walking in all fours to building long roads and tall buildings, it was truly an amazing creature. He adored everything about it. Yes, even the reckless ones who drove as if the road belonged to them. He enjoys the entire experience of driving, especially at night. That's when he can hear every living and breathing creature from the smallest of rats to the owl hunting for a midnight snack. It's amazing. It's like the night was alive.
So, there he is, crossing from one state to the next, just him and this beat-up old crusty green truck. After this troublesome meeting with one of the Angels, driving is good to set his ideas straight. In the beginning, he was skeptical of this meeting. It was always alarming when the Angels called him. However, this situation was problematic if it truly appeared to be true.
All of a sudden, the angel notices a figure lying on the side of the road. At first, he thinks it's an animal that met his fatal fate, however, upon close inspection he realizes it's a human body. He begins to slow down, pulling the truck on the side of the dark road and stops. Swiftly, he gets out of the truck, looks around, making sure it isn't a trap of some sort. He begins approaching the body identifying what appears to be a dirty white dress. It was a woman's body. She's lying on her side, so Cass couldn't see her face. Her feet are bare and bloody, with bruises on the soles as if she had been walking or running for a long time. Her legs show several cuts and bruises, including a gunshot wound on her thigh, which probably caused her to faint from blood loss. The angel crouches down and touches the woman's neck. There's a faint pulse, but she's still alive. He then attends the wound, stopping the bleeding and healing it at the same time. As he inspects the woman, Castiel notices the bruises around the woman's arms: deep cuts still fresh and old ones already healed, her wrists have rope burns and her figure nails were broken.
Around her neck, there were also rope burns, as well as small cuts. He wonders if she had tried to kill herself at some point or someone else did it to her. Her dress is torn in the back, so Castiel lifted the piece of the fabric and sees what appeared to marks similar to when someone was violently whipped. What creature could have done this? Humans had nice things, but they could also be vile of creatures showing little to no mercy to those around them. Sometimes, for no reason.
The angel turns the woman's face and sees her beauty. With skin the color of dark molasses, her face was mostly spared from the brutally her body endured. She has a small bruise on her head from falling probably, but nothing more. Her hair is full of dark curls that fell to her shoulders.
The angel lifts the body of the young woman carefully, taking her into his arms. Castiel carries her to the truck and places her on the back seat, covering the young woman with his trench coat.
As he closes the door, the Angel feels a presence he could not describe. He had never felt it before. It was a wave of darkness, cold energy, something menacing staring him back through the empty road. The Angel steps to the middle of the road looking back from where he had come but saw nothing but a nightly mist. And yet, the feeling of dread remains. He fears something would lunge at him, but nothing happens aside from the quiet pulse of the nightlife.
Slowly, he returns to his truck. As he sits behind the wheel the feeling of dread abandons him. It was probably just anxiety or nervousness from the situation. He looks at the back seat to find the woman is still unconscious. He touches her forehead, hoping to hear her, but heard nothing. She's deep down.
He turns to face the road and drives off continuing his journey, this time stepping hard to the gas pedal.
The Angel was right to feel uneasy. Hidden amid the night, two men dressed in black with long hair the color of blood observe him closely. The plan was in motion.
Sam and Dean had just returned to the bunker after a long hunt. Vampires were getting hard and harder to spot and kill. Knowing of hunters, these creatures had become smart, dividing into small packs, killing less and moving fast.
After a shower, a nasty dinner composed of hamburgers, fries, and beer, both of them retreated to their bedrooms. While Sam slept in his room recovering from a first-degree encounter with a vampire, Dean is awake still in his room. At times, the memories from hell would haunt his mind. The screaming, the torturing, the demons around him, the suffering. He's not the same man. He's not alright and those memories would never fade. He's broken into a million pieces. For Sam and Cas, he would make the best to swallow his PTSD and be the best Dean he could. One never really surpasses trauma. There are bad times, there are good times. There are nights he sleeps, but tonight he couldn't bat an eye.
He refuses to stay in bed, so he gets up, picks up his jacket, and walks out of his room. Quietly, he walks past Sam's room, from where he could hear him snore and walks up to the stairs. He closes the heavy bunker's door behind him as quietly as he could and walks to the Impala, which is parked neatly right in front of the bunker. Usually, they'd park her in the garage, but knowing himself and his insomnia, Dean leaves her outside, just in case.
He gets into the car and drives into town. The town is small, nothing out of the ordinary. Some of the residents already know the boys, so when Baby passes rolls down the town it's normal to receive some waves and greetings. Dean heads straight to one of his favorite locations: The local bar. It was just a bar, with live music, cute girls and cheap beer, but it was the only place Dean could get some peace.
The old yellow pages factory housed the two-story bar. On the first floor, one could find the main bar with tall tables and a stage where the local bands would play from Thursday to Sunday. On the second floor, which could be accessed from the stairs on the side of the building, one would find bigger tables, a kitchen, a bar, and some pool tables: usually, most people would go to the second floor and just hang out with friends on nights where no bands were playing. In the front of the building is the name of the bar in bright letters 'The Good and the Better' and, despite the distance, the band playing tonight is bringing the house down. Dean doesn't like to park in front of the building because most people have the terrible habit of leaning against other people's cars. Once, he even saw a hood of a Mustang decorated with empty beer bottles, so to protect Baby from such crimes, Dean parks further away, almost at the entrance of the grounds of the bar. He begins walking casually towards the bar, passing a few people in the way, greeting them with a nod.
The door to the first floor is guarded by security guards twice Dean's side, keeping the long line in order. He walks to the side of the building, towards the stairs to the second floor.
"Does Sam know you're out here?' A raspy voice echoes and makes Dean stop immediately. He turns around and sees Crowley standing against the wall of the bar with a ridiculous grin and long black coat. 'Rough night sleep, is it?"
Dean looks around noticing they were both alone for the time being.
'What do you want?'
"Can't I can a proper greeting? 'Well, hello dear Crowley. How are you? So nice to see you..."
"Cut the bullshit, Crowley. What do you want?"
"So grumpy..."
"Alright-"
Dean turns his back to the demon, goes up the stairs and into the bar. One of the security guards from the second floor greets him knowingly and Dean greets him back. The man points to an empty booth by the window, his favorite, in the back of the bar and Dean, walks over there. By the time he sits down, Crowley is in sitting opposite him.
"Is this a way to treat the King of hell and ally?"
"Ally? Since when?"
"Since...well, does it matter? I hate you, you hate me and together we create the perfect balance of destruction and peace."
"Do you want to get shot?"
"Don't talk dirty to me, Winchester. You can't please me enough." A young lady comes to the table and asks what they would like to drink. Dean orders a beer, while Crowley asks for a glass of their oldest scotch, without any hope it would be good. "I'm here because I feel a disturbance in the force."
"Do you, Yoda?"
"Yes. There's been something in the air for a while, but I got the confirmation I needed a few weeks ago."
"Of what?"
"I'm not sure. But something has changed. Something dark is coming. Darker than ever."
The young lady returns with their requests and leaves. Dean takes a sip of his beer.
"So.." The Winchester adds, putting down his glass "You know nothing.'
"I came to warn you-"
"About nothing."
"-That instead of hunting vampires and other crawling creatures, you should be investigating the disappearance of people"
"People?"
"Yes," Crowley states. "Coincidental disappearances of small groups of people in the south.'
Dean takes another sip of his beer and shakes his head.
"In case you haven't noticed, we are hunters. Meaning, we hunt monsters and demons, such as yourself. We don't deal with simple disappearances. For that, you go to the police. Also, why do you care?"
"Because it affects my business!' The demon declares. Dean raises an eyebrow, taking another sip of his beer. "Of course, I couldn't care less about people disappearing of people in rural America. We know why they disappear and, sometimes, we do help - You wouldn't believe the contracts I have for some of nastiest shit that happens-"
"Alright!" Dean cuts him off. "I don't care about the deals you have with whatever, okay?"
Crowley shrugs casually, looking around.
"Sex trafficking, human trafficking, witchcraft, the occasional human sacrifice - to which I am ever so grateful as it keeps my skin moisturized - but this is not the case. This is different!"
The king of Hell puts his hand in his jack pocket and produces a file that would be too big to fit inside any pocket. Swiftly he pushes the documents across the table.
"Take dear Jonas, for instance..." The pages begin to turn quickly and land on the picture of a young man with freckles. "Jonas here was a young psychopath, killing animals, hating women, and bullying his mates in school. He was the perfect candidate for hell.' The page turns again to a picture of his dead body 'He was found dead in a ditch. Body all mangled. Terrible shape. He probably suffered. However, he's slot is still empty"
The pages turn again.
'Sweet Margaret had a thing for abusing her children, especially the poor disabled Maddie, her classmate. A perfect candidate for an eternal vacation in damnation' Crowley made the page turn once more to a picture of a deformed body lying face down by a river ' Found dead a couple of days ago, but her soul never arrived in hell.'
Crowley makes the pages turn again to a picture of a young athlete old enough to be in college.
"Turk had a thing for little girls...' Dean stares at Crowley, who takes a sip of the scotch. 'Let us say, he's actions scream louder than his words and internet history. Again, found dead. Slot in hell still empty.'
"Alright, what are you saying..."
"I'm saying, I'm having trouble keeping my demons entertained and contracts up to par. These souls of terrible young people never arrived in hell. Never. Like these I mention, you can see my list goes on and on. They die, but they never arrive."
Dean looks at the thick file in front of him. The list of people seemed endless.
"How is this possible? Are you sure?"
"I'm the king of hell. I keep tabs of those who arrive for eternal torture. I'm pretty sure. But it gets interesting, there are not only terrible people dying whose souls go unchecked...'
The pages turn once more to a picture of a smiling kid.
"Lucas, age 10. A sweet young boy who volunteered at the local animal shelter. Kidnapped. Found dead in the woods. His soul never made it to heaven."
The page turns to a picture of an old nun
"Sister Kate. Age 68. Tortured for hours. Never saw the face she prayed too."
And one final time to a young black man.
"Andre, known to be a young man. He was unrecognizable when found. Never arrived at the pearly gates..."
Dean is fully interested now. Where were these souls going?
"How come I didn't hear of this before?"
" It's been happening for some time. Unless you had a trained eye like me, you wouldn't notice. It's been happening quietly over the years, but for the past month the number has increased and it has reached the ultimate high with 100 souls not arriving. I'm pretty sure the dicks with wings from above will see the pattern too any time now. "
Dean leans against his chair. He's intrigued.
"Sounds far-fetched. I wouldn't know where to begin."
"None of us do. But it is happening. "
"Could it be some other demon?"
"Dean, all souls go either to heaven or hell. Not going at all is not an option."
"What about limbo?"
"I counted limbo. They're not there either." Crowley leans towards Dean and lowers his voice. "If we don't get souls to where they belong it shakes the balance of things. Hell runs on souls, so does heaven. If my demons are not satisfied below, it's only a matter of time before they begin climbing up the stairs and come play outside."
"What could be doing this?"
Crowley drinks the rest of his whiskey in one go and looks disappointed by the end. A shadow crossed his face.
"I don't know."
Dean drinks the best of his beer all at once.
" I'll take this home and check it out." Dean grabs the file and keeps it at his side. Crowley shakes his head.
"Oh right...I Forgot. You only care when Cass comes running with information. Do call when your love breaks you the old news, yes?"
And just as quickly disappears, before Dean could even give him the finger in return. Dean looks at his empty glass and then at the file by his side. The best solution, for now, was to drink another.
Dean raises his hand to call the young waitress ordering another beer. He never really notices that he was being closely watched by a woman with no hair and red lips, a few tables behind him.
By the time Dean returns to the bunker the sun is already breaking through and the day appears to be amazingly sunny. Before arriving at the bunker he'd stop by a bakery shop and buy some coffee and doughnuts for Sam. This time, he parks the Impala in the garage and walks down to the bunker with the file under his arm, coffee in one hand, and doughnuts in another.
Curiously, the young brother is already up and about browsing through the internet when Dean comes down the stairs.
"I bring breakfast!"
"So, I see, ' Sam replies watching his brother come down the stairs "You're up early."
Dean places the coffee and doughnuts on the table by his brother,
"Yeah, my bed was itching, so..."
"Or you can also say you didn't sleep here and went to the bar. I got too drunk to drive and slept in the car. That works too."
Dean smirks a bit. He removes the file Crowley had given him from under his arm and dropped it on the table.
"Crowley got us a case."
"Crowley?"
"The one and only..." Dean pulls up a chair and sits across his brother, who had begun going through the file "Apparently, people are dying but their souls are not getting into heaven nor hell."
"What?"
"You heard me." Dean takes a sip of his coffee and a bite of a sugary doughnut. "All those people dead and no souls to match. Good and bad"
"Impossible..."
"So, I thought, but then I checked it myself and the records are true. They are all dead. '
Sam begins turning the pages and reading the causes of death one by one.
"No souls?"
"None"
"I'm intrigued"
"I am too. And I hate it."
Suddenly, the front door opens wide and Castiel appears at the top of the stairs with a woman in arms.
"Cass? What...is that a woman?" Sam asks looking up.
"I found her," Castiel says as he comes down the stairs, carrying a woman like a feather. "She was passed out on the side of the road."
"And you brought her here?"
"I thought she'd be better among familiar faces," Cass informs. He comes close to the table and lays the woman's body on the table. Dean quickly jumps to his feet with eyes wide open.
"Cassie..." He touching the woman's face. "That's Cassie!"